Chapter Text
Will frowns, his eyebrows knitting together so tightly it almost hurts, as he lowers himself to one knee. The forest around him feels wrong, too quiet, like it’s holding its breath, and the ground beneath him is soft in a way that makes his stomach twist. Not mud. Not quite.
In front of him, a vine pulses.
Not sways, not shifts with the wind( there is no wind), but pulses. A slow, wet throb, like something alive forcing blood through a body that shouldn’t exist. The surface of it tightens, then bulges, then splits ever so slightly as something inside pushes outward.
Will leans back instinctively, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. He should move. He should leave. But, he doesn’t, not just yet.
The vine convulses.
A thick, viscous sludge spills out onto the forest floor with a sickening glorp, spreading in a sluggish heap. It moves on its own, not flowing but wriggling, colors shifting beneath its surface, green bleeding into red, red into something darker, something almost black. Veins- no, not veins, just patterns, just tricks of the light, pulse faintly through it.
Will swallows hard, his throat tight.
“Gross,” he mutters, but the word comes out thin, strained, like it doesn’t belong to him.
He forces himself closer anyway. His hand trembles as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a serving spoon, plastic, cheap, something so normal it feels obscene here. The moment it touches the sludge, it reacts. The whole mass tightens, contracting around the spoon as if it’s aware, as if it feels him. Will flinches but doesn’t pull away, his grip tightening despite the wave of nausea rising in his chest. Slowly, carefully, he scoops up a glob. It clings, stretching in thin, stringy threads that don’t quite break, like it’s reluctant to let go of the ground, or maybe reluctant to leave the vine behind. The glob sits heavy on the spoon, trembling, little ripples moving across its surface like something is shifting underneath.
Watching him.
Will’s stomach lurches. He quickly shoves it into the plastic bag, but the second it hits, it starts moving again, wriggling against the sides, smearing streaks of murky color as if searching for a way out. The bag crackles loudly in his hands, the sound sharp and wrong in the suffocating silence.
Then the smell hits him immediately, overpowering. Will gags, doubling over slightly as his free hand flies to his mouth. It’s not just rot, not just decay. It’s metallic, thick with the scent of copper, like fresh blood left too long in the air. Underneath that is something stale, suffocating, like air trapped in a sealed room for years. And beneath that, something sweet.It had always smelled bad here, like rust and death and things that shouldn’t exist, but this… this is different. This is new. Worse. Alive in a way the rest of it isn’t.
Will forces himself to breathe through his mouth, though it barely helps. His hands shake as he twists the bag shut, fingers fumbling as the thing inside presses weakly against the plastic, distorting its shape. He jerks the tie tight. The movement inside stills.
Will doesn’t look at it again. He can’t.
He stuffs the bag into his backpack, pushing it down beneath everything else, but the moment he pulls the zipper closed and lifts the bag onto his shoulders, he feels it shift. A faint, wet squelch right against his back. Disgusting, and far too close. For a moment, he just stands there, frozen, listening. The woods remain silent. No birds. No insects. Just that distant, almost imperceptible throb of the vine behind him.
Or maybe, not just the vine.
Will swallows hard, forcing his legs to move.
He steps forward, deeper into the woods, trying, and failing, to ignore the subtle movement in his backpack, and the awful, creeping feeling that something is now coming with him.
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“Lucas won't even look at me anymore, and Dustin's been flaking on our meetups. I can probably figure it out on my own, but all our supplies are in Dustin's room, he has the beakers and the fish tanks so my mom won't find them-” Will shifts where he sits, drawing his knees tight to his chest, arms looped around them like he’s trying to hold himself together. His cheek rests against the fabric of his jeans, and for a second he just watches Mike, really watches him, like he’s memorizing something he might lose.
“Do you want me to put it back?”
“No- no, if the vines are growing, we need to figure out what this stuff is as soon as possible. I just- I don't know. I need the others.”
“They’ll listen to you, Mike,” Will says quietly. There’s something fragile under it, something that doesn’t quite reach certainty. “They have to.”
Mike lets out a rough breath, dragging both hands down his face hard enough to pull at his skin. “They never do.” Will shifts closer without thinking, one leg unfolding just enough to nudge against Mike’s thigh, a small, grounding touch. Mike reacts instantly, like he needs it, his hand closing around Will’s ankle and tugging his foot into his lap. His fingers press into the soft, almost translucent skin there, kneading gently, absentmindedly, like he’s checking that Will is still real. “It's up to us again.”
“But this is serious,” Will presses, softer now, like he’s afraid of something overhearing. “Things with Chrissy… they’re getting worse. I don’t know how to help her.” His voice dips, tightens. “And- he’s getting closer to Max. I can feel it.” Mike’s grip stills for half a second. “When she plays music, though,” Will continues quickly, eyes flicking toward the treeline like it might be listening, “it helps. It’s like he can’t get all the way in. He just… stays. Waiting.”
Mike swallows. “Would it help if I got you a Walkman?” he blurts, the words tumbling over each other. “I could go after school- I’ll just stop by the mall, it’s not a big deal, I can;”
“Mike.” Will’s voice softens, and when Mike looks up, Will is already watching him through his lashes, something small and fond tugging at his mouth despite everything. “You don’t need to do that.”
“But-”
“I can just take one if I have to,” Will adds, quieter. “But this- this matters more right now.”
“I can still get you one,” Mike insists, almost stubborn, his thumb slipping under the hem of Will’s pant leg, brushing slow circles into his skin. “Someone might see you.”
Will huffs a faint breath, almost a laugh, but it fades too quickly. His shoulders dip, and he looks down, nudging a loose paper on the ground with his toe. “They won’t,” he whispers. “You know they won’t.”
The air shifts, colder somehow. Mike’s chest tightens. “I know,” he murmurs, softer now, like an apology. His hand moves more carefully, more deliberately against Will’s skin. “I know. I’ll figure it out, okay? You said music, so we’ll use music.”
“Music,” Will echoes, nodding. “And-” Will pauses, body freezing. His spine straightens, fingers curling around his sleeves, stomach dropping.
“Will?”
Will’s head tilts slightly, face turned towards the flap leading outside. “Mike-”
“I know,” Mike cuts in, standing up fast enough that his knees pop. “Are they close?”
Will exhales shakily, pushing himself to his feet. “Not too close, but close enough” he sighs, and there’s something strained in it now, something pulled thin. “The bats are the worst. I can’t always feel them until they’re right above me.”
Mike’s stomach twists. He steps closer, not even thinking about it, following as Will starts toward the edge of Castle Byers. “Do you have enough supplies?” he asks quickly. “Food, water, bullets-”
“Yeah,” Will snorts, and there’s a flicker of something fond again as he glances back at him. “I've got it all. I'll be fine, I just don't want them to risk opening a portal here.”
“Might be good,” Mike mutters, scanning Will's face, lingering on the mole above his upper lip. “Then I could just grab you and run.” They were trembling. Cold.
“Mike-” Will's face twists, conflictef, and Mike doesn’t hesitate, yanking his sweater up and over his head, the cold hitting his skin instantly, and shoves it into Will’s hands. Will blinks at it. “I-”
“Just take it.” For a second, Will looks like he might argue, but he doesn't. He looks at Mike for a long moment before shrugging off Jonathan's jacket, handing it to Mike, and tugging the sweater onto his body. It flooded him, just a little. Mike didn't even care that he was just in a T-shirt right now and would probably be covered in goosebumps in a few minutes from the wind. “Better?”
“Better,” Will murmurs, pushing his arms through the holes of Jonathan's jacket. Mike's hands settle on his shoulders, squeezing, and Will presses his lips together, but Mike can see the little smile tugging at him. His stomach swoops.
“You should take my clothes more often. They have less holes, and- I want you to have them.”
“Tell me how it goes?” Will asks instead of responding, and Mike tries not to wince at the rejection. Not a rejection, not exactly, even if it felt like one. “I should check on Chrissy. Make sure she’s-” he hesitates, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Clear.”
Mike doesn’t like the way he says it, conflicted and tense. He hates when they have to say goodbye and he's stuck remembering that he can't just go to Will's house and steal time with him. He steps forward and pulls Will into a hug before he can think too hard about it, and Will melts into it after a second, shifting just enough to slide one arm up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of Mike’s neck. They fit perfectly against one another, snug, and it's enough that Mike doesn't break down like he kind of wants to. Will scratches against his scalp ever so slightly, something so small, and Mike shoves his face into Will's shoulder, breathing him in.
Underneath everything, underneath the soap and Mike's cologne and the faint, lingering scent of outside air, there's rot. Like mold, faint and clinging, enough to make Mike a little sick to his stomach. Mike tightness his grip anyway, wrapped around Will's middle, bent over and somehow lifting Will up to his toes anyway. “Stay safe,” he murmurs, right into the skin on Will's neck. He feels him shiver, but it's not the kind he used to get, pale and shuddering and crying where only Mike could hear him.
Will lets out a quiet laugh, a little nasally. “I’ll try.” He pulls back just enough to look at him, expression softening again, but there’s urgency creeping in at the edges now, like something is tugging on him from somewhere else. Mike wants to scream, just a little. “I have to go,” Will adds. “The longer I stay-”
“The easier it is for him to find you,” Mike finishes, the words heavy in his mouth. “The weaker you get.” Will nods once, and Mike swallows hard. “Will you come back tonight?”
A small shrug. “If I can.” He steps back, out of Mike's bubble, away from his touch. “Remember the music, okay?” Will says.
“Got it-” Mike starts, but Will flickers. It’s not instant, and not clean, the way that Will passes by the slides. For a split second, something about it stretches, distorts, like a bad signal. Like he’s being pulled somewhere else in pieces. Then, he’s gone and the space he leaves behind feels colder than it should.
Mike stands there for a second, staring at nothing, his skin prickling like something unseen just brushed past him on its way out. It drags down the length of his arm, freezing his hand, and then it's gone. His sweater is gone, too. Another one that his mom is going to hound him for with Mike making up shitty little excuses that she doesn't believe.
He exhales shakily, forcing himself to move, to bend and grab Will's backpack from the ground. The normalcy of it feels thin. The same routine.
If he hurries, he can still make it back before third period.
He looks back exactly seven times as he leaves, as if he could spot Will again. It's pointless, but he can't help himself.
___________________________________
Mike drops into the seat harder than he means to, the metal legs of the chair screeching against the tile. A few heads turn. The cafeteria noise dips for half a second, just enough to make his chest tighten, before it swells back up again, loud and careless and normal.
Across from him, Dustin looks up mid-bite, cheeks full, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Where were you this time?” he asks, words muffled through bread. Mike doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick up, scanning the room, left, right, over shoulders, past tables. Teachers, students, no one looking too closely. His fingers twitch against the edge of the table. Dustin sighs, long-suffering, already swallowing his bite. “You’re doing the thing again,” he mutters. “The paranoid-”
“I was with Will,” Mike cuts in under his breath.
Dustin stills. It’s subtle, but Mike catches it, the way his shoulders go tight, the way his hand pauses just before it reaches for his drink. A beat, then Dustin exhales, pushing his sandwich down onto the tray like it suddenly weighs too much. “Okay,” he says, quieter now. Careful. “And?”
Mike leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping even lower. “He told me something. Something bad. We need Lucas and Max- like, now. We need everyone.”
Dustin winces, his face twisting as he glances down at his tray instead of meeting Mike’s eyes. “You know Lucas doesn’t like talking about Will.”
Mike stares at him, incredulous. “That’s because he’s a piece of shit-”
“Mike.” Dustin’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to cut through him anyway. A couple kids at the next table glance over again, and Dustin lowers his voice further, leaning in. “Can we not?” he adds, quieter, something strained under the words.
Mike’s jaw tightens. “You know he’s-”
“Mike,” Dustin whispers again, and this time there’s something worse in it, something almost pleading. His eyes flick up finally, and there’s a flicker of guilt there, of pure discomfort, like he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Like he’s already had it too many times in his head. Mike falters.
The fight drains out of him in a rush, leaving him slumped in his seat, shoulders heavy. He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling hard through his nose. “Fine,” he mutters. “Fine.”
For a second, neither of them says anything. The noise of the cafeteria presses in again, laughter, trays clattering, someone shouting across the room. It all feels too loud, too far away at the same time. Dustin pokes at his sandwich but doesn’t pick it back up. “How are you feeling?”
Mike stares at the table, then leans in again, voice tight. “ I feel fine, but- this isn’t nothing, Dustin. He said-”
“Tonight,” Dustin cuts in quickly, almost tripping over the word. “Can we just- do this tonight?” Dustin’s not looking at him, he’s just staring at his tray, pushing a loose piece of lettuce around with his finger, over and over again. “Just… not now, man,” Dustin adds, softer. “Please. I can't.”
Mike hesitates, then leans back in his chair, the tension coiling tighter in his chest instead of easing. “Yeah, okay, whatever,” he says after a moment, quieter now. “My basement after school?”
Dustin nods quickly, relief flickering across his face before he can hide it. “For sure. I'll be there, promise.” He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly, and nudges his tray toward Mike. “Did you think about it?”
Mike frowns. “About what?”
Dustin gestures vaguely, like it should be obvious. “Hellfire.”
For a second, Mike just stares at him. Then he presses his lips together, irritation creeping back in. “We have bigger problems than a D&D club, Dustin.” His voice sharpens despite himself. “Same with basketball. We need to figure out what to do about-”
“-I’m heading to class early,” Dustin cuts in abruptly. He pushes the tray the rest of the way toward Mike, harder this time, like he needs the space between them. “Try and eat something,” Dustin adds, already standing, already slinging his backpack over his shoulder. His voice softens just a little. “And just… think about Hellfire, okay? Eddie’s cool. I promise.”
Mike doesn’t respond. Dustin lingers for half a second, like he’s waiting. For what, Mike doesn’t know, but Dustin turns anyway and disappears into the crowd, swallowed up almost instantly.
Mike sits there, unmoving, his hands curling into fists beneath the table. Tonight was hours from now, way too far away, and he's just, what? Supposed to go to classes and sit there like nothing is wrong?
Will’s voice echoes in his head, quiet and urgent, the way it had gone tight at the end. They’re getting closer.
Mike swallows hard, staring down at the food he has no intention of eating. For a split second, he swears he hears something else layered under the cafeteria noise, a distant, high-pitched screech.
He jerks his head up. Nothing. Just voices. Laughter. The scrape of chairs. Normal. Mike exhales shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he mutters to himself, pushing the tray away. “Great timing.”
He doesn't bother throwing it away even though he knows Will would scold him for it, ducking out of the cafeteria early. Maybe he can catch Lucas before class, or something.
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Will sighs, the sound thin and worn, as he sits cross-legged in the dirt at the end of the long, cracked driveway. The ground here is wrong, too hard in places, too brittle in others, and it shifts faintly beneath his weight, like something underneath it is breathing.
“Come on, Eleven,” he murmurs, quieter than he means to. His voice doesn’t carry the way it should. It gets swallowed, dragged down into the stillness. “Talk to me.”
Nothing answers.
Not the wind, because as we've established, there isn’t any. Not the trees, their blackened branches frozen mid-reach. Not the building looming at the end of the drive, its shape warped and sagging in on itself like it’s rotting from the inside out.
Hawkins Lab.
Even here, in this place, it feels watchful. Will keeps his eyes fixed on it anyway, like if he looks away, something will move. “She’ll hear me,” he whispers to himself this time, more insistence than belief. Positive mindset, and all that. “She always does.”
Minutes crawl by, each one longer than the last. Will picks at the dirt beside him, scraping shallow lines into it with his fingernails, only to watch them slowly fill back in with damp, gray dust. The air smells like rust and something sour, something old. It clings to the back of his throat. He shifts, glancing down the driveway again.
He squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating, trying to reach, trying to feel that faint thread that sometimes connects them, like a radio signal just barely tuned in. “El,” he tries again, softer. “Please.”
For a second, just a second, he thinks he feels something. A flicker, a brief pressure behind his eyes. Then, it’s gone.
Will’s shoulders sag.
“Okay,” he mutters, voice cracking just slightly. “Okay. You’re just busy.”
Busy means she’s alive, and he just needs to be patient.
Time drags. The stillness presses in closer, heavier, until it feels like it’s sitting on his chest. Somewhere far off, something screeches, high and sharp, and then abruptly cuts off, like it was strangled mid-sound. An electronic noise, through.
Will doesn’t flinch, he just waits. By the time he opens his eyes again, the light, if it can even be called that here, hasn’t changed at all, but his legs have gone numb, pins and needles creeping up his calves. He shifts with a wince, bracing a hand against the ground as he pushes himself upright. “Figures,” he mumbles, more to fill the silence than anything else.
They’ve got her doing something, the way they always do. His gaze drifts back to the building, lingering on the warped outline of the entrance, the place where the fence sags inward like something forced its way through. His stomach twists. “Yeah,” he says under his breath, like he’s answering something no one asked. “You’re busy.”
He turns, brushing dirt off his hands, and starts to stand, then hesitates. The driveway stretches empty between him and the lab, coated in that same thin layer of gray, dust-like ash. No footprints except his own. No movement. It's too empty and it's too quiet, if they send her in again there'll be nothing there and no sign he was waiting.
Will huffs out a small, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Stupid,” he spits, but he’s already shrugging off his jacket. “So, so stupid.” It’s too big on him, worn soft at the sleeves, the fabric familiar in a way that makes his chest ache. For a second, he just holds it, fingers tightening in the material. But, Mike's sweater is warm enough, and it's worth the risk.
The metal of the fence is wrong too, the way everything on this side of the veil was. Darkened, veined with something that looks almost organic, like it’s been infected. It hums faintly under his touch, a low vibration he can feel in his bones more than hear. Will swallows and forces himself not to pull away. “Just… take it, okay?” he says quietly, like she’s already there. “ For the next time you come through.” His voice dips, softer. “So you know I was here.” He drapes the jacket carefully over one of the bent wires, making sure it won’t slip. It snags slightly, catching on a jagged edge, and for a second he has to tug it loose before settling it more securely. It hangs there, limp and out of place against the decay. A piece of the real world. “If someone else finds it…” he adds, quieter now, gaze flicking toward the darkened entrance of the lab. “They’ll take it back before they die, and they- they can't know. Remember?”
The words disappear into the stillness. Maybe he's crazy. Will stares at the jacket for a long moment, committing it to memory, where it hangs, how it looks, proof that this happened, that he’s still here.
A tug pulls on his stomach. It's subtle, but he feels it, the sickness. He can feel the pressure, the weight. Hawkin’s high. Chrissy. Him. “Yeah,” he whispers to himself, backing away slowly. “Time to go.” He lingers for one more second, eyes flicking back to the jacket. “Find it,” he murmurs, almost pleading. “Please.”
He ignores the guilt he feels, leaving before connecting, but this was more important at the moment.
___________________________________
Mike lingers in the hallway longer than he needs to, back pressed against the cool row of lockers, eyes fixed on the girls’ bathroom door like it might give something away if he stares hard enough.
The door swings open.
Chrissy stumbles out.
Mike straightens immediately, breath catching. She doesn’t even look up, just wipes her mouth hard with the back of her arm, over and over, like she’s trying to get rid of something that won’t come off. Her face is pale, eyes glassy and unfocused, and for a second Mike thinks she might collapse right there. His stomach twists.
“Hey-” he starts, stepping forward, but she’s already moving, fast, head down, practically speed-walking down the hall like if she stops, something will catch up to her. She doesn’t hear him. Or she does, and she doesn’t care. Either way, she’s gone in seconds. Mike stands there, frozen, unease crawling up his spine.
Will’s voice flickers in the back of his mind, repeating. She’s getting worse.
Mike swallows hard, eyes snapping back to the bathroom door. He waits. The door creaks open a second time, a few minutes later, and Max steps out. She doesn’t stumble like Chrissy did, but she’s not steady either. There’s something off in the way she moves, too stiff, like she’s holding herself together by force. Her eyes flick once down the hallway, sharp, scanning, then she sees him. For a split second, something flashes across her face. Fear.
“Max-” Mike says quickly, pushing off the lockers. She cuts him off without a word. Her hands come up, quick and practiced, slipping her headphones over her ears like a shield. The faint tinny sound of music leaks out as she presses them tight, jaw clenched, walking right past him. “Max, wait-” Mike tries again, stepping into her path, but she angles around him without even slowing down, eyes fixed straight ahead. There’s something wrong in her expression, too focused, too distant, like she’s trying not to look at anything for too long.
Mike hesitates. He could grab her arm, stop her, force her to listen to him. But- Will said the music helps. Will told him that information so he could do something about it. He trusted it to him.
Mike’s hand hovers in the air for a second, fingers twitching, then slowly drops back to his side. Max keeps walking. The sound of her footsteps fades down the hall, swallowed up by the same heavy quiet she left behind. Mike stands there, heart pounding, staring after her long after she’s gone. She didn't look upset, more so just shaken, completely out of it.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he mutters under his breath. He glances once more at the bathroom door, half-expecting it to open again, half-expecting something else to step out. It doesn’t. Mike shifts his backpack higher on his shoulder, forcing his feet to move. Dustin already promised to come, so- that's one, at least. He still has a chance with Lucas.
___________________________________
When Will gets home, the house feels dim in that heavy, suffocating way it always does now, like the air itself is tired. His mom is already on the couch.
She’s hunched over the coffee table, shoulders curled inward, surrounded by a scatter of papers that spill off the edges and onto the floor. Bills. Notices. Envelopes torn open and left gaping. The only light in the room comes from the window behind her, pale and weak, outlining her in shadow. Everything else is dark.
Will lingers in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She looks smaller like this, tired in a way that doesn’t go away with sleep. His chest aches.Slowly, he lifts his hand and reaches for the lamp beside him. His fingers don’t quite touch it, not really, but he brushes close enough.
The bulb flickers, and then it flows.
His mom’s head snaps up so fast it almost startles him. “Will?” she breathes, already half-rising from the couch. “Baby, is that you?” Will pulls his hand back on instinct, and the light dims again, the room threatening to swallow her whole. He swallows hard, then he nudges it again.
Once.
Twice.
His mom exhales like the air’s been knocked out of her, sinking back into the couch. Relief and exhaustion tangle together in her expression. “Hi,” she whispers, voice breaking just a little. Will’s throat tightens.
“Hi,” he whispers back, even though he knows she can’t hear him.
She rubs a hand over her face, pushing her hair back shakily. “Did you eat earlier?” she asks, already looking around like she might find proof of him somewhere in the room. “I left you some breakfast out, but I haven’t- I haven’t gotten around to making lunch yet, and it's a little late but there's leftovers in the fridge-”
Will flicks the lamp twice.
She nods to herself, clinging to it. “Good. That’s good.” Her voice softens, almost relieved. “Your brother’s at work right now, but I’ll let him know you ate, okay? He worries.”
Will’s stomach turns. Jonathan doesn’t worry about him- not anymore. Will presses his lips together, gaze dropping to the floor. Jonathan had stopped listening a long time ago. It didn’t matter how many times Will tried, how many nights he sat here, flickering the lights, spelling things out slow and careful, hoping, Jonathan never stayed. He was too busy grieving someone he thought was gone, keeping the house in tact, and Will can't blame him. Not after their dad showed up, took one look at that fake corpse, and turned it into money before disappearing again. The memory makes something cold twist in his chest.
Only Mike had ever really seen him. Only Mike had looked at him and said you’re still here, like it was a fact. Like it wasn’t something that needed to be proven.
Will’s mom thinks he’s a ghost, but Mike never did. He doesn't quite know which is right. He forces the thought down and moves closer to the wall, fingers trembling slightly as he reaches for the string of Christmas lights tacked unevenly along it. They buzz faintly under his touch.
“Hey,” his mom says softly, leaning forward, her whole body suddenly alert again. “What is it, baby? Did something happen?”
Will hesitates.
He hates this part, hates dragging her into it. But sometimes… sometimes, he doesn’t have a choice.
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Each letter flickers one by one, uneven but readable. His mom’s breath catches. “Will?” she whispers, horror bleeding into her voice. She pushes herself up off the couch now, stepping closer, like she might be able to reach him if she just gets close enough. “Are you safe?” Will freezes. He swallows, forcing himself to answer.
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The lights dim between each flicker, like they’re struggling to keep up. His mom presses a hand to her mouth, eyes shining. “What’s happening?” she asks, voice trembling now. “Will, baby, what is it?”
Will gnaws at his bottom lip, something sharp and metallic filling his mouth. He can feel it, the pressure at the back of his skull, the way the world around him feels thinner the longer he stays here. He doesn’t have much time.
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The lights buzz louder, flickering faster now. “I do,” she says quickly, almost desperately. But there’s hesitation under it. Fear. Confusion. “I do, I just- I don’t understand. Talk to me, please.”
Will squeezes his eyes shut. She doesn’t understand. Not really. Not when Mike talks about things that sound impossible, and not when the town keeps pretending nothing’s wrong, not when the people in charge keep everything buried. After Billy, everything changed and no one wanted to hear it anymore, not even Nancy, who used to stand beside his mother and back up her claims despite it all. Things were different now, and he hates it, but things weren't just on Will's side anymore.
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“I will,” she says immediately, voice breaking. “I will, just- please, Will, tell me what’s going on, let me help you, baby-” Will’s chest aches so sharply it almost knocks the breath out of him. He doesn’t have time. He never has enough time.
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“Will-” she chokes.
He drags his finger slowly across the wall, tracing the shape of a heart through the faint dust clinging to it. His vision blurs, nose running, head pounding like something is pressing in from all sides. He shouldn’t have stayed with Mike that long this morning. The space between, those in-between places, still cling to him, stretching his thoughts thin. “Get out of my head,” Will stammers, feeling his eyes pulse in his skull.
A sound cuts through the quiet. A sharp, chittering noise.
Will goes rigid. His back tenses instantly, every muscle locking as his head snaps toward the front of the house. His hand drops to the gun at his waist, fingers moving automatically, flicking the safety off with a soft, practiced click. His breathing slows, his eyes flicker shut.
Something moves across the yard, slow, deliberate, sniffing along the dead and rotting grass. He can feel it more than hear it, a faint vibration under his feet. Not hunting just yet, it hasn't sensed him. He's fine, physically, for now. Will exhales shakily, forcing his grip to loosen as he flicks the safety back on.
He has a second, maybe two, before He realizes where Will is and he has to move.
Behind him, his mom is still talking, voice rising, panicked, begging him to answer. He can’t. Will backs away from the wall, from the lights, from her. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though she’ll never hear it. He hauls himself through the window, landing hard in the yard, the impact jolting up through his legs. The air out here is worse. Thicker, heavier, clinging to his lungs. The thing in the yard pauses.
Will doesn’t look at it, he just runs. His bike would be faster, but the vines are spreading again and he can't risk contact, they would alert Him immediately. The best he can do now is run, hide, then get Him out of Chrissy's head.
Mike can handle the rest on the other side.
___________________________________
“Lucas!”
Mike’s voice cracks a little as he jogs to catch up, weaving past a couple of kids heading the opposite direction. His stomach is already twisting, that familiar, awful feeling that he’s too late settling heavy in his chest.
Lucas doesn’t stop. “I’m going home,” he says flatly, already crouching down by the bike rack. The metal chain rattles as he yanks it loose. “Drop it.”
“Come on, man-” Mike pushes forward anyway, breath coming quicker now, words tripping over themselves. “This is serious. Can you just listen to me for once?”
“No, Mike.” Lucas still doesn’t look at him. His shoulders are tight, hunched forward like he’s bracing for something, hands working too hard at the lock, like if he focuses on that, he won’t have to deal with anything else.
Mike slows, hovering just behind him, unsure what to do with his hands. “Please,” he tries again, quieter now. “It’s about Will-”
Lucas snaps. “It’s always about Will when it comes to you!” Mike flinches like he’s been hit. Lucas finally turns, and the look on his face isn’t just angry- it’s raw. Frustrated in a way that’s been building for a long time, something cracked open and spilling out. His grip tightens around the handlebars, knuckles going white. “He’s dead, Mike,” Lucas spits, voice shaking even as he tries to keep it steady. “We buried him. You didn’t even show up to his funeral-”
Mike’s chest tightens. “I couldn’t-”
“I get it, okay?” Lucas cuts him off, louder now. “You think I don’t get it? He was your best friend. He was mine, too. I love him too. I miss him too.” Mike opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, throat burning. “And- I’m sick of this,” Lucas keeps going, voice rising, cracking around the edges. “I’m sick of you acting like he’s just- what- out there somewhere? Hiding? Waiting for you to come find him from some evil dimension?” He shakes his head, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.”
“He’s not gone,” Mike says, but it comes out weak. Thin. Even to his own ears, it doesn’t sound like enough. “He's waiting for us-”
Lucas lets out a short, bitter laugh that doesn’t sound like him at all. “Listen to yourself.”
“He’s not,” Mike repeats, more desperate now, stepping closer. “I’ve seen him. I’ve talked to him, I've felt him-”
“You never listen!” Lucas chokes, and this time it’s louder than everything else. It cuts straight through Mike, stops him cold. For a second, Lucas just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s trying to get control of himself. It doesn’t really work. “You’re turning him into a joke,” he murmurs, quieter now, but worse somehow. “Do you even hear what people are saying? ‘Ghost boy.’ That’s what they call him now. That’s what you made him into.”
Mike’s stomach drops. “I didn’t-”
“Things were bad enough for him before he-” Lucas cuts himself off, jaw tightening hard. His eyes flick away for just a second, like he can’t even say it out loud. “And now you’re doing this? Acting like he’s still around so you don’t have to deal with it?”
Mike feels something in his chest cave in. “I’m not making it up,” he pleads, but it’s quieter now. Tired. Like he’s said it too many times already. “I’m not.”
Lucas shakes his head again, more slowly this time. “I can’t do this, Mike.” The words land heavy. “I can’t stand here and listen to you talk about him like this. Either you respect him, respect what actually happened- or…” He swallows hard, voice faltering. “Or I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I hear you say his name like that again.”
Mike just stares at him. “Like what?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
“Like we all mourned him for nothing, like he doesn't deserve for us to grieve.” Silence stretches between them. Lucas looks away first. “I’m done with D&D,” he mutters, already turning back to his bike. “I’m done with the party. All of it.”
Mike’s stumbles forward. “Lucas-”
“Don’t call,” he adds, softer, but final.
Something in Mike breaks. “Don’t be an asshole,” he snaps, the words coming out sharper than he means, fueled by panic more than anger. He steps forward again, reaching for anything that might make Lucas stop. “Will needs our help. Right now. And Max- Max could be in danger, you don’t understand- those things are going to kill Will and you don't give a shit!”
“He's already dead, Mike! You're crazy! You need help- real help- you can't keep doing this to yourself-”
“If I'm crazy then Will is too! And guess what?! We're going to go crazy together while you just fuck around on your shitty new basketball team and leave him to rot-”
Lucas is grabbing his shirt collar before he can finish his sentence, slamming Mike against the wall, his feet skidding on the ground. Mike flinches, but Lucas doesn't hit him, his hands trembling where they hold onto Mike. “... See someone. Please.” Lucas' voice cracks, and Mike resists the urge to cry. “Please. For Will.”
Mike grips his wrist and shoves him off, but Lucas doesn't look at him, shaking his head. “Come on-”
“I'm going to knock your teeth out next time. I'm serious, Mike. I'm serious. Don't do this, not to Will.”
“Lucas-” Lucas is kicking off on his bike before Mike can even reach out again. “Just think about it-”
“I'm done, man.”
Mike doesn't run after him, doesn't try to catch up. He just stands there, watching as Lucas pushes on his pedals, wheels crunching over the pavement, pedaling away without looking back. The distance grows fast. Too fast. “Lucas-!” Mike calls, cupping his hands around his mouth, voice echoing uselessly down the street. “My basement! Tonight!”
Lucas doesn’t slow or turn, weaving past cars. Gone. Mike lowers his hands slowly, the silence rushing back in around him. For a second, he thinks about chasing him anyway and forcing him to listen, but his legs don't move. He kind of wants to cry until Will stops by tonight, he wants to smash something until he can see green eyes and be reassured.
Mike swallows hard, blinking rapidly, and drags a hand down his face. He looks down at the ground, jaw tightening, and for a moment, he doesn’t move at all. Then, slowly, he turns and starts walking the other way.
There's still Dustin.
___________________________________
Will frowns, his knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the cold bathroom floor.
Chrissy’s house is nice, even here. Even on the other side of the veil, it's hardly broken or tainted. It feels thinner here, closer to the real world, like everything is layered just a little wrong instead of completely destroyed.
Still cold, though. It’s always cold.
The chill seeps up through the tile and into his bones, settling there like it belongs. Will shifts slightly, cheek brushing against his knee, and lets his eyes wander across the floor instead of focusing on the sounds behind him. The tile is… kind of pretty. White, with little yellow daisies scattered across it, and soft pink flowers he doesn’t know the name of. The colors are faded here, like everything else, but he can still imagine what they’re supposed to look like, bright and warm and alive. He stares at one of the daisies for a long moment. Maybe he could take one. Just snap a piece off, bring it back somehow. Give it to Mike. Something small and real and normal. The thought lingers for a second, gentle. Then it wilts. Yeah, no. That’d be weird.
Behind him, Chrissy gags again.
The sound is sharp and awful, echoing too loud against porcelain, followed by a choked sob that makes Will’s stomach twist hard enough he has to squeeze his eyes shut. He hates that sound. “It’s okay,” he whispers, voice soft, instinctive. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
She can’t hear him and he knows that, but he says it anyway. The lights flicker. It’s sudden enough that Will jerks, his head snapping up as something yanks at him, hard and disorienting, and for a split second, he’s back in his body. His neck prickles, that familiar crawling sensation racing down his spine, like something is brushing just beneath his skin. He holds his breath, waiting for the chittering, the tearing sound of something opening, but there's nothing.
Will exhales slowly, eyes slipping shut again as the sound of Chrissy retching fills the space, louder now, closer, more real. He feels a flicker of guilt twist in his chest. He hates doing this, and hates the way it feels, the pull, the burn, the taking, like he’s reaching into something that isn’t his and forcing it to bend anyway.
It hurts. It always hurts, but if Chrissy’s here with him, then she’s not anywhere else.
Not with him.
There’s a sharp gasp. Chrissy stumbles backward away from the toilet, no, not a toilet anymore, her feet tangling in tall, soft grass that wasn’t there a second ago. The air is warmer here, a gentle breeze catching in her hair, lifting it around her face like something out of a storybook. She looks different here, more healthy. Wrapped in light, in something that almost looks like silk, like she belongs here. Like she was always meant to be somewhere gentle. Like a princess dropped into the wrong world. It doesn’t make her any less terrified.
“Oh my God-” she gasps, scrambling back further, eyes wide, darting around like she’s expecting something to lunge at her. “Oh my God-”
Will stays where he is, watching her carefully, giving her space. “You’re just dreaming,” he says after a moment, keeping his voice as calm as he can. “It’s okay.”
She doesn’t believe him at first. He can see it, the way her breathing stays too fast, too sharp, chest rising and falling like she can’t get enough air. Her hands dig into the grass, grounding herself, trying to make sense of it.
Then, she looks around, at the small garden nearby, where little gnome figures tug carrots from the soil with exaggerated effort. At the flicker of tiny wings as something like fairies dart through the air, glowing softly as they pass.
It’s safe here, in his mind. The kind of place Will used to imagine when things got bad, even before all of this.
Chrissy’s breathing starts to slow, just a little. “…Oh,” she whispers after a second, her voice quieter now, uncertain but softening. “This is… a nice dream.”
Will feels something in his chest loosen. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a small, careful smile tugging at his lips. “It is.”
He keeps his gaze on her, even as something sharp and burning presses into the back of his neck again. The warmth there isn’t comforting. It's wrong, spreading, pulsing, like something is aware of what he’s doing.
His head throbs and the pressure builds.
He ignores it. As long as she’s here with him, she's safe. He doesn't know where Will is, so his body should be safe for a little while, too.
Will shifts slightly, letting his arms loosen around his knees as he watches her take in the space, the fear slowly draining from her face, replaced with something softer.
___________________________________
“Code red! I repeat- this is a code red, over!”
The walkie hisses back nothing but static.
Mike paces the length of his basement again, sneakers scuffing hard against the floor. He misjudges the turn and slams his toe into the table, again, but all he does is suck in a sharp breath and keep moving. He doesn’t have time to care.
The box on the floor twitches. The lid jumps with a hollow thud, plastic buckling inward before snapping back into place. Something inside scratches against the sides, a wet, dragging sound that makes Mike’s stomach turn.
“Code red!” he snaps again into the walkie, voice climbing. “Guys, I’m not screwing around right now, I don’t even care about signing off- not over, because that doesn’t matter if I’m dead!”
The thing in the box reacts. It jerks violently, throwing itself against one side hard enough to shift the whole container an inch across the floor.
Mike flinches back. “Okay- okay-” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “Bad idea, it can hear me, great, awesome-”
It knows he’s here. It’s been growing. When Will gave it to him, it had just been sludge, thick, disgusting, barely moving. Now it has structure, weight, some sort of intent that he does not want to figure out right now. Mike glances down at his shirt, where streaks of dark, drying slime cling to the fabric. He’d sneezed earlier, just once, and the thing had launched itself at him. If he hadn’t ducked when the ball of goop went right to his face…
He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “That’s normal. That’s a normal thing to happen.” The box shudders again. Something inside hits the lid hard enough that one corner cracks, a thin split forming along the plastic. Mike takes a step back.
“Guys-! Code red, I repeat, this is a code red and I'm so serious-”
“You’re loud.”
Mike yelps. He spins around so fast he nearly trips, heart slamming into his throat as he looks up. Max stands at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing, eyebrows raised. Her headphones hang loose around her neck, faint music leaking out into the space. Mike stares at her for half a second, then bolts for the stairs. “Max- I'm actually grateful to see you, get down here, I need-”
“Code red, I get it. You wouldn't shut up about it.”
He grabs the railing, breathing hard, adrenaline making his hands shake. “Yeah. Big code red.”
Max squints at him. “Is that… sweat?”
“What?” Mike blinks, then looks down again. “No- that’s, like, monster slime. Doesn’t matter. Get down here.”
The box slams again behind him. Max’s gaze flicks past him, her posture tightening immediately. She hugs her arms closer to herself, unease creeping in. “Is it back?” she asks, quieter now. “The thing that killed Billy?”
Mike winces. “It never left,” he says, too fast. “I told you- they don’t just disappear, they move. Will’s been trying to keep them on his side, but right now this one-” he gestures vaguely toward the box, which thuds again “-this one got through, and there’s something else, something bigger, going into people’s heads and-”
“In people’s what?” Max cuts in, disbelief sharp in her voice.
Mike falters for half a second. “…Minds.”
The word hangs there. Max stares at him. “Four people,” Mike pushes on, swallowing hard. “It’s targeting four people. You’re one of them.” Silence. “Which is why,” Mike rushes, stepping closer, lowering his voice, “you should turn your music up. Like, now. Will says music helps, happy stuff, warm baths, anything that makes you feel good. It feeds off fear, or- like, bad emotions. If you’re scared, it can get in.”
Max doesn’t move. “And Will told you this?” she asks flatly.
“He did,” Mike says immediately. “This morning.” He can feel it now, that edge of panic, the tightness in his chest. He needs her to believe him. He needs this to work. “…Please,” he adds, voice cracking slightly despite himself. His hands clench at his sides. “I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t important. He asked me to help you. He asked me to save you.”
Max’s expression flickers. Behind Mike, the box splits. A sharp crack echoes through the basement as one corner gives way, plastic peeling outward like it’s being forced from the inside. Max’s eyes dart past him. “What the hell-”
“Get back-” A long, black leg punches through the opening. Mike stands in front of her, hands trembling. Another follows. The plastic melts around it, dripping to the floor in soft, sticky globs. The thing pulls itself free. Its body is swollen and slick, the same murky colors from before now stretched tight over something that breathes. Its legs are long and jointed, twitching as they unfold, scraping against the floor with a wet, clicking sound. Mike’s throat goes dry. “So,” he whispers hoarsely. “That’s… new.”
Max doesn’t laugh. The creature turns. It doesn’t have eyes, just a split in the center of its body that slowly opens, peeling back into something like a mouth, like a flower made of flesh. Max makes a small, choked sound. “Billy-”
Mike presses a finger to his lips without looking at her, waving at her to be quiet. She nods shakily in his peripheral. The thing twitches before crawling up the side of the couch like a spider. Each movement is too fast, too sharp, legs clicking, body dragging with a wet sound that makes Mike’s skin crawl. He steps back slowly, guiding Max with him, careful not to hit the loose floorboard near the stairs. “Easy,” he mouths.
The thing pauses. Its head, if that’s what it is, tilts slightly. Listening. Mike holds his breath. They’re almost at the top of the stairs-
The basement door slams open and cold air rushes in. “Dude, I told you I was coming after Hellfire, but Eddie let me leave early because your code red annoyed him-” Mike’s head snaps up, eyes wide, shaking his head frantically. Dustin frowns. “What?”
The creature moves. It launches off the couch in a blur of black limbs and wet sound, skittering across the floor straight toward him. “RUN! DUSTIN-” Mike goes to move forward but Max shoves him out of the way and to the floor, jumping over his body when he hits the ground.
Dustin yelps, dropping to a squat, arms flying over his head as the thing barrels toward him. A crack splits the air. Max swings a chair down hard, the legs splintering against the creature’s body with a sickening impact. It shrieks, a high, tearing sound, and flips onto its back, legs thrashing wildly.
“HOLY SHIT-!” Dustin scrambles backward, staring.
Max doesn’t hesitate. She grabs one of the broken chair legs, gripping it like a stake, and drives it down with a grunt straight into the creature’s center. There’s a wet, choking noise and the legs jerk then go still. For a second, no one moves.
Dustin slowly lowers his arms, peeking up. “…Okay,” he breathes. “Cool. Cool cool cool- WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
Mike drops fully onto the ground, laying on his back, chest heaving, staring at the thing. “I thought we were dead,” he says faintly, dragging his hands down his face.
Max nudges him with her foot. “Are there more of them?”
Mike lets out a shaky laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “…Yeah.” They both look at him. “The other side is full of them,” he continues, voice unsteady. “There’s this… thing. Like a cloud, but not. Black. Huge. You can’t even see where it ends. Everything comes out of it. The vines are everywhere too, but those are easy- they just feel around, they don’t think. The monsters come from the smoke, and the sludge come from the vines, but the vines are connected to the monsters in like, a hive mind thing?”
Dustin stares. “And that was…?”
“The sludge,” Mike says. “Will gave it to me to test. It… grew.”
Max presses her lips together. “And the mind thing?”
Mike hesitates. “Still out there,” he says finally. “And it’s stronger than this.”
Dustin slowly sinks down onto the floor next to him. After a second, Max does too, eyes still flicking toward the dead thing like she expects it to move again. “I feel like I missed a lot,” Dustin mutters.
Max nods once. “Yeah. Same.” They both look at Mike. “Start talking,” she says.
Mike swallows, staring at the mess in front of them, at the broken chair, the melted plastic, the thing that shouldn’t exist.
“…Okay,” he says quietly, and the others focus on him, the monster melting into a tiny little portal that they don't notice, leaving only smears of black blood behind.
___________________________________
Will huffs, breath coming uneven as he braces his hands against the fence and forces himself up. The metal bites into his palms, cold and damp, and for a second his foot slips on the warped slats, then he hauls himself over. He lands hard on the other side, knees bending to catch the impact, one hand hitting the ground to steady himself. He straightens slowly, chest rising and falling, trying to ignore the pressure pushing at the back of his mind.
“Go away,” Will pants, lungs working overtime. It presses harder, angry, and Will has to shut his eyes for a moment.
Swingset. The creak of chains, the weightless feeling of going too high, Mike yelling for him to slow down, to be careful. Cheers from his new best friend when he jumps off at the highest point.
Sleepovers. Blankets piled on the floor, whispered jokes, the hum of a TV long after they were supposed to be asleep, feet tangled together, sharing candy.
Christmas dinner. Runny potatoes sliding across his plate, his mom laughing, Jonathan pretending not to smile.
The science fair. Eight hands gripping a trophy too big for them, all of them shouting at once.
Music. Blaring through a CD player, heads bumping together, off-beat and laughing, yelling in the other room.
Will squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening. The pressure lifts just enough that he can hear his own thoughts again. A chitter snaps through the air to his left and Will’s eyes fly open. His hand is already at his waist, flicking the safety off his gun with a soft, practiced click. The sound feels too loud in the stillness.
He doesn’t raise it, not unless he has to. The recoil, the sound, the way it echoes here, it tears through him when he’s like this, leaves him open and exposed, and he can't risk drawing attention.
The pressure in his mind pulses again, sharper this time. He didn’t like being ignored. Will grits his teeth and turns away from it, focusing instead on the dull, persistent ache spreading across his back. “Hmm hm hm hm, should I stay or should I go now-” He hums as he follows the tugging, the ache from his spine, the burn. It pulls him forward, step by step, deeper into the quiet, toward something wrong.
Something dead. Will swallows, forcing himself to move faster. Dead here means one of two things. Best case, the military is still doing sweeps. Still coming in, killing what they can, covering it up before anyone notices, before they die trying to leave.
Worst case, something else got there first. He follows the feeling through the trees, boots crunching softly over brittle ground, every step careful, measured. The air feels thicker the farther he goes, like it’s pressing in around him, making it harder to breathe. The ache sharpens.
A shape slumped against the base of a tree, half-hidden in shadow. One of the spiders, or what's left of it, twitching, trying to pull itself further. Will approaches slowly, every muscle in his body tight, gun still lowered but ready.
It’s been… broken. Not burned and not torn apart like they usually are, when the monsters here turn to cannibalism. The body is caved in at the center, like something heavy drove straight through it. The edges of it are split open, dark matter leaking out in thick, sluggish trails. Something stabbed it. Something strong enough to pin it down and force through. That couldn't have been an accident. Will’s stomach twists.
He crouches slightly, eyes scanning the ground, the trees, the air around him. He doesn’t think the government is out here stabbing monsters, but maybe he’s wrong, maybe he’s just missed something. The thought doesn’t comfort him. The pressure in his mind pulses again, harder this time, scraping against his thoughts like something trying to force its way in. Will inhales sharply, stumbling back a step, hand flying to the side of his head.
“I don't want to talk-”
The creature shudders in front of him, dying slowly, and Will walks past it. Stabbed, not shot, not burned. Purposefully killed but left to live, stabbed once.
Mike laughing, his head tossed back. Lucas bringing his action figures over to play with. Dustin's comics all perfectly ordered on his shelf. Music with his brother. Should I stay or should I go.
Will flicks the safety back on with a quiet click and backs away, step by careful step, eyes scanning the dark as he retreats. If something or someone else is hunting here, then that's something else he needs to worry about.
___________________________________
“…Okay,” Max says after a moment. She leans back against what’s left of the couch, the broken frame creaking softly under her weight, stuffing spilling out like something gutted. Her fingers idly pick at a loose thread, pulling it longer, longer, until it snaps. “Wow.”
Dustin lets out a quiet breath, still staring at Mike like he’s trying to fit him into something that makes sense. “And no one’s found you this whole time?” he asks. “Even though you and-” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely, “-ghost Will have been, like, tag-teaming supernatural monsters for years?”
“He’s not a ghost,” Mike snaps immediately. The words come out sharper than he means them to, cutting through the room. “He’s just stuck,” he adds, quieter but no less firm. “And since he first got taken, there hasn’t been a portal big enough for him to come back through. That’s it. That’s all it is.” His jaw tightens. “Mrs. Byers still feeds him,” he continues, like that proves something, like if he stacks enough normal things together it’ll build a bridge back to reality. “At home. He just- takes whatever else he needs. Supplies. Stuff from here. He’s not-” Mike swallows. “He’s not dead, okay?” he says, softer now. “He’s just… lost.”
Dustin nods slowly, but there’s something off about it, something careful, like he’s agreeing for Mike’s sake, not because he believes it. Max exhales through her nose and lets her head fall back against the couch. “Well,” she says, after a beat, “that doesn’t really matter right now.” Her eyes flick toward the blood on the ground, black and thick. Body gone. “What does matter,” she adds, voice tightening just slightly, “is whether or not more of those things are coming back.”
“No,” Mike says, quick and firm. They both look at him. “We should be worried about you,” he continues, sitting up straighter, something almost frantic creeping into his tone, “having music playing all the time. Like, nonstop. Until we know you’re safe.”
“Why music?” Dustin asks, tilting his head. “Why not, like, TV? Or movies? I mean, that’s gotta count for something, right?”
“I don’t know,” Mike says, too fast. “Will said music. So we stick to music.”
There’s a sharp edge to it. Dustin raises his hands slightly, backing off. “Okay. Just asking.”
Silence settles again, thin and stretched. Max pushes herself upright after a second, brushing her hands on her jeans like she’s trying to shake something off. “I’m getting Lucas.”
“No-” Mike’s head snaps up. “No, you can’t just leave, you’re in danger-”
“Lucas should know,” Max cuts in, already moving toward the stairs. “If there’s even a chance he could be targeted-”
“Will didn’t mention Lucas,” Mike argues standing now, his voice tightening.
Max turns, eyes narrowing.
“So it’s just me and Chrissy Cunningham?” she asks. “Out of everyone?”
Mike presses his lips together, shoulders tense. “No one’s leaving, not until we figure out a plan.”
The lights flicker and all three of them freeze for just a moment. Max’s head snaps up, hand immediately grabbing the nearest chair, fingers white around the wood. Dustin scrambles backward on instinct, bumping into Mike’s side, breath hitching. Mike’s hands curl into fists. He knows he can’t win in a fight like this, but he also knows he won’t just stand there. The bulb by the basement door flickers again.
Once.
Twice.
Then, it steadies. Mike’s breath catches.
“…Will,” he exhales all at once, already moving. He doesn’t wait, he crosses the room in two quick steps and yanks the door open, Will stands on the other side, looking pale, eyes shadowed but soft when they land on Mike. Relief flickers across his face, small but real. “Get inside-”
“Hi,” Will murmurs. He steps forward and folds into Mike like he’s been holding himself together for too long, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, face pressing into the space between Mike’s neck and shoulder, the slime crunching between them.
Mike’s breath stutters, then his hands find Will’s waist, gripping tight, pulling him closer, dragging his palms up Will's back. “Hi,” he echoes, softer, bending into the hug, pressing his face into Will’s hair. It smells faintly wrong, like dust and something colder, but it’s still him. Mike squeezes just a little too tight and Will lets out a small, startled squeak. Mike immediately loosens his grip, breath catching, but he doesn’t let go. He steps backward instead, dragging Will with him, and kicks the door shut behind them. “We’re okay,” Mike says quickly, words tumbling out against Will’s temple. “But that goop you gave me? It- uh- it turned into one of those things. The spider ones. So- yeah. Definitely don’t touch that again.”
Will nods against him, like he already knew, like it doesn’t surprise him at all. “Chrissy’s okay,” Will murmurs, voice low and worn. His fingers lift, absentmindedly scratching lightly at the hair at the nape of Mike’s neck, a small, grounding motion. “She’s asleep. Radio’s on. I think it’s helping.”
Mike exhales, tension easing just a fraction. “Good.”
“I still haven’t figured out who the other two are,” Will adds.
“We can worry about that tomorrow.”
“How’s Max?”
Mike glances over his shoulder. “She’s fine.” Max is still standing there, chair in hand, expression twisted. “Are you staying?” Mike asks, quieter now.
Will shakes his head almost immediately, though he doesn’t move away. “I can’t,” he says, and there’s a faint strain under his voice now, something pulling at the edges. “My head- it’s-” He exhales, eyes fluttering briefly. “It hurts,” he finishes.
Mike’s grip tightens without thinking, one hand sliding up and down his back in a slow, steady motion. “Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s okay. You’re here.”
“For a minute,” Will says softly. “I’ll be here. Just… not all the way.”
“Got it.” Mike tilts his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Will’s hair. “Tired?”
Will lets out a small, breathy sound that might be a laugh. “Insanely.” His fingers still against Mike’s neck for a second longer than necessary before they scratch again, Mike's spine shuddering. “Mind if I nap here for a bit?”
“Course not,” Mike soothes. “Where's your jacket?”
“... Left it with the girl from the lab. Just in case she comes back.” Mike's fingers tighten against his back. “She hasn't said anything, though. Just Him.”
___________________________________
Max glances over at Dustin, her eyebrows pulling together slightly, like she’s trying to make sense of something she already knows isn’t going to make sense. Dustin just shrugs, slow and uncertain.
Neither of them says anything right away, focused more on Mike from where he’s standing a few feet away, arms wrapped tight around nothing, shoulders curved inward like he’s holding someone there, like he can feel it. His fingers flex slightly against empty air, like they’re gripping fabric that isn’t there. Like he’s afraid to let go. Mike's hair pushes against his head, moving, talking. Too soft for them to hear every word, but enough to know he’s answering something. Pausing like someone else is speaking back.
Max’s throat tightens. Dustin shifts his weight, glancing at her again before leaning just a little closer, lowering his voice like whatever this is might hear them too. “…Ghost?”
Max watches Mike for another second, at the way his head tilts, like someone just said something that matters. She swallows, then nods, once, but her voice isn’t as certain as she wants it to be. “Definite ghost.”