Chapter Text
The golden light of the midday sun filtered through the loosely closed blinds, slicing through the room's dimness with bright, almost tactile blades. Mike felt them before he even opened his eyes. The warmth tickled his eyelids, causing the pupils beneath the thin layers of skin to involuntarily constrict. It was that specific time of day when Hawkins seemed to stall in a languid haze—too late for the morning rush, too early for the evening chill.
He stretched lazily, feeling his vertebrae respond with a faint crackle. His fingers sank into the softness of the wool blanket, which had absorbed his body heat overnight. Tiny dust motes danced in the sunbeams, and a light scent of fabric softener lingered in the air—lavender and something fresh, a smell that always permeated the Wheeler house thanks to Karen’s meticulousness.
Mike rolled onto his other side. It was a mechanical action, a routine etched into his subconscious over the past few months. His gaze immediately landed on the second bed, positioned just a meter away from his own.
Will’s bed.
It was empty, but not tidy. The sheets were crumpled, the heavy blue blanket tossed aside as if the person sleeping there had left in a hurry or simply in a burst of morning energy. Mike lingered on the indentation in the pillow. He had grown used to this: the first thing every morning was checking if Will was there. It had become his anchor. After everything they had endured—after the cold forests of the Upside Down, the breathlessness of fear, and the ache of loss—seeing Will safe in the next bed was the only way Mike could believe that the world was truly okay.
Life in the Wheeler house had changed after the victory over Vecna. When Jonathan left for university and the Byers' house remained an unreachable dream due to financial struggles, Karen Wheeler showed the kind of maternal warmth Mike had often taken for granted. She simply wouldn’t let Joyce and Will go to some rental. "Nancy’s gone, her room is free, the guest rooms are waiting," she had said, and it wasn't up for debate.
But Will hadn’t wanted to be in a guest room. And Mike hadn’t wanted that either. They decided that a second bed in Mike’s room was the perfect solution. Best friends, inseparable once again. Now, their days began not with frantic calls over the radio, but with lazy banter between pillows.
Mike sat up, dropping his bare feet onto the rug. The pile was soft and slightly prickly. He listened. The house was unusually quiet. Usually, at this hour, you could hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen or the muffled sound of the radio.
"Will?" he called softly, his voice raspy with sleep.
There was no answer. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the distant drone of a lawnmower somewhere on the next street.
Mike stood up and padded toward the bathroom. Every step on the wooden floor seemed too loud. He glanced in the mirror: messy dark hair, sleepy eyes. Splashing cold water on his face, he tried to wash away the remnants of dreams that were already slipping from his memory. The taste of the toothpaste—sharp mint—finally forced his brain to work faster.
He’s probably downstairs, Mike thought, wiping his face with a towel. Maybe helping Mom with the flowers or painting in the basement.
Descending the stairs, Mike could smell freshly toasted bread and strong coffee. It was the scent of home, of peace. But something in this sterile silence began to prickle beneath his skin.
"Will! Did you eat breakfast?" he shouted, skipping over the last step and walking into the kitchen.
Karen was standing by the window, sorting mail. She looked up and offered her son a gentle smile.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Or rather, good afternoon. It’s almost one o'clock."
"Hey, Mom. Where’s Will? He’s not in the room."
Karen shrugged, not pausing her task. "Oh, he must have headed out. I checked on you two around ten, and he was already washing up. Probably went for a walk. Will isn't as much of a late sleeper as you are, Mike. He likes the morning."
Mike frowned. That was strange. Will always waited for him. Even if Mike slept until noon, Will would sit on his bed with a sketchbook, waiting for his friend to open his eyes so they could discuss plans for the day. They were like two parts of a single machine: one didn't start moving without the other.
"He didn't say anything? Where exactly?"
"No, honey. I thought you two had an agreement. Maybe he went to see Jane or Dustin?" Karen walked to the stove and poured Mike some coffee into his favorite large mug. "Sit down, eat. You're pale."
Mike took the mug. The warmth of the ceramic felt good against his palms, but he had no appetite. He took a sip—the bitter liquid burned his tongue but didn't bring the expected comfort.
A sudden impulse made him set the coffee back on the table.
"I’ll be right back," he threw out and bolted from the kitchen.
He sprinted to the basement. His footsteps thundered on the wooden stairs. The basement greeted him with the smell of dampness, old board games, and paint. Will’s easel stood in the corner, covered with a cloth. The paints were neatly arranged. No one was there.
Mike quickly headed back up, glanced into the living room where Joyce usually sat when she was off work, but it was empty too—Joyce must have been in town on errands. He ran to the second floor again. He checked Nancy’s room—empty. The guest room—empty. He even looked into the hallway closet, not even understanding why.
His heart began to beat faster, heavy thuds against his ribs. Calm down, he commanded himself, stopping in the middle of the hallway. You’re just paranoid. After Vecna, you flinch at every rustle.
He returned to their room. Will’s bed still looked as if the boy had just climbed out of it. Mike stepped closer and touched the sheet. It was cold. So, Will had left a long time ago.
Mike tried to rationalize the situation. Maybe Jane needed help? Or Dustin had invented some new antenna for the radio? But why didn't Will leave a note? He always left notes. Even tiny scraps of paper with the words "At Lucas's, be back soon" or just a little drawn figure.
He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a bulky grey hoodie—it was soft and smelled like laundry detergent. Pulling it over his t-shirt, Mike felt a slight tremor in his hands. Jeans, sneakers... He tried to move as casually as possible to convince his brain that this was a normal Saturday.
He went back down to the kitchen. Karen was still there.
"Mike, are you alright? You look so preoccupied."
"Yeah, Mom. Just weird that he didn't wake me up. We were going to... uh... look at comics," he lied.
He took his coffee and sat at the table, staring into the dark surface of the drink. Steam rose in thin spirals. Mike tried to feel the same peace that had been here a minute ago, but the air now felt electrified.
He told himself: Will is a grown guy. He survived the Upside Down, he survived the torture of the Mind Flayer. He couldn't just vanish in quiet, sunny Hawkins in broad daylight. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe he just wanted to do a surprise? Buy new paints downtown? Or just take a walk alone?
But deep down, in the very core where his worst memories lived, a cold, sticky feeling began to grow. The feeling that the silence in this house wasn't peaceful. It was ominous.
Mike finished his coffee in one long, almost painful gulp. The taste of the drink was no longer felt—only a hot heaviness in his stomach. He mechanically wiped his lips with the sleeve of his hoodie, stood up, and headed back to the basement. He needed something more effective than just walking from room to room. The radio. Communication was the one thing that had always saved them when the world was going to hell.
Descending into the cool of the basement, Mike approached the table where their most fierce Dungeons & Dragons battles usually unfolded. There, among scattered character sheets and stray dice, lay two walkie-talkies. One belonged to him, the other to Will.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the black plastic casing of Will’s radio. It lay exactly where the boy had left it last night—right next to his own. Will never left the house without his radio. It was their ironclad rule, etched in blood and fear. Leaving the radio behind was like leaving without shoes or without a head.
Mike grabbed his device, feeling its rough surface, and pressed the call button. The metal of the antenna hummed slightly.
"Dustin, do you copy? This is Mike. Over."
He held his breath. The crackle of static seemed unbearably loud in the empty basement. Shhh... Then a voice came through.
"Copy that, Mike. Why are you screaming so early? Over."
"Early? Dustin, it’s almost one!" Mike nearly shouted into the mic. "Have you seen Will today? Or maybe he checked in? Over."
A short pause followed. Mike imagined Dustin sitting in his room, cluttered with spare parts, scratching the back of his head.
"No, I haven't seen him. Isn't he with you? You guys have been like Siamese twins lately. I thought you were having Karen's toast together and discussing how to fix my new robot. Over."
"That’s the thing, Dustin! I woke up and his bed was empty. The radio is here, at home. Mom says he left around ten, but nobody else is answering. Lucas is silent. Over."
"Hmm... that’s weird. Maybe he just forgot it? Though Will forgetting his radio sounds like science fiction. Listen, I’ll try to get through to the others. I’ll poke Erica too; she always knows where her brother is lurking. Let me know when you find him. I actually wanted to discuss an idea for our next trip to the Arcade—I figured out how to break the record on that new machine. Both of you come over later. Over."
"Copy that. I’ll stay in touch. Out."
Mike tossed the radio into his backpack without turning it off. He felt sweat starting to bead on his forehead, even though the basement was quite cool. He quickly ran upstairs, nearly knocking over a vase in the hallway.
"Mom, I’m going out! Be back later!" he yelled toward the kitchen, not waiting for a reply.
He burst onto the porch, blinded by the bright light. The midday heat had already warmed the air, and the smell of hot asphalt mixed with the scent of fresh-cut grass. But Mike didn't notice the beauty of the summer day. His gaze fell on the bike rack by the garage.
There were two bicycles standing there.
His own, and Will’s silver bike.
The panic, which until that moment had only been lightly scratching him from the inside, now collapsed with its full weight, stealing his breath. Will couldn't have gone far without a bike. He hated walking long distances, especially after he began to tire quickly following the Upside Down. Where could he have gone?
"Maybe Joyce dropped him off downtown in the car?"—a saving thought flashed through his mind. It seemed logical. Joyce could have picked him up before work. Or did he go to the woods? But why on foot?
Mike grabbed his bike, feeling the cold metal of the handlebars slightly burn his palms. He hopped onto the seat and began to pedal as fast as if demo-dogs were chasing him.
The road to Lucas's house felt endless. His legs ached—the soreness from their recent hike in the woods was making itself felt, every muscle movement echoing with sharp tension. But Mike ignored it. He ignored the sweat stinging his eyes and how the hoodie, which seemed so cozy in the morning, had now turned into a trap holding in the terrible heat.
He skidded to a halt at the Sinclair house, tossing his bike directly onto the grass. He didn't ring the bell. He began to pound on the door with his fists—rapidly, unrhythmically, desperately.
"Open up! Anybody!"
The door flew open, and Erica appeared on the threshold. She looked even more irritated than usual. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her gaze could have withered a plant on the spot.
"Wheeler, have you lost your mind? Are you trying to kick this door down? My dad just painted it!"
"Erica!" Mike breathed heavily, trying to swallow the dryness in his throat. "Is Lucas home? Did Will stop by?"
Erica rolled her eyes with an expression like Mike was the stupidest creature in the universe.
"My knucklehead brother is at practice somewhere. He left this morning, something about basketball and 'team spirit.' I couldn't care less where he’s hanging out as long as he’s not touching my stuff. And as for Will—no, he wasn't here. And thank God, at least one of you didn't come here demanding free pizza."
"Are you sure? Maybe he came by earlier?"
"Wheeler, I have a phenomenal memory for faces I don't like. Will wasn't here. Now get off my porch, you’re blocking my sun."
She slammed the door right in his face. Mike was left standing alone under the scorching rays. Will’s absence was becoming a physically tangible void.
He hopped on his bike again. Downtown. He had to check the store where Joyce worked.
The pedals spun almost automatically. Mike passed familiar houses, trees, and the faces of passersby, but it was all a blurred background. His brain painted pictures: Will standing on the roadside; Will talking to someone in the comic book shop. But reality remained empty.
When he reached Melvald’s General Store, he didn’t even bother looking for a parking spot. The bike went flying onto the asphalt, its wheels still spinning by inertia as Mike bolted inside.
The coolness of the air conditioner hit his face, bringing instant relief from the heat but none from the panic. The smell of paper, hardware goods, and cheap air freshener—it was a scent he forever associated with Joyce.
"Joyce!" he spotted her near the counter.
She looked up, adjusting her hair. Seeing Mike, she tensed slightly; her maternal instinct kicked in instantly.
"Mike? What happened? You’re bright red. Where’s Will?"
The question was a gut punch. She didn’t know.
Mike forced himself to freeze in place. He couldn’t scare Joyce now. She had already been through too much. He tried to make his voice sound casual, even though his heart was leaping out of his chest.
"Oh, he’s... isn't he home? We just agreed to meet here, downtown, we wanted to hit the Arcade. I overslept, and when I woke up, he was already gone. Thought maybe he stopped by to see you?"
Joyce relaxed slightly, though a shadow of concern remained in her eyes. "No, Mike. He didn't come by. I left for work early; he was still asleep. Maybe he’s already there, by the machines? You know how he loves beating you at that dragon game."
"Right, exactly. He’s probably there already. Thanks, Joyce! I gotta go!"
He flew out of the store, feeling the guilt of the lie, but right now, it didn’t matter. Next stop—the coffee shop. Max and Jane worked there. If Will was in town, he wouldn't skip seeing them.
A few teenagers stood outside the shop, laughing loudly and discussing something. Mike ignored them, nearly clipping the shoulder of an older man exiting with a paper cup. Inside, it smelled of ground coffee, cinnamon, and sweet syrup.
Max was behind the counter, adjusting her apron with the look of someone ready to kill over the next latte order. Jane was carefully wiping down tables nearby.
"Oh, look who it is," Max offered a sarcastic smirk, noticing Mike. "Wheeler, you look like you just ran a marathon through hell. What’s up with you?"
"Hi, Mike," Jane approached, her face bright and calm, but she immediately caught his nervousness.
"Hey, girls. How's it going?" Mike tried to smile, but his lips were trembling.
"Terrible," Max cut in. "I’m tired of smiling at people who don't know what they want. And Jane’s having a blast talking to everyone about the weather. You’re acting weird today, Mike. Where’s your shadow? Where’s Will?"
Mike felt a cold sweat run down his spine under his hoodie.
"That’s actually what I wanted to ask. Have you seen him? Did he stop by?"
The girls traded looks. Jane shook her head. "No, Mike. He hasn't been here. Is something wrong?"
"It’s just... I woke up, and he’s gone. Bike’s at home, radio’s at home. Mom says he left on foot. I’ve been looking for him for an hour."
"Oh, calm down, Wheeler," Max leaned her elbows on the counter. "Maybe he just decided he needed a break from your face? Even best friends get an overdose of each other. Go to the Arcade; Lucas is probably losing all his quarters there. He’ll know for sure."
"I was at his house, Erica says he’s at practice."
"Practice?" Max snorted. "Lucas is at the Arcade, I’m sure of it. He said he’d head there after lunch. He just ignores the radio when he’s playing."
Jane reached out and touched Mike’s shoulder. Her fingers were warm, grounding him for a second. "Mike, calm down. Sit. I’ll make you tea. Or coffee. You need to breathe."
"No, no, I’m okay," Mike backed away, though he actually wanted to collapse onto a chair and cry from the uncertainty. "I’ll stop by later. With Will. We’ll come for coffee, I promise."
He ran out of the coffee shop, feeling the sun scorching the back of his neck. The Arcade was right there.
Inside the Arcade, it was a world of half-shadows, sliced by neon lights and a cacophony of electronic sounds. Mike quickly found Lucas at one of the machines. He was completely absorbed in the game, his fingers rapidly mashing the buttons.
"Lucas!" Mike approached and yanked his shoulder.
"Hey! You ruined my combo!" Lucas shouted, turning around. "Oh, Mike. What are you doing here?"
"Will. Have you seen him?"
Lucas wiped his forehead with his hand. "No. I’ve been here for two hours. Thought you guys went to a movie or something. Why, what’s up?"
Mike didn't answer. He just turned and ran out. The sense of helplessness was becoming unbearable.
He rode into the woods. The bike bounced over tree roots; branches scratched his arms, leaving thin red welts. Castle Byers. Their place of power. He stopped by the rebuilt shack. Silence. Only the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds.
"Will!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Will, if this is a joke, it’s not funny!"
The answer was silence. The void in Mike's chest began to displace all rationality. He searched every bush around, checked their old "base"—nobody. It was as if Will had simply dissolved into thin air.
Mike dropped to his knees right in the dirt, gasping for air. Panic now ruled him completely. He looked at his trembling hands.
"Vecna is dead," he whispered, his voice breaking. "We won. This can't be happening again. He’s just... just delayed somewhere. Maybe he went to paint by the pond? Or..."
But logic suggested otherwise. No bike, no radio, no warning. In Hawkins, where danger had supposedly long been absent, a boy who feared loneliness more than anything had vanished.
Mike stood up, wiping tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks on their own. He couldn't give up. He had to find him. Even if he had to turn the whole town upside down.
The sun began to dip toward the horizon, turning the bright gold of the day into a thick, anxious copper. Mike pedaled so furiously that his leg muscles felt like they might tear from the strain. The soreness he had ignored in the morning had turned into a dull, throbbing pain that echoed in every joint. But this physical pain was nothing compared to the icy grip tightening around his chest.
He couldn't just go home. Not now. Not empty-handed.
Mike turned onto the forest trail leading to Hawkins Lake. This was their place—one of many. Here, by the shore, where the roots of old willows formed makeshift chairs, he and Will often spent summer evenings. Will would paint the water, trying to catch the glints of the setting sun, while Mike read new comic issues aloud or just talked about everything in the world.
The bike jumped over potholes. Branches of low shrubs whipped Mike's face, leaving sticky trails of sap and dust on his cheeks. He didn't care.
The lake greeted him with a mirror-like, almost unnatural silence. The water was dark blue, nearly black in the shadows of the banks. Mike braked so sharply that the back wheel skidded, kicking up a cloud of dry needles and sand.
"Will!" his voice rang over the water, cracked and weak.
He walked along the shore, peering into every hollow and crevice. The smell of damp silt and rotting leaves suddenly seemed unbearably sweet, almost sickening. He remembered how it smelled here the last time they were together—fresh, like summer and that specific scent of Will’s pencils. Now, it felt as if the forest were dying around him.
He checked the old pier. He checked the abandoned boat house. No one. Only an old, rusted soda can bobbed lonely near the shore.
Mike felt his heart skip a beat, then begin to hammer with a new force, though its rhythm was chaotic and staggered. His hands began to tremble subtly. He pressed his palms against the bike’s handlebars, trying to stop the vibration, but it came from within, from the very core of his spine.
“This couldn't have happened. Vecna is dead. Jane closed the gate. We won.”
Those words were supposed to be his armor, but they crumbled like dry sand. Will couldn't just vanish. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe he met someone from school? Maybe he felt sick and went to the hospital? But the bike... why was the bike left at home?
He rode back onto the road, checking every vacant lot and alleyway where they sometimes rested, hiding from prying eyes. He went to the old quarry where they used to look for interesting stones. Empty. Only the wind howled through the tall grass.
Despair began to displace hope. It wasn't the kind of despair that hits all at once, but a slow, poisonous fog filling his lungs. Mike stopped in the middle of the road, leaning heavily on the handlebars. He pulled the radio from his backpack. The metal was cold and damp from his sweat.
"Code Red," he spoke into the mic. His voice shook as violently as his hands. "Repeat, Code Red."
A few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Then the radio exploded with static, through which Lucas’s voice broke.
"Mike? What kind of joke is this? What Code Red? We agreed that’s only for..." Lucas trailed off, sensing something in his friend’s tone. "Mike, what happened?"
"Lucas..." Mike gasped, swallowing the hot evening air. "Will. He’s gone. He’s nowhere. Come to my place. Fast. Just come."
He didn't wait for an answer. He switched channels.
"Dustin! Did you hear? Gather the girls. Jane and Max. Someone pick them up from the coffee shop after their shift. Urgent. Everyone to my basement. Code Red."
Dustin answered instantly, his voice serious, stripped of its usual cheer: "Copy that, Mike. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes."
Mike threw the radio back into his bag. Now that he had given the signal, there was no turning back. It was official. Will Byers had disappeared again.
By the time he pulled up to his house, Hawkins was already sinking into purple twilight. The windows of the Wheeler house glowed with a cozy yellow light that now felt like a mockery to Mike. He dropped the bike near the entrance, not caring if it crushed Karen’s flowers, and bolted inside.
The smell of dinner—roasted chicken with herbs—hit his nose, triggering a wave of nausea.
"Mom!" he rushed into the kitchen.
Karen stood by the table, setting it for dinner. She looked calm, domestic. "Mike? You’re finally home. Where’s Will? I thought you’d come back together."
Mike froze, feeling the ground slide from under his feet. "He... he wasn't here? He didn't come by?"
Karen set the plate down and looked intently at her son. Her face paled the moment she noticed his state. "No, honey. I told you, he left this morning. Mike, my God, look at your hands... you’re shaking. What happened?"
He looked at his palms. They were indeed vibrating as if he were holding an invisible live wire. "I... I just rode too fast, Mom. Almost fell at the turn. It’s fine, just adrenaline."
Karen stepped closer, reaching out to touch his forehead, but Mike pulled away. "Do you want a bite to eat? You haven’t eaten since lunch. Let me get you some chicken."
"No, Mom, don't. I have no appetite. Friends are coming over; we’ll be in the basement. It’s... for school. A big project."
"Mike, be careful. You look like you’re about to faint."
He didn't listen. He turned and ran to the second floor. In his room, the first thing he did was rip off his grey hoodie. The fabric, which had felt soft that morning, now felt like sandpaper against his flushed skin. He threw it into a corner and remained in his t-shirt, which was damp with sweat across the back.
The room was exactly as it had been six hours ago. Will’s empty bed. Cold sheets. Mike went to the window and leaned against the sill. Outside, it was almost completely dark. The streetlights flickered on one by one, carving empty sidewalks out of the darkness.
He went to the bathroom. He turned on the tap and began splashing cold water onto his face. Once. twice. Ten times. Water ran down his collar, chilling his chest, but the fire inside wouldn't die down. He looked up at the mirror.
A stranger stared back. His black curls were disheveled, tangled from the wind and branches. His eyes glittered feverishly against a pale face, shadowed by deep circles. He looked like a man on the brink of a breakdown.
"Calm down," he whispered to his own reflection. "Breathe. One, two, three..."
He closed his eyes, trying to find any rational explanation. A surprise? Maybe Will was preparing a grand D&D campaign and went to the woods for inspiration? But he would have said something. He would have told Mike.
The hiss of the radio from the room made him flinch. He bolted out of the bathroom and grabbed the device.
"Mike, it's Dustin. We’re pulling up. Be there in two minutes. Is Lucas there yet?"
"No, I’m waiting in the basement. Come straight through the back door. I’ll be there."
He switched off the radio and sat on Will’s bed. He ran a hand over the pillow, feeling the texture of the pillowcase. He could still catch the faint scent of Will—something like cedar and old paper. This scent was his last link to a reality where everything was okay.
Mike stood up and began descending to the basement. Every step on the stairs echoed in his head like a hammer blow. He hadn't noticed how fast time had passed. Between the frantic riding and the panicked shouts into the void of the forest, evening had fully taken over the town.
The basement greeted him with its usual chill. Mike turned on the light. The bulb overhead flickered slightly before burning steady. He walked to the table where Will’s radio lay. He took it in his hands, gripping the plastic until his knuckles ached.
"We won," flashed through his mind again. "We couldn't have lost now. Not like this. Not this way."
He heard footsteps outside, muffled voices, the clatter of bikes against the side of the house. Then the basement door opened, letting in the cool night air and the scent of a storm gathering on the horizon.
Lucas came in first, followed by Dustin, Max, and Jane. They all looked anxious, their faces tight under the bright light of the lamps. Jane went straight to Mike, her eyes searching his gaze for answers he couldn't give.
"Mike?" she called softly. "Where is he?"
Mike opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He simply raised his hand, holding Will’s radio.
A silence so heavy fell over the basement that it felt as if the walls were closing in. It was the silence of Hawkins. The silence that always preceded a storm. The silence that meant only one thing: their victory had been nothing but an illusion.
The air in the Wheeler basement grew thick and heavy. Table lamps cast long, jagged shadows against walls lined with shelves of games and comics. Mike stood in the center of the room, pale as chalk, his gaze frantic. He recounted the morning’s events to his friends: the cold emptiness of the bed, the silent static of the radio.
"I’ve been everywhere," Mike’s voice broke; he gestured desperately, trying to convey the horror that had seized him at the lake. "The lake, the quarry, Castle Byers... He’s nowhere. Bike’s at home, radio’s at home. It makes no sense! Will would never leave on foot without a word. You know him!"
His friends listened in total silence. The lightheartedness that had been in Dustin’s or Lucas’s eyes just a minute ago vanished without a trace. Even Max, who usually had a sarcastic remark ready, only clenched her fists, staring into the void of the basement.
"Maybe he just... you know, went for a walk in the woods?" Lucas started tentatively, but cut himself off under Mike’s glare. "I know, it sounds thin. But we beat Vecna. The Upside Down is closed. The danger is gone."
"That’s exactly what I keep telling myself!" Mike cried out, his throat burning with dryness. "Every damn second I repeat it! But this feeling..." he touched his chest. "It’s the same. Like when we first found his jacket in the water. It’s like a nausea-inducing déjà vu."
Dustin adjusted his hat, his face focused. "We’ve been through this. If it’s not the Upside Down, what could it be? A human factor? But who in Hawkins would want to take Will?"
Jane, who had been sitting on the sofa silently watching Mike, suddenly stood up. Her face was stern and determined. She felt Mike’s anxiety as sharply as her own.
"I need silence," she said in a quiet but firm voice. "And the blindfold. I will find him."
The room snapped into motion. Dustin pulled out the old black blindfold, Mike brought a bowl of water—a familiar ritual they had hoped never to perform again. They began tuning the radio to white noise. The crackle of interference filled the basement, mingling with the smell of dust and stagnant air.
Jane sat on the floor. Mike carefully tied the fabric around her eyes. His fingers brushed her skin—it was cold.
"Be careful, Jane," he whispered.
Jane nodded and plunged into the darkness of her mind. Everyone fell silent. It seemed that even the ticking of the clock on the wall grew louder. Lucas, Dustin, and Max froze, barely breathing, afraid to shatter the girl's fragile focus.
Jane wandered through the void. It was a vast black ocean where thoughts and memories drifted by like distant stars. She was looking for Will. She was searching for that specific, bright spark of his soul she knew so well—warm, slightly sad, but unbreakable. She tried to feel the chill of the Upside Down, that sticky, rotting sensation that always accompanied Vecna’s shadow.
But the Upside Down wasn't there. There was only silence and emptiness.
"I don't see the red light," she whispered, her voice echoing in the basement. "The Upside Down... it's closed. He isn't there."
Relieved sighs swept through the room. Max closed her eyes, letting hope return for a second. If it wasn't the Upside Down, maybe Will had just gotten lost in the real world?
But Jane kept searching. She delved deeper into the darkest corners of Hawkins' collective unconscious. She wandered through people's minds, searching for a familiar image. A thin trickle of blood began to flow slowly from her nose—a sign that she was pushing herself to the limit.
"Will?" she called into the void.
Nothing. Not a single echo. No vibration. She tried to find his mind in the Wheeler house, in the forest, on the city streets. He was nowhere. Panic began to wash over her as well. How was this possible? A person couldn't just be erased from the mental map.
She yanked the blindfold off. Her eyes were bloodshot, and blood was dripping onto her t-shirt. Mike was by her side instantly, holding out a towel.
"Jane? What did you see?"
She took a deep breath, wiping the blood with a trembling hand. Her gaze was full of terror. "He’s gone, Mike. I looked everywhere. Nowhere at all. It’s like... like he doesn't exist in this world. He's not in the forest, not in the city. His mind simply... doesn't exist."
"What do you mean 'doesn't exist'?!" Dustin shouted, jumping up. "How is that possible? He couldn't have just evaporated!"
"I don't know!" Jane was almost screaming, her voice shaking. "I feel people. I feel all of you. I feel Mike’s mom upstairs. But Will... he’s not here. Only emptiness."
Suddenly, the lights in the basement began to flicker. The lamps crackled, showering electric sparks. It wasn't the rhythmic blinking they were used to during Mind Flayer attacks. This was a chaotic, frenzied light that seemed to respond to an unseen vibration in the air itself.
"Jane, calm down!" Dustin leaned toward her. "It’s okay, we’ll figure something out!"
"It’s not me!" she cried, covering her ears. "It’s not my energy! I’m not doing anything!"
The light went out for a few seconds, plunging them into total darkness, then flared back up brighter than before. Screams from Karen could be heard from upstairs. Without wasting a second, the group bolted out of the basement.
In the kitchen, there was chaos. Karen stood in the center of the room, staring at the flickering chandelier. Ted and Holly sat at the table, terrified by the sudden glitch.
"Mike! Did you turn on some powerful equipment down there?" Karen asked, her voice strained.
"Mom, stay calm. It’s probably just a grid failure. There’s a storm brewing," Mike glanced at Dustin.
And then they heard it. Footsteps.
They were coming from the second floor. Heavy, measured steps across the wooden floor. Ted, Karen, and Holly were all here in the kitchen. The upstairs should have been empty.
"Ted, did you hear that?" Karen whispered.
"Someone’s up there," Mike was already dashing toward the stairs.
They sprinted to the second floor. The sound of footsteps was coming directly from Mike’s room. Mike’s heart hammered so hard he feared it would crack his ribs. He reached the door first and threw it open.
The room was in semi-darkness. The window was open, and the evening breeze billowed the curtains, bringing the scent of ozone and wet earth. In the middle of the room, with his back to them, stood a figure.
It was Will.
He stood by his bed, looking out the window. He was wearing his Dungeons & Dragons outfit—the purple robes of the Wise. But this wasn't the homemade costume made of cheap fabric they had sewn together. This fabric looked heavy; it shimmered in the moonlight filtering through the clouds.
"Will!" Mike cried out, and in that shout was everything: relief, fury, fear, and love. "You... you scared the hell out of us! Where were you?"
He rushed toward his friend. The others followed, surrounding Will with hugs, all talking at once about how scared they were and how they had looked everywhere.
"Will, man, I thought we’d have to crawl through the sewers again!" Dustin clapped him on the shoulder.
But Will didn't hug them back. He stood motionless, as if petrified. And then they heard his voice. It was familiar, but it held a new depth, a velvety rasp that hadn't been there before.
"Where am I?" he asked quietly.
Mike pulled back, looking at his friend in confusion. "What do you mean 'where'? You're home, Will. In our room. What's wrong with you? Did you hit your head?"
The boy pulled away from their embrace. He took a step back, looking at them as if seeing them for the first time. His gaze was no longer confused; it was confident and wary.
"I am asking seriously," he said louder. "Where am I? And why are you all so... so unusual?"
Lucas, standing by the switch, flipped it. Light flooded the room.
Everyone gasped in unison. Standing before them was Will Byers, but it wasn't the Will they knew yesterday.
His hair, which he always wore in a bowl cut, was now significantly longer, falling in soft waves to his shoulders. He had grown a bit taller, and his posture was straight, almost regal. He wore luxurious purple robes with gold embroidery—intricate runes that seemed to glow slightly from within. The material looked like velvet mixed with something otherworldly.
Mike noticed small details that made his heart stop: there was a thin gold hoop in Will’s left ear, and a ring with a large black stone on his finger. The boy smelled strange—a mixture of incense, an old library, and fresh mountain air.
But the biggest shock was his eyes.
Will looked at them directly. And in his right eye, right on the pupil, was a golden six-pointed star. It was the exact image Will had once drawn in his sketchbook while describing his character—Will the Wise.
"What the hell..." echoed through the room almost in chorus.
Will—or whoever looked like Will—shifted his shoulder, adjusting the heavy cloak. He scanned the room, lingering on the movie posters and scattered comics. His gaze settled on Mike. For a moment, something like recognition flickered in the Wise One's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold calculation.
"You look like my friends," he said, touching the ring on his hand. "But you are younger. And this world... there is too little magic in it. And too much... plastic."
Jane stepped forward, her eyes wide with wonder. "Will? Is it you?"
The boy with the golden star in his eye gave a faint smile—a smile full of knowledge no teenager from Hawkins could possess. "I am Will the Wise. And it seems I have just made a very big mistake with a translocation spell."
Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the wind outside. Mike looked at this new Will and felt the world around him begin to crack. This wasn't the Upside Down. This was something much more complex and, perhaps, much more dangerous.
"Where... where are you from?" Mike whispered.
Will the Wise walked to the mirror where, a few minutes ago, Mike had tried to calm himself. He looked at his reflection, touching the star in his eye with his fingers. "I am from a place where the Empire was not saved, Paladin. I am from a place where we had to become who we were only playing as."
He turned to them, and gold flared in his eyes. "Now tell me: where is the real Will of this world? Because if I am here... then he is in a place where even I was afraid to stay. Or perhaps somewhere even worse."