Chapter Text
This place is very dark.
Illuminated only by the moonlight, behind the surrounding trees, the station is empty. The cold autumn breeze makes the hairs on his body stand up, and Will isn’t wearing appropriate clothes for the cold. His short-sleeved shirt and sweatpants are only meant for sleeping, not for going out at night wandering around old train stations.
Glancing around, Will looks at the large porch that covers the entire high platform by the tracks. The walls outside the building, previously painted white, are now worn out, cracked, with some mold accumulated by humidity. The ground is full of debris, leaves and lots and lots of dust. Cobwebs cover every inch of this place. There are also many waiting benches lined up, made of old wood.
There’s a person, looks like a man. He wears a hat, sitting in the front row, a bit far from where Will is standing. He gulps, a distant sense of dread settling within him. What could anyone possibly be doing in an old train station, and so late at night?
He slowly walks towards the man, who’s staring at something in front of him. Will turns his head to investigate, noting the presence of two large boards hanging on the wall, one for departures and the other for arrivals, with only one thing written in chalk.
From: ⠥⠏⠎⠙⠺⠝ – arrival: 08:00 – on time.
Destination: Hawkins – departure: 08:15 – on time.
He looks at a clock at the wall, the hands marking the time of 08:05.
"I'm waiting for my train," the man in the hat finally says. He turns to Will, his eyes looking like an abyss in the way they stare at him as if they knew everything about him. His face flashes an inviting smile. "Why don't you also sit down and wait?"
Will looks at the edge of the platform, seeing the tracks completely dominated by the woods, where bushes have grown too much, vines taking up space and trees block the passage.
"What train? There's no way a train can get here with the forest like this," Will replies, turning back to the man.
"Don't overthink the details. Sit down."
Will isn't waiting for any train, but he's not really doing anything. He decides that maybe there's no harm in interacting a little with a second soul in this empty, isolated place. He sits at the opposite end of the same bench as the man. The weight of the gaze disappears as the silence remains between them for a few moments.
"I see you have something that belongs to me."
"What?" His eyebrows furrow. Will fumbles through his pockets for anything that shouldn't be there, but they're all empty. He turns to the man again, who just looks straight ahead. "I'm sorry, I... I don't know what you're talking about. I have nothing on me."
"Not in that way," he corrects, turning to Will again. His right hand lifts toward his head, where he points a finger to his forehead, "this way. And this thing, William, should have always been mine," he says with a restrained voice, like a barely contained hatred, "and you are giving it to me."
He knew his name. Will rapidly gets up from the bench, feeling chills run throughout his body. He steps back but maintains eye contact with the man in the hat. His heart beats fast in his ears at the sudden realization.
"You... you are..." his trembling voice cannot make words.
"Oh, of course, my apologies. How rude of me," he says very casually, getting up from the wooden bench. "I shall introduce myself now. Nice to meet you, my name is Henry."
His left hand begins to distort, growing longer and forming claws as Henry continues to stare down at him. The surroundings seem to melt, just as the ground disappears from his feet. When Will turns to run, he crashes head-on into a wall instead.
That whole station suddenly disappeared, replaced with a familiar room, full of vines crawling from the floor to the ceiling, a window to the outside being the only source of light. He’s stuck. Cornered. Dread takes over his mind.
His erratic breathing is suddenly interrupted when a vine pulls him roughly by the neck to the wall. Will desperately tries to pull the vine from his neck while several others intertwine around his limbs. He fights the grip, but it only results in the vines overwhelming his body even harder.
He's going to die.
A silhouette appears amidst the shadows, damp and heavy footsteps pounding against the ground as it approaches.
Will’s going to die.
What should he do? Is there anything he can do? He doesn't even know where he really is, doesn't know if there's anyone around who can... who could put a Walkman in his ears, and... and... and he’ll die.
"It is almost time."
The figure withdraws from the shadows, and the one who reveals himself this time is the monster. He approaches, extending his right hand right towards his face. Will tries to dodge it, but his skin feels like it’s burning when that thing touches his cheek.
"We are going to do such beautiful things together, William."
He can't stand it. He shuts his eyes tightly. That feeling, cold and disgusting, brings uncomfortable memories to the surface. Those vines doing things. His mind is shutting everything down, his body disappearing while all the rest of the world is muffled.
An excruciating pain suddenly hits his head. He screams, agonizing until the monster removes his claws from his face, at the same time his senses return to focus.
"That is not how you treat your host."
Will gasps, recovering from the throbbing ghost of that pain as his vision spins.
Why? Why is this happening? He can't even remember where he was before all this. Was he in school? In bed? Are there even train stations in Hawkins?
He was missing for longer than a year.
Will observes the true face of the monster for the first time in his life. The one who was responsible for so much pain and destruction ever since that night Will was taken.
Vecna.
"Wh... what do... you want?" His voice comes out shaky.
Silence hovers for a few seconds.
"What I really want, William... is you." A bone-chilling cold hits. "The train is about to arrive, and you are boarding with me."
His heart beats loudly in his ears. Didn't he say just moments ago that Will has something that belongs to him? Why would he need Will, if he could just take it by force? It's not like he can run away. His breathing remains unstable, but he struggles for his mouth to form coherent words.
"I... I will never, ever join you," he tries, standing his ground as much as he can muster in his voice, hoping his face reflects the same.
Vecna moves closer to his face, enough for Will to feel the breeze of his breath on his skin.
"It does not matter what you do, or how much you disagree with me. In the end, nothing can change the outcome," he whispers. "You cannot run away from me."
He raises his left hand again, his claws stretching and hovering over Will's face. All fear resurfaces within him, completely incapacitated. He can't run away.
"I will make sure you will always remember the weight of your decision."
The claws touch his face, excruciating pain hitting his head all over again, tearing through his mind and his insides, as he screams and feels a nudge.
His mind flickers. Red. A body lying in front of him... messy black hair, black eyes that don't reflect life, and blood that continues to gush endlessly from his torn limb. Blood.
Mike.
Will looks down at his hands. His muscles are stiff, pale hands contrasting with the aggressive red blood from the body in front of him. Mike. Mike's blood.
Not Mike.
The light. White, blinding, flickering. His nose picks up the strong scent of metal.
His face. Very pronounced cheekbones. Freckles spreading over the nose and cheeks. His long, curved nose. His black hair, messy, like a cascade falling on the forehead. His eyes, looking at nowhere in particular, while nothing else really exists around him.
Shouldn't be Mike.
He can't breathe. His chest hurts.
'Will!'
He's going to die.
Everyone is going to die.
An aggressive nudge on his shoulders.
"Will! Please, wake up!"
His eyes open wide with a loud gasp.
In front of Will, standing up, untouched, with his arms intact and eyes full of feeling, Mike.
"Will! Thank goodness!" He wraps him in a tight hug.
His eyes burn with how suddenly the weight is lifted from his chest. The feeling of comfort and warmth of being in Mike's arms is immediate, and Will can't help but let a tear escape. He hugs him back, grabbing the fabric of his shirt tightly as he cries softly on his shoulder. Mike’s hugs are always so warm, so grounding. Feeling his hands on his back, rubbing circles, and offering his comfort, Will never wants to leave this place.
It was way too real to ignore, that corpse lying in front of him. Right now, it’s almost like it was just a haunting. But somehow, it didn't feel like it was just a vision. His grip gets tighter, as if he could send that thought away.
"It's okay, it's over. You're safe now," he comforts, in a whispered voice.
Are they safe, really?
Mike keeps the embrace for a few more moments. Then he pulls away, keeping one hand on Will's arm.
"How do you feel?"
Will wipes the tears from his face with the back of his hand.
"I think I'm fine," his voice still sounds a little shaky, but it's totally coherent. Will looks around, realizing that he is no longer where he probably should be at. "Where..."
"It's the front yard."
It’s the house, the home of the Wheeler family. Where his own family has been staying for the last year.
"Was I sleepwalking?"
"That's what it seems," Mike says. "It's 1 in the morning now."
Sleepwalking. This has never happened before, and there seems to be no other reason for why it happened. Will turns to face Mike directly in the eyes. The image of that lifeless stare flickers again in his mind, juxtaposed with the image of his best friend before him, alive and standing. He can’t find words to say.
“...We can talk about it tomorrow if you want," Mike offers, brows furrowing slightly. "Let's go in, it's quite cold out here."
“...Okay."
Mike gives Will one last squeeze on the arm, before giving him a gentle push on the back, and they walk back to the house. His bare feet are cold, almost numb on the lawn. The entrance was already open.
Mike locks the front door while Will remains in the middle of the hallway, looking towards the darkness of the house. This familiar darkness almost reminds him of a porch on a high platform. He doesn't know what he's really waiting for.
"Hey, Will, are you gonna go back to the basement?" He whispers, returning to Will's field of vision.
"Yeah, I... I'm gonna try to get some sleep."
"Well, if you wanted, you could... come to my room," he averts his face. "You could sleep in my bed."
Will’s face heats up.
"I... I mean, not like that! No..." he quickly corrects, "I was gonna get the sleeping bag for myself, and you could take the bed, and then..." he pauses and sighs, running a hand over his face. "That came out wrong."
Will gives an amused smile and a slight laugh.
"It's okay. I... I’d like some company if you don't mind."
Mike's face lights up.
"I don't mind, not at all."
The two climb the staircase in silent steps to one of the last doors in the hallway. Mike opens the door and lets Will in first, then closes it behind him. The lamp on the bedside lights the room in a yellowish hue, revealing the messy bed where Mike was lying not too long ago.
As Will sits carefully on the edge of the bed, Mike comes out of the closet with a sleeping bag rolled up under his arm. He just throws the bag onto the floor carelessly, and soon after, sits next to Will. Will’s eyes catch something on the ground.
The silence lengthens, but it’s not uncomfortable. Mike just sits by him, silent, as if he's just waiting for something to happen. He sighs. There's a certain little thing that he still can’t quite get.
"Mike."
"Hm?"
"How did you know I was outside?"
No response. He can hear the rustling of the sheets next to him, and when he looks, Mike just stares at the window, his back completely straight, body rigid.
"I was... awake. Couldn't sleep. I looked out the window and saw you outside," he replies.
He guesses that makes sense.
"Thank you for waking me up," he says softly. Will doesn't want to imagine what else would have happened had he remained in the visions.
...Visions.
Mike relaxes his back and turns to look at Will again, but this time, his eyes seem to carry a certain heaviness. His brows furrow again.
"It was... really scary. You were completely still in the middle of the lawn, didn’t respond when I tried to wake you up. I... I thought something really bad was happening again."
He feels a twinge in his chest. He's not so wrong.
"Will, did something happen while you were asleep?"
His mouth opens to answer, but hesitates. He purses his lips tightly and gulps.
‘It does not matter what you do...'
A missing limb.
"I..."
'In the end, nothing can change the outcome.'
Blood staining his pale hands.
He averts his gaze to stare yet again at somewhere on ground...
"I'm sorry for worrying you. It's pretty late now, we should go to sleep."
...What is he saying? He should tell him what happened. Tell that Vecna is back, and that it’s almost time. His shoulders curve inward, hands gripping the bed tighter.
Mike moves again to the side. He gets up from the bed, his feet coming into Will’s view. The silence stretches.
Telling the truth is the correct and most reasonable course of action. But his trembling hands, pounding heart, and the weight of those eyes leave him unable to speak. That's so stupid. Why is he being such a coward when the world is about to end?
“...Alright."
Mike picks up the sleeping bag off the floor and unpacks it. He gets ready to lie down while stretching the bag onto the floor. Will wants to protest, feeling like a terrible guest for stealing his host's comfort. He wants to take his place and have the sleeping bag instead of the bed, or just run away from there and go back to the couch in the basement, but his mouth just cannot utter any word.
His best friend adjusts himself inside the bag. He gives a stare at Will, from where he still sits on the bed, and gives a small smirk.
"You can already lie down, you know."
He doesn't respond. The smile drops, changing to a somewhat sad expression as he bites his lip. He reaches out to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, and with a single click, the entire room plunges into darkness.
"Good night, Will," he says for the last time.
The silence that hangs in that room is no longer comfortable. In the depths of the darkness, he cannot sleep.
--
He couldn't sleep.
Will could practically feel the dark circles forming under his eyes, fatigue taking over his entire body. There was a moment where he did try to rest, relax his head on Mike's pillow, hoping that his scent and presence would bring him some comfort. But all he could see when his eyes closed was the empty face of that corpse.
When he got up, the sun wasn’t yet penetrating behind the window curtains. The clock showed that it was just past 6:20. Today is a school day, so he still needs to get ready.
Mike seems to sleep peacefully in that sleeping bag that doesn’t look very comfy. It must have been so tiring for him to sleep that late, so instead of waking him up, Will decides to let him rest a bit longer.
He quietly leaves the room, through the hallway, then goes down the stairs. Halfway through his way to the basement, he finds Mrs. Wheeler already awake, making breakfast at the kitchen island.
"Good morning, Mrs. Wheeler," he greets casually. She turns to him with surprise from where she was making coffee.
"Good morning, Will. You’re up early today."
"Yeah. I need to get ready for school..." he’s about to get back to his tracks when he’s interrupted.
"Why don't you have breakfast first? I just made pancakes, and they're still warm," she gives him a little smile.
He considers her offer.
"Um... I think I'll have some, thanks," he smiles back. He doesn't really feel hungry, but he also doesn't want to be rude.
Will goes to the kitchen island and puts a little pile of pancakes for himself on a clean plate, along with a cup of coffee. He takes it to the empty dining room table, where he pulls out a chair for himself.
The heat radiates from those freshly made pancakes, and they smell really nice, as is all the food made by Mike's mom. She is a great cook. But, well... right now it's kinda hard to put food in his mouth, but he forces himself to either way.
He hears footsteps approaching. A chair is dragged next to him, and Mike just sits down.
"Mornin’," he yawns.
"Morning."
The pause stretches uncomfortably for a few seconds. He forces one more bite into the pancake.
"Did you sleep well?"
“...Kinda," he lies.
Another pause.
"And you, did you sleep well?"
"Yeah. The sleeping bag wasn't that bad."
Will watches Mike, the way his eyes look tired from lack of sleep, the dark circles under his eyes showing. It seems that neither of them really had a good night.
Mrs. Wheeler appears next to them with a few more plates and places them on the table. She leaves without saying anything else, but something feels different now.
What are those... blemishes? Bruises? Burns? What...
He turns his head to look at Mike's mom more closely, where she continues her work in the kitchen. Everything about her seemed normal before he sat down to eat, but now... now, her neck has a huge spot, like a diagonal stripe, in a dark purple and brown shade. Both of her arms look blemished as well, revealing dark stripes that are impossible to ignore.
"What are you looking at?"
Realizing that he's been staring at the kitchen for way too long, he blinks. Mike is giving him a very confused stare.
"Sorry, it's just... I think your mom burned herself."
Mike quickly turns his head to check on her for a few seconds, but then his shoulders relax.
"Huh... I think she's fine," he replies, completely unconcerned.
Fine? How does anything about that look fine?
"Mike, don't you see that? Those burn marks on her neck?"
"On the neck?" Mike looks at him, brows furrowed in a very, very confused way. "Will, there's nothing on her neck."
Will turns to Mrs. Wheeler again. Those are definitely burns on her neck, and on her arms as well. How come Mike can't see them too?
...Actually, Mrs. Wheeler seems to act as if nothing happened. She continues to cook something on the stove, acting the exact the same way she did just now, when Will came down from upstairs. Can such recent burn marks look that dark? He... he doesn't know.
"Yeah, I guess... I guess it was just the lack of sleep, then." Either that, or he's hallucinating.
Will turns back to his own plate of food, trying to ignore Mike's eyes on him. He couldn't even finish the first pancake in the pile. He sighs.
He doesn't have a good feeling about today.
--
He's doing exactly what Vecna wants.
Last night, Vecna wanted Will to submit, didn't he? He wanted Will to be afraid. Will cannot be afraid, not when he’s already started moving.
He cannot be afraid. He cannot afford to be afraid.
He’s not afraid.
"Guys, there's something you need to know."
Mike, Lucas and Dustin look at him, from where they are sitting at the cafeteria table. Will can feel his limbs chill under the gaze of his friends, but now he's ready. He's ready to tell them. He takes a deep breath, trying to control his wild heartbeat.
No, actually, should he really say something like that in the middle of the cafeteria, so full of people? They're on their lunch break, if he tells that now, he highly doubts the others will want to attend classes for the rest of the day. Maybe he should wait until it's time to leave?
They keep staring. Lucas and Mike sit on one side, Dustin sits on the opposite side, and Will sits on the side of the table. They just wait while Will remains silent.
It is their lives at stake. He's condemning everyone the longer he hesitates. What's the point of waiting until the end of school day, when not even he could pay attention to a single word being said in class?
He sighs again. It's now, or never again. He cannot let the shadow of those visions threaten the future of the world.
"Vecna is back."
Shocked gasps echo across the table.
"What do you mean Vecna is back?" Dustin yells.
"Will, how do you know that? Is that what happened yesterday?" Mike leans towards him.
A twinge in his chest, and he bites his lip. The interaction between the two of them last night returns to his mind for a moment, his face warming up.
"…Yeah," he begins. He averts his eyes from his friends. "Last night, I had a dream. I was in some old train station, and he was a blond man wearing a hat. Then he said..." He fiddles with his hands on the table, "he said I had taken something from him."
"Something from him?" Lucas questions.
"I don't know. It was so confusing, but... it seems that he has a plan now."
"Wait... if you have something he needs, doesn't that mean you’re his target?"
"Actually, Lucas, if Vecna wanted Will, he would have already done it by now, don't you think? He wouldn't let him run away to tell the tale."
“...That’s true. Will, what do you think he wants?"
'What I really want, William... is you.'
...Does that even make sense anymore? Dustin is right, Will could never run away from Vecna if he tried. At this point, if he has a plan, it certainly doesn't involve Will anymore... right?
"I... I don't know."
"In any case, we need a direction. A way to find out what his next step is. We can't just try to look into every corner of the Upside Down and expect to run into him."
"That's right. We need El," Lucas comments.
"Is she still training lately?"
“She is. Never has time for anything else..."
As Lucas and Dustin continue to exchange words, Mike is oddly silent, staring at the plate on his own lunch tray with an enigmatic look. Lucas elbows him in the arm.
"Hey. What do you think?"
Mike frees himself from the trance of staring at the plate.
“...That we should get the team together? Yes, I do. But there's something bothering me."
Mike turns to Will.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His eyes widen.
“...Huh? Wh… What do you mean? I just told..."
"You know what I mean. Last night, when you woke up outside the house. You knew all that, and yet, you decided to wait hours and hours before telling anyone," he snaps in disbelief.
"Stop it, Mike," Lucas snaps, grabbing Mike’s shoulder, "this is no time for a fight."
"Don't you understand the gravity of this? It's been more than a year! Almost two years since Vecna went missing in action, and suddenly he’s back!" His voice rises to a controlled yell, "and you decide to keep it a secret?"
His chest hurts and his breath hitches.
"I didn't try to keep it a secret!" He exclaims, exasperated.
"Just quit with the pretending! Why would you try to hide this kind of information knowing that we've all been desperate, completely... in the dark? Why, Will?" His furrowed brows above his eyes beg for a concrete answer. He begs to know why Will would commit such a betrayal, as if he were purposely sabotaging the future of the world. "This, of all moments, is not one that we can afford to waste time. Every second is a second too late."
"Mike, can you shut the fuck up?" Dustin shoots. "You’re the one who's wasting our time, making up this meaningless fight. Will just told us, isn't that enough?"
"No, because right now, we're 12 hours on delay and it may already be too late!" Will flinches when Mike punches the table hard, making the trays and plates rattle.
"How could you know that? The more you keep whining, the more time we're actually wasting. Stop blaming him and let's work on actually doing something useful."
Mike backs away from the table and leans back in his chair, huffing. He closes his eyes for a few moments and sighs. He is not wrong at all. Will was a coward. That paralysis in his body, looking back at it, seems just stupid. Stupid, incompetent and insensitive. And dangerous. In 12 hours of preparations, how can they guarantee that Vecna isn't already executing his plan?
Will can't find words to say, other than...
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, genuine.
"You would always tell me everything that happened," he begins, in a much more apathetic tone than he'd been expressing before, "everything. Lately, it's like you're constantly keeping some big secret from me," he turns his head back to Will. "You don’t trust me anymore?"
What?
“...What are you talking about?"
"We’re barely friends anymore. We’re living under the same roof, but you're almost like a stranger, all because you keep pushing away."
Will shakes his head.
"You talk like you're not doing the same thing. When was the last time you cared, other than when some supernatural nightmare happened to me?"
"I care about you!" He shouts, leaning towards Will. "Don't you understand? I couldn't sleep last night, all because I couldn't stop thinking about how terrified you looked, and whenever I closed my eyes, I could hear you scream!"
His eyes burn and his lips frown. That is exactly what he’s talking about. Will shakes his head again.
"You didn't get it, Mike."
"No, I didn't. That's why I want you to explain it to me, Will. Why are you pushing me away?"
"You wouldn't understand." You're not like me.
"What is it that I wouldn’t understand?"
You're normal, you're not a freak.
"What is it that you can't tell me?"
Empty eyes. Messy hair like a cascade falling on the forehead. Freckled cheeks. Rigid limbs. Red. Red on white. Missing limb. Blood flowing. Blood on his hands.
'It does not matter what you do... In the end, nothing can change the outcome.'
Why does this all feel so much like a mockery?
Why does it feel so... targeted?
"I... I can't."
Not anymore. Not right now.
Will quickly gets up from his chair, picking up his backpack from the floor and sliding the strap down his shoulder.
"Hey... wait! Will!" Mike yells behind him.
He hears more commotion from behind his shoulder, but he can't make out any other word when he finally exits through the cafeteria doors.
--
Breathe. Inhale, exhale.
The stall feels too cramped. Too small. As if it’s going to crush him. Will closes his eyes.
Let’s not make the same mistake again.
What if... what if he was showing the future? What if that was a prediction of what happens next?
Breathe.
There’s no way to know. Inhale, exhale.
His head hurts. His backpack touches his feet from where it’s lying on the ground. He hopes no one finds him like this.
There’s no way to predict the future. There are no prophecies. There’s no time travel. There are plans. There are goals, which require time to execute.
They can't afford to waste any more time.
Let’s not make the same mistake again.
Breathe.
Don't make the same mistake.
Inhale, exhale.
Will opens his eyes.
His head feels light, a mix of lack of sleep and oxygen. His limbs feel rigid and cold. He rests his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands, running his fingers through the strands of his hair. Breathe.
It's not too late yet... right?
It can’t be too late. It can’t.
Inhale, exhale.
Mike is right. Will has been avoiding him, though he’s not sure for how long.
He told himself that it was all over. That he could get over it, ignore that this part of him exists. Ignore the tightness in his chest whenever El spoke so passionately about the hundredth letter she received from her boyfriend. When they came back to Hawkins, Will thought that distracting his mind with all the supernatural stuff would make it stop.
It didn’t stop.
It only got worse. It got worse, with all the times he was forced to stare Mike in the eye while he had disgusting thoughts that should never exist. Bodily reactions that still make him want to be buried alive.
His face heats up.
He shouldn't be thinking about this right now.
He spends some time there, sitting over the lid of the toilet, just listening to his own breathing and the noises coming from outside. Eventually, Will gets up, puts his backpack over his shoulder, leaving the stall. At the sink, he washes his hands before heading to the exit.
His shoulder bumps into something. He turns to the thing.
"Oh, my bad," he tells the guy who just walked in. The guy doesn't answer, doesn't look at Will, doesn't even acknowledge that he was right there in the middle of the way. But...
Spots. Purple, dark brown, and red bruises mark that guy’s skin in too many places to count. How is it that he’s walking around as if nothing’s happening? Is he even allowed to be at school in that state?
...
...
...
His eyes widen.
No, no, no. It's just coincidence.
He promptly turns back to the door to change the atmosphere. That must be the reason.
The air current in the hallway immediately brings some clarity to his senses. Breathe.
His teacher from earlier today walks down the hallway, and when he sees Will, he greets him casually.
"A good afternoon to you, Byers."
"Good afternoon," he politely replies. The teacher remains unconcerned, walking in a straight line towards whatever his destination is. Something catches Will's eye, however.
Spots.
His heart fills with dread.
He looks around at the rest of the hallway to his right. Some students crowded into small groups, others in their lockers. No one seems to notice the oddity in question. No one notices the obvious change in the looks of their teacher, or the girl by her locker with the stripes on her skin, or the group in which everyone seems to show off their new burns and bruises, but where nothing’s really happening.
Hurried footsteps echo behind his shoulder, and a familiar face reappears beside him.
"Will! Thank goodness I found you," Mike says, sighing. He shakes his head, looking straight into Will's eyes with a serious face. "So, I want..."
"Mike," he interrupts, desperate, "look at those people," pointing his head in the opposite direction.
"I... uh..." he looks down at the length of the hallway and furrows his brows. "Okay, I can see them. But, Will, I still want to..."
"No, no. Aren’t you seeing that?" He begs. Will watches those people again, and somehow, those bruises seem even more glaring.
"Seeing... what, exactly? To me, they look just fine."
...
"Will, are you feeling alright?" Mike reappears in Will's vision and grabs his arm, blocking those people. "You’ve told me something similar this morning."
"We need to go back," he says, barely audible.
"What? I didn’t get wha..."
"Right now," he grabs Mike's wrist, "we need to get back to your house! Right now!"
He runs. He runs through the hallways, towards the exit of the school, where he finds his bike parked next to his friends’. Will quickly removes his bike when Mike arrives again, panting.
"Wa... wait a second...!" He grabs the seat of Will’s bike, preventing it from moving any further. "Are you going to explain what's going on?"
Not even he knows. It's just a gut feeling, a terrible feeling, that makes every hair on his body stand up.
"I... I'm not sure. But I think... I feel like your mom might be in danger," he explains, voice faltering at the last words. "We need to get her out of there."
His eyes widen, his grip on the bike coming off as he steps away.
"Mom?" His voice airy. "Holly’s in there too."
Will purses his lips hard, brows furrowing.
Mike quickly grabs his backpack and pulls out his walkie. He pulls the antenna to the max and presses the button hard.
"Dustin! Lucas! Can you hear me?! Over!"
Static.
"This is a code red! I repeat: code red. Answer now! Over!"
"Mike, we heard it the first time!" Dustin's voice comes out. "What is it? Where do we have to run to this time?"
"My house! You’ll find me there. Over and out."
"Wai..."
He hangs up, putting the walkie back in his bag in a hurry. Mike hops on his own bike, and before he leaves, he gives Will one last look. Will understands that look, as of the thousands of times they didn't need to exchange words to understand what the other meant.
We will make it.
Will follows Mike, and together, they go back towards the Wheeler house.
Let’s not make the same mistake again.
--
The pair quickly approaches the house. The bikes are left lying on the lawn and Mike quickly grabs his keys and unlocks the front door. Will and Mike break into the house in a hurry.
Arriving in the living room, very well-lit with the afternoon light, Will feels the weight lighten when he finds the blond-haired woman peacefully reading a novel sitting in the armchair. She looks fine overall, but the… stains, they haven’t vanished.
When she heard the footsteps approach, Mrs. Wheeler looks over her book and stares at the pair with a very confused look.
"Mom! Thank goodness..." Mike sighs while closing the space between him and his mom.
"Mike? Will? Shouldn't you two be at school right now?"
"Uh... it’s just that, you know, there was..." he pauses for a few moments, "there will be a PTA meeting! We need you there!" Will thinks she would hardly believe this one.
"Couldn't you have just called?" She deadpans.
"Look, it's just... it's kinda hard to explain..."
Will leaves the living room, deciding instead that he’s going to do something useful. He sets off in the opposite direction, near the kitchen, where he knows he'll find the phone on the hook. Will grabs the phone and quickly dials the numbers he’s already memorized.
A long beep. Two...
Two pairs of footsteps running behind him take his attention away from waiting for a few seconds, meeting two other familiar faces.
"Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!" Dustin waves next to Mike.
"Lucas and Dustin? Seriously, what's going on?" She crosses her arms.
"Mom, please, just trust me. You need to come with us."
"Holly's sick, Mike. I'm not leaving her alone."
"So, just... bring her along!"
Beep. Seven. Eight times...
Mom... Hopper... El... anyone? Jonathan?
Dustin approaches.
"Hey, Will," he whispers, "why exactly do we want to get Mike's mom out of her home?"
Will does his best to keep composure. He gulps, taking the phone out of his ear but keeping it close to his chest.
"Dustin, I... I don't know what’s gonna happen, but I just know something will. This is... about him," he whispers back, staring deep into the unimpressed eyes in front of him.
"I imagined..." he shakes his head. "But why Mike's mom? She must be the one person who has the least to do with all this."
He sighs, furrowing his brows.
"I just hope it's not too late."
Will turns his attention back to the phone, bringing it back to his ear, growing more and more restless the more beeps he listens coming from the other end of the line.
"Mike, boys, you all need to go back to school, right now," Mrs. Wheeler gets up from her armchair, placing a hand on her son's back to guide him back to the door.
"Mom, trust me! Something horrible is gonna happen if you stay here!!" Mike begs.
"Where’s Lucas? Wasn't he there just now?" She looks around again, confused.
"He just went upstairs," Dustin provides.
"Mom..." Mike plants himself in her way, taking her hand and holding it in front of them. "Please, just this once. We don’t have time right now, but I promise, I promise I'll explain you everything," he begs.
She pauses. She looks at her son's face, then at Dustin, and in the end, she looks at Will. Her face, previously unconvinced, now seems to carry a different expression.
Beep. He doesn't know how many times now.
Will's body freezes. A shiver runs through the back of his neck. His breath hitches, his grip on the phone faltering.
"...He's here."
Piercing screams echo from upstairs, followed by an animalistic roar with a thirst for blood.
Demogorgon.
Desperate footsteps echo down the stairs, Holly running toward her mother's arms, crying convulsively.
"Mom, there's a monster! He wanted to get me!!" She screams.
"Holly, honey, breathe!" She lowers herself to her daughter's level and wraps her in her arms, stroking her hair.
"He's so tall, and he has a huge mouth! It was so... scary..."
"I will never let the monster get you."
Mike is unsettled. He looks around, as if deciding for the next step to take.
More screams echoed from the upper floor. Will's heart tightens, finally letting go of the phone.
"Lucas!!" He runs to the bottom of the stairwell before seeing Lucas emerge from the top of it, this time with a broom in his hand.
"Run!!" He screams, running and jumping several steps down.
Mike finally decides to guide Holly and Mrs. Wheeler towards the basement, but before Will and the others can follow, the demogorgon also emerges at the top of the stairwell. The creature howls, widening its mouth split in five, displaying its rows and rows of teeth.
Before Lucas can get out of the way, the demogorgon practically flies down the stairs, using its claws to knock Lucas away. He’s violently thrown against the wall, groaning in agony.
Will quickly rushes to Lucas's side and crouches, placing a hand on his shoulder in support. He notices that his shirt is now torn, and a cut in the back reveals his red-stained skin. He's bleeding. Will can hear violent thuds in the back.
"Can you stand up?"
He just nods. Will supports Lucas with his own body, wrapping an arm behind his back, being careful not to touch the wound.
"Hey, you asshole!"
From where the demogorgon was banging against the locked basement door, Dustin catches its attention. He holds in one hand what appears to be a spray can, and in the other, a lighter.
He yells.
The monster roars at him.
Fire rushes towards the monster, turning the room into a blur of light and heat.
Fire.
Will collapses to the ground. His whole body hurts, hurts so bad. He writhes, feeling as if he’s being stabbed a thousand times with needles, scalded in boiling water, the sudden wave of sharp pain spreading across the length of his skin and inflaming his insides. He screams, tearing his throat, as he futilely tries to clutch himself. His mind is disordered, completely consumed by the overwhelming feeling.
He feels a weight grip on his arms, a distant voice behind a thick curtain of smoke as the stabbing sensation gradually subsides. Will opens his eyes, but it's as if he's trying to see behind frosted glass. The burning stops, but his entire body is numb, his skin sticky behind the cold sweat and shivers leaving his trembling limbs mushy like jelly.
The voices keep talking, a bit louder, and Will feels his body being lifted off the ground and supported on both sides. He’s being carried somewhere else, somewhere darker. A slam behind him, then going down on what seems to be a flight of stairs.
Will is slowly coming to his senses. He can hear... these are more voices, arguing around him.
"Mike, you idiot!! Why haven't you run away yet?!" A voice from behind.
He feels hands on his shoulders. Will is kneeling on the floor, he realizes. His vision shows a very familiar, worried face.
"M... ike..."
"Will, what happened? How did you get hurt?"
By his side, Lucas answers for him.
"Dustin used a bug spray as a flamethrower. It seems that... he felt it as well."
Will felt it. The fire.
...
"And the demogorgon didn't die?!"
And the very second that Will feels he can form coherent thoughts again, the basement door gets harshly bashed again, and again. That wooden door is robust, resistant, but at this rate, it’ll hardly last that long.
"That answers your question," Dustin replies, heading towards the door that leads to the back yard. "I couldn't just kill him, okay? Will was feeling it all too! But now, let's just get the hell out of here!"
Mike helps Will back up, wrapping his arms under his, almost like a hug, and supporting him to his own feet. He almost forgets why he's here, his mind still somewhat clouded from the burning, but then, his eyes meet Mrs. Wheeler, next to the backyard door, with Holly hiding her face in her chest. She cries quietly, but constantly.
She wears an expression that Will can't identify.
Both doors open. The roar echoes down the stairs while Holly is sent outside first, followed by Lucas and Dustin. They both surround Mike's sister as if it’s their duty to protect her.
Will is next. He supports his mushy body on the wall, managing to bring himself to the outside soon after. But no one else follows.
He turns around.
"Mom, what are you doing? Come on, let's go! We have to go, right now!!" Mike yells as he pulls her arm. She’s still.
The demogorgon reveals its face again, its mouth open on five toothed petals and a shrill bellow.
She stares at the demogorgon. Will watches, frozen.
"Please... don't do that..." his voice cracks.
That can’t happen.
She looks to her side, where she quickly picks up a shovel.
"Stay away from my children!!" She declares, brandishing the shovel in her tight fists.
"Stop it!! Let's leave!!" Her son screams in despair. He tries to pull her arm again, but she rejects the attempt, pushing him back.
"Back off, Mike!"
She charges.
A powerful blow is struck against the monster's neck, and another one, and another strike to the head, the demogorgon almost falling with the impact.
He can feel every strike. Each time the shovel slammed against the demogorgon, Will feels as if his own head was going to burst open. He falls to his knees and can only helplessly watch as Karen Wheeler tries to fend off an interdimensional monster from hurting her family.
He knows what's gonna happen.
Mike looks around, as if he's searching for a solution, as if he somehow could change fate. Change what he knows is inevitable.
They failed.
The noise is sickening. The demogorgon effortlessly slides its hand in front of the woman, only the sound and droplets of red carrying through the air.
She loses her balance, taking several steps back but refuses to let go of the shovel. Nothing else can be heard but the monster sending more easy blows against Mike's mother. The muscles tearing apart. The wet noise. In the center of the chest, in the abdomen, arms.
The stripes. They weren’t stripes.
They were claws.
The monster's claws meet her one last time, directly to the throat.
She’s knocked down.
His body is ice. Lungs that beg for air that doesn’t pass through the throat. His eyes are completely fixed on the scene that presents itself before his sight.
The droplets fall from the monster's claws, dripping to the ground and joining the rest of the other millions. It ignores Mike. It walks past Will, ignoring him as if he were one of his own.
Karen Wheeler. Her wounds coat the ground in a layer of crimson, the liquid that seems to gush like a cascade through the open flesh.
He can't breathe.
"Mom... please keep your eyes open..." Mike takes off his own jacket, pressing against the wound in his mom’s chest. "I will... we will call for help. An… an ambulance..." his voice falters, failing at every word he tries to utter.
Screams echo somewhere far away. A child.
"M... ike..." says the dazed voice.
"No, no, no! Don't try to talk right now. I... I just need you... to focus on me..."
His mind is shutting everything down.
"...work out.... be okay... promise..."
They failed.
"Will..."
Holly... Mrs. Wheeler…
"...ambulance..."
These noises, he supposes they’re voices. They sound as if Will is locked inside a room, listening to a whispered conversation outside.
"...I... sor…ry...”
"...No..."
The jacket turns red. The puddle gets bigger, with no end in sight. Will watches while Mike's mom stops moving.
Her son opens his mouth, screams, shakes the body lying in front of him. He holds her face.
Will watches, as panic and numbness consume his senses, as Mike's right arm begins to get tainted, stained in a dark purple shade.
--
His world turns to fog. It's as if his head is submerged in a tank of water, his ears and eyes not really giving any meaning to the surroundings. He floats, floats on nothingness, his weight non-existent, his head light but heavy at the same time. His hands can feel the texture of the grass under him, but they're not really there. It's almost like a phantom touch, just a distant memory. Hands that don’t act, hands that failed to move when needed.
It's very cold.
Sound is reaching his ears. They seem to be voices, but he doesn’t recognize who they belong to, nor what they are talking about. They yell, touch his shoulder and shake him. A face appears in front of him, saying something while staring into his eyes. It seems urgent. He doesn't understand.
Hands. Hands touch his arms, back, the cold and sudden touch. His body is moved somewhere else. A surge of light invades his eyes, shades of red and blue, a deafening noise coming with it. It's a high-pitched cacophony, harassing his ears, mixed with a strong smell of alcohol.
Then, as quickly as it came, the smell of alcohol vanished. With it comes a similar smell, but it's more like cleanliness now. There's something weighing on his shoulders, something that seems to start to scare away the cold from the edges of his limbs.
Nothing else happens.
His field of vision is consumed by white. White, with a blinding white light on top, which obstructs most of the... white. His sight hovers over something that catches his eye. It's black. It's a curved line, and the two ends of that line are connected by another curved line. Around the figure, shapes that are made of several halves of circle, in sequence, which goes on until they return to the same starting point. Moon and clouds.
He observes the way the child's drawing was drawn on the wall. Made with pencils, without technique, near the baseboard. A little further to the side of the moon and the clouds, a few other sketches adorn the wall. Another one in particular catch his eye. It’s an animal that reminds him of a horse, and there’s a little guy mounting that wears armor. He holds in his hands a flag with an image of a flower.
Something blocks the view. A voice reaches him, a soft and very familiar tone. A voice that brings with it a scent that feels like home. The new weight on his hands radiates warmth to them and the rest of his body. He tries to focus his eyes, aiming his energy at the sensation. Raising his head, Will's gaze meets the worried and loving face of his own mother.
His chest burns.
Her mouth moves and makes words that he begins to hear in the distance, behind the muffled noise in his ears. It seems like... his name. Will... is the only thing he can identify. He wants to answer, wants to open his mouth and be able to utter words to her too, but all that happens is that a whimper comes out.
Mom gives him a relieved smile, furrowing her brows before leaning down, wrapping Will in the protection of her arms. The feeling of warmth is immediate. She keeps one hand on his back, while the other slides her fingers between the strands of his hair, in a simple caress. The squeeze is enough to make all the senses resurface at once in a nauseating wave. His lungs jump and his arms tremble, limp at his sides. His heart beats fiercely, feeling again after so long.
He’s no longer submerged in the dream. The wave has passed, and now it only gives way to exhaustion. Will's body feels heavy, so heavy that he’s completely leaning on his mom. His hands meet and grab at her jacket. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, surrendering to her comforting scent.
No longer within that dream, the memories also hit him like a brick. He widens his eyes, breath hitching, the grip on her jacket growing tighter. Images flash in his mind.
Mrs. Wheeler? Mike...
Mom squeezes him more tightly.
"I'm sorry, honey... I'm so sorry," she whispers.
His mom. She's here now. He tried to call but got no answer. What happened?
She carefully pulls away, even though Will wishes to stay longer. He lets go of the jacket, his fingers leaving stretched marks on the fabric. She picks up a blanket, one that was lying somewhere behind him, and wraps them around his shoulders again. It seems to be wool. It's thick, with a somewhat rough texture, and it's quite hot. Its color is a deep blue.
Mom sits on a bench to his right and turns to him. Her hair looks disheveled, as if she was in a hurry.
Hurry...
Will takes a look at his surroundings for the first time. It’s mostly white, with white lighting shining from the ceiling. The smell of cleaning product is quite invasive.
"Is this... the hospital?" He says for the first time, as his eyes dart again and land on the drawing of the moon on the nearby wall. This is not the reception, it's a corridor, he realizes.
"Yes, honey. The doctors brought you here," then Will turns to her again. This... this makes sense, he guesses. But it seems like the whole way here was made within a strange dream.
"I... I tried to call you. I tried to call, get help, get El..."
"I know, and I'm sorry I couldn’t answer you on time. But your friends, they... told me what happened."
The memories slowly return to the forefront of his mind, one by one. Some bits still feel a bit vague, fuzzy, just small flashing images, almost like he’s trying to reach out to try to catch something in the murky water. In the rest, he can still feel the lingering despair, hear the... screams.
Holly...!
His eyes widen.
"Holly... the demogorgon... it wanted to get her! What happened?"
His mom hesitates for a second.
"She was... taken," she presses her lips, her eyebrows low. His blood runs cold.
“...Taken? To the Upside Down?" He mutters. She just nods.
Will blinks repeatedly, shaking his head, his jaw slackening.
"Holly, she... she has nothing to do with any of this. Why..." his gaze wanders to the floor.
"It's the same day."
The unfeeling voice comes from somewhere to his right. Next to his mother, a few seats away, Mike just stares at the floor in front of him, his face devoid of reaction. Like Will, he also has a blanket hanging over his shoulders, but it's yellow.
"What... do you mean by that?"
Mike stares at Will.
"You know what day it is today, don't you?"
Will recounts the days of the week in his mind, until realization strikes.
"Tomorrow is..." he gasps.
"Exactly. Vecna is obsessed with equal numbers," he says. "Last year, 4 victims and 4 gates. It was 4 years between Eleven sending him to the Upside Down, and the night... that all this started. And tomorrow..."
“...Will be another 4 years."
"And it's the day it's all going to end."
That doesn't give them much time. It’s a single day, at most. There’s so... so much they need to do, find out, plan... they don't have time. What are they even able to do in such a short window?
"We need... we need a plan, find out where Holly is and rescue her. And we need to... find out where Vecna is. We need to find a way to close the gates, seal the Upside Down... deal with the monsters... and...”
"Hey," mom takes his hand, staring deep into his eyes, giving a sudden stop to his muttering. "El is already looking for her. We'll make it, just like we always did."
"But..." he shakes his head, "she couldn't find Vecna. There’s not much time... we would need a miracle happening at this point."
"Will, baby. We managed to bring you back. Everyone thought it was impossible, but I always, always believed you were still there," and with that, she squeezes his hand. "We have made it, more than once, and we will make out it again. This is not the end, not until Vecna is dead."
Well, she... she’s not entirely wrong. They may have faced monsters that seemed impossible before, but the reality now seems definitive. As if everybody’s fates were set in stone, unchanging. Will has a feeling that this ending... will not be a happy one, whatever form it may take.
He doesn't answer. Instead, his back leans on the seat. Silence settles between the trio for a while. Then, mom gives him one last squeeze before getting up from the seat.
"Do you boys want something to drink? I can bring it to you," she offers.
"Sure," he replies without thinking. Mike remains silent.
Mom gives a little smile before heading down into the hallway, and then out of sight. Silence returns to that empty, white, cold and bright place, where Will and Mike sit 3 seats apart.
With that, his thoughts wander in a certain direction. Amongst the images painted in his memories, there’s a particularly disturbing one that makes his blood run cold. If Will can still trust his own mind, what his eyes showed him was quite real. But...
A thread of hope rises in his chest. If Will wasn't injured and is in the hospital, and Mike wasn't injured and is in the hospital, then... this can only mean that...
Right?
"Mike."
Mike doesn't respond, doesn't look, doesn't react. Will looks at him with pain in his heart, fearing to find the truth, fearing discovering that there is a gaping abyss under his best friend's feet. He sighs.
"Your mom... do you know how she's doing?"
He watches as his blank face slowly darkens. His lips twitch downward, jaw tense, brows furrowing. A face of deep sadness. He turns his face out of Will's sight, shoulders curling in on himself. All he can now see is the yellow blanket and the disheveled hair on top.
A deep sense of anguish overwhelms all his senses. His heart breaks into millions of pieces, not being able to comprehend the size of the pain his best friend must be feeling. Will feels for Mike, so much. If Will had only done something to help, maybe they could have avoided this.
It seems like the whole day today was a great sequence of mistakes and failures committed by Will. He doesn't understand what it is, doesn't understand why it seems like he’s constantly carrying this sense of dread everywhere he goes, all the time, that makes his body freeze in the midst of the situations where it most matters to act. When did he become so... useless?
No... not now. This is no time to wallow in self-pity. He needs to say something.
"I'm so sorry, Mike.”
"Are you even able to say anything else?"
...Huh?
"What?"
That came out as a shock. Mike's voice, loaded with poison, suddenly shoots at Will.
"You heard what I said. You sound like a broken record. It's always 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sooo sorry', but don’t you notice, Will?" Mike finally turns his face to Will, and this time, he shows himself much colder and venomous, his brows furrowed and his gaze hard, fixed directly on his soul. "You are the problem."
The world stops spinning.
"Did you know? While we were going home, a group of demogorgons invaded and attacked the school. Do you know how many people got injured, killed?" He questions, his eyebrows raising. "No one knows. The bodies are so mutilated that no one can tell where one ends and the other begins."
His stomach churns, throat burning. Will dodges the vitriolic eyes, placing a hand over his mouth.
"That... is horrible. I didn't know that," but should’ve guessed, no? He kinda knew something bad was gonna happen wherever the stains were. But what should he have done?
"For what reason must be that these demogorgons only appeared in the places you've been? At home, at school. Now that you're here at the hospital, what guarantees that there won't be another one here?"
The initial shock gives room for his walls to rise.
"What are you talking about?" He stares, exasperated. "I know I'm still connected to the hive mind, but I don't control these monsters. But even if I could, why would I do that?" He breathes, shaking his head.
"Then explain to me, Will. Explain to me," he abruptly stands up from his seat, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. "Why do you destroy everything you touch?"
Mike's right arm, completely stained by the shade of purple so dark it's almost black, in full view.
"My relationship with El," he begins, "if it wasn't for you, we'd still be together now. She wouldn't have dumped me when she found out about your painting," he points a finger, sharpening his eyes.
A pang hits his chest. Did he find out about the painting? Will also stands up but keeps his blanket on his shoulders.
"I... I tried to help. I saw you struggling, so I thought that... I thought my painting could help you. I’ve never wanted you two to..." break up.
Mike's face twitches, his nose twisting into disgust.
"I always knew there was something wrong with you, but to hear it coming out of your mouth..." he wrinkles his mouth, "I don't know how I ever called you my best friend."
Pain. It’s caustic, sharp and inflames his chest, spreading to his heart and lungs. His jaw goes slack, and Will suddenly feels like a chasm has been dug on him from the inside out, leaving his insides scattered across the floor.
"You..." his trembling voice can barely form coherent words. "You don't mean that."
Mike lifts his chin.
"You lie, Will. You lie to get what you want, you lie to sabotage the team. And now?" He approaches a few steps, looking down on him. "Now, my mom is dead," he whispers. "She's gone, and you didn't even lift a finger to help. I screamed for your help, but you just stared at me in silence."
Will averts his eyes from Mike's, lowering his head.
"My sister is missing, and God knows where she is right now, or if she's even alive," he laughs with the last word, but stops as quickly as he started. "You're disgusting."
This can’t be real.
"Why do you act like you're the victim here?" He scoffs, raising his voice. "You can have your own mother all you want, and you know she'll spoil you for the rest of your pitiful life."
Will backs off a few steps, his breath hitching. His wild eyes do not want to stare at what’s right in front of him. Mike is his best friend, but Will is also supposed to be Mike's best friend. What kind of best friend would do what he’s done?
Why is he like this?
His eyes meet again the kid’s drawing of the little moon. The larger curve, connected at the ends by a smaller curve. But it’s…
His eyes widen.
"But... would she still love you if she knew what you really are?"
...
"You're not real."
A few seconds pass before Mike bursts into hysterical laughter.
The energy emanating from the thing in front of him is bad. He can't really explain it, but it's like an instinct, something primal inside him that screams danger. But at the same time, it's as if there’s a connection, an invisible rope that binds his mind and forces it to expose its biggest ugliness.
And as if there were no coincidences, Will feels the shiver immediately hit his nape. He grabs the back of his neck, feeling his hair standing.
Since when?
Think. You can't escape a Vecna Vision by yourself. Last night, what brought Will back was... Mike. But is Mike really even there? Was his mom also a hallucination? Is Will really in the hospital? Is that the reason he doesn't remember getting here?
So where? At the house?
The laughter sounds almost shrilling. It’s still Mike's voice, but there’s a certain oddness to it. Almost a distortion. The lights start to flicker.
The hallway is narrow and he is in the way, but if Will is quick, he can reach the elevator. His heart beats fast in his chest, adrenaline rising and blood rushing to his legs.
He runs.
His shoulder clashes with the other as he passes, glancing at the open elevator doors beckoning him to come in. His feet meet the carpeted floor, and his frantic hands push the button to the ground floor several times, but it's taking way too long. The doors won’t close.
His eyes are taken off the panel to see the ominous figure ahead, planted in the hallway. In the midst of the flickering lights, he becomes just a silhouette, a dark figure. His arm begins to distort, becoming something monstrous, long and deformed. The figure turns its head.
"William."
Mike's voice echoes in his head, much louder than the distance between them should respect.
He grunts, frustrated, as he presses the elevator button again and again, but the doors just won’t close. From the corner of his eye, he can see the thing moving, moving towards him.
Damn it. It won't work. He gives up, deciding that he’ll find another way out, anything. Looking somewhere to the left, Will sees a sign written exit, with a pointing arrow. At the end of the hall, there is a large door with an iron bar. Emergency exit.
His legs move quickly through the hall that somehow seems to narrow with each step. He grabs the iron bar and uses all his weight to push the door open. He stumbles inside, coming face to face with two flights of stairs leading up and down.
The door closes with a loud slam. The atmosphere is heavy, difficult to inhale. The walls are made of smooth concrete and the floor of metal, and it’s almost pitch black. The dense particles dance in the middle of the static air.
Heavy footsteps, quickly approaching.
One chime of a clock.
He runs.
"Go on, keep running. I want to see how far you can go."
His shoes repeatedly collide against the metal floor as Will uses his hands on the railings as a guide.
Two chimes of a clock.
After a few flights, the steps eventually stop, and another large door appears in front of him. Exit.
He pushes it. But this isn’t outside.
Confusion downs his senses. Will looks back, but the iron door has already vanished, now there’s just a glass door in its place. He breathes through his nose, eyebrows knitting.
In this new place, there are seats lined up on either side of the aisle, the smell of mold rising from the cushions. The walls are all made of dark wood and iron, tall and wide windows that make a view to nothingness. The lamps embedded in the ceiling emit a very dim yellow light.
That's a train car. An old, decaying one. It must have been about 50 years since it was abandoned.
The aisle in the center is narrow, barely fitting a single person in the space between the seats. The line guides Will's eyes to... a figure, sitting far ahead. A man with a hat.
Three chimes of a clock.
Definitely not. The wood creaks as Will turns, sliding the door behind him in a hurry. Behind it, only more of the same: an old train car, moldy seats, dark windows.
He needs to find a way out. Even if he doesn't know if there is a way to escape on his own, he still needs to try.
His legs fire again.
Door, behind another door, through many, many other doors, narrow aisles.
There doesn't seem to be an end to this thing. The path only gets longer, morphing the more he walks, and Will realizes, with growing dread, that it will never end.
Four chimes of a clock.
"I'm a little disappointed."
His whole body shivers, a layer of cold running down his skin with that voice. The same voice from within his dream. A voice that is like that of a normal person, but at the same time, there is oddness deep inside, a sense that makes his instincts scream that this is all wrong.
He slowly turns around.
The man in the hat. He’s very tall, wears a pair of round glasses and a vest. His countenance is serious, but almost condescending.
"It seems that there’s still a long trail ahead."
He gulps.
"Holly. Why did you kidnap her? Where is she?" He demands, his jaw tense.
The man smiles.
"Tomorrow is a special day. Holly is in a nice place now, but there's no way you can get to her. However, she’s only a minor pawn."
"Pawn?"
"Right now, I would say half of my game is ready. My last piece, though..." he tilts his head slightly, "I decided to let him come to me on his own."
Will takes a step back, his lips pressing into a line and his face turning to his feet. He doesn’t understand, just can’t fathom why. 'Let him come to me on his own', but it's Vecna talking. When did he ever give Will a choice? When has it ever mattered?
"I almost considered giving you a chance to redeem yourself, William. But I see your thinking is far from changing." And with that, he takes a step forward. "What happened to your best friend's mother and sister is far from enough for you to join me."
"How can you still think I'm gonna join you?"
"I don't think, I know you will."
Will shakes his head.
"I won’t. But you know what's really gonna happen?" He turns again to the man, his fists clenching tightly. "We're gonna find where you are, and we're going to kill you."
Henry lifts his chin, smiling as if this is amusing for him.
"Well, that's what we're going to see." The ground creaks under the footsteps of his leather shoes, while Will feels his own courage faulter. "William, you already know the meaning of gift I gave you."
The gift? Is he talking about the stains?
"But I wouldn't call them 'stains.' They are... an omen," his footsteps pause at the same time as his smile drops. “But it wasn’t I who made them... no," his condescending eyes directly stare at Will, piercing as if they knew everything. "It was you."
Those words. They all return to his mind, stabbing his chest.
‘For what reason must be that these demogorgons only appeared in the places you've been?’
'Why do you destroy everything you touch?'
No. That wasn't real.
"You’re lying. That doesn't make sense."
"Of course it does. See, it's two very simple steps: you attract, the monster attacks. The stains you see are only... visual impact."
The weight. It crushes his chest and leaves him breathless. Will can't hold his head up, can't even face the monster in front of him. Everything that happened today suddenly makes too much sense.
"This is so shameful. It seems that your little friends are also stained," his tone is one of pity, as if he were talking to a child. "If you hadn't accepted Karen's coffee the morning, maybe the monster would have ignored her when it went to fetch Holly."
He hides his mouth behind a hand.
"If you hadn't talked about me inside that school, maybe there wouldn't be a pile of bodies in the hallways right now."
Casualties in this senseless conflict.
"If you hadn't done any of these things, you wouldn't be at the hospital right now. And Michael..."
Will gulps, feeling a cold bead of sweat slip from his forehead.
"...wouldn’t be the next one to suffer from your actions."
The ground shakes under his feet, his body suddenly losing balance with the sudden momentum, falling to his knees. The noise is a constant rumbling, an old machine put to work.
"I'm on my way now," says the voice above him.
His eyes widen. No, no, no. Is he serious? Is he really...
Claws, suddenly on his face.
"Wha..."
"Wake up."
A loud gasp. Consciousness abruptly returns to his body, head spinning, lights screaming. His hands cling to the first thing they can find.
Mike's arms.
Someone else’s behind him, a red-haired nurse. She looks scared, but her face quickly softens.
"What..."
"Thank goodness you're fine," Mike moves his hands from Will's shoulders to his back as he approaches.
"No..." his voice comes out broken, almost a whisper. He grips Mike's arms, trying to push him away, but it's as if his strength has been completely drained from his body. "Mike, you... you guys need to run," he tries, but his heart feels like it's going to come out of his mouth. Mike pauses halfway, eyes confused.
"What did you say?"
His neck. Goosebumps.
'I'm on my way now.'
Something appears at the corner of his sight. Blood pumps to his legs in a single instant.
The moment that the something is thrown their way, Will uses his own body to push him out of the way. Their bodies collide, his face against Mike's chest, as the two fall flat on the hard floor.
Air is pushed out of him, and Will quickly gets off Mike, who grimaces in pain as the nurse lets out a gasp, completely panicked.
"What is that?!"
Will looks up.
Vines like spiral branches, stretched for a long distance. At one end, sharp and pointy like thorns, claws. At the other end...
The arm retracts back to its origin. The monster, its menacing presence stands at the end of the corridor. The Upside Down leaks out from behind, painting the hallway red as the lamps flicker frantically. It's almost as if everything around him is rotting at the same time.
Vecna.
"Run!" The scream rips from his throat.
He lifts himself back up on his two feet while also pulling Mike, the trio now running in search of an exit, quickly approaching the elevator.
Will presses the elevator button again, and again, but that doesn't make it come up faster. There is no time. It's too far. Not this again.
"Guys, let's go! This way!" Mike leads the way, showing a path to the right. The staircase.
Screams echo through the corridors.
A doctor. Blood. Painting the walls red. A vine impaling through the stomach.
Another one. A nurse. The body bends until it breaks.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps against the ground. The semblance of a smile on his face, fixed on Will.
He flinches when his wrist is forcefully grabbed.
"Let's go," his friend whispers hurriedly.
His right arm. Marked. Stained.
The squeeze almost feels like burning. But Mike keeps pulling Will by the wrist, through that narrow hallway. They’re at least 10 feet away from the door.
But.
The red-haired lady is violently thrown through the air to the end of the hall, her head and back colliding against the door with a painfully loud thud. She faints.
Mike stops dead in his tracks.
"Damn it," and turns to his back, eyes widening. His heart skips a beat.
Will doesn't have time to turn back. Doesn’t have time to react. Before his senses can get what’s about to happen, he spots a blur.
A disgusting wet noise. A loud pop.
Blood in the air.
Blood hitting his face, warm and fresh.
His friend looks confused.
Vines. Spiral branches. Claws like knives.
Omen.
The grip on his wrist disappears, at the same time the thing falls directly on top of his feet, the weight of it feeling like a ton.
The body collapses before Will.
Shrilling screams.
Mike's arm. Severed.
Will gets close, falling to his knees next to Mike. He needs to do something.
The painful screaming reaches his ears and makes his stomach churn, his throat and chest suddenly burning hard. He can feel the contents of his stomach rise, but he holds it in.
Something. Do something.
The initial screams subside, but he’s still in pain, panting and hissing. He uses his other hand to try to reach his other arm, finding nothing instead.
"Stop... stop moving!"
Bright red blood. There's so much, staining his pants, staining Mike's whole body. It gushes out of the stump in pulsations, the wound made just inches below the sleeve of his shirt. The strong smell of cleanliness mixed with the metallic scent penetrates his nostrils, disgusting and nasty, while his own breathing quickens.
Do something. Do something. What is he supposed to do?
He’s bleeding to death. How do you undo a mistake?
"Tourniquet..." says a slurred voice.
It’s the red-haired nurse, lying by the door. She doesn't seem to be able to move.
"What? What did you say?"
"You need to apply... pressure... stop the bleeding..."
Mike is lying on his back, his face twitching in pain.
Of course. Stop the flow. Will takes the jacket off his shoulders and the sleeves off his arms. He hurries to try to wrap the sleeve around the stump of his arm, but his hands shake so badly it’s too hard to handle it clearly.
"Breathe... you need to... keep... calm..." she warns.
He slows down, tries to breathe through the mouth. Inhale, exhale. Will tries to channel his strength, finally managing to wrap the sleeve of his own jacket around what was left of Mike's arm. The feeling of his fingers touching his skin makes his heart ache, as if somehow, he's gonna do more damage than he's already done. As if he's going to corrode the rest of his best friend.
"Will, I... I wanna tell you something..."
Trying to ignore all the lead on his shoulders, he focuses his energy on the task in front of him. He needs to stop the bleeding. He continues to wrap the sleeve of his jacket several times, as many as possible. Mike lets out a grunt.
"Now, you... you have to... tie... very tight. Very tightly," the nurse instructs once again.
His forearms burn when his strength is summoned all at once. He ties several knots in the fabric. The garment is now completely painted red. He gulps hard.
"I... couldn't apologize for earlier today..." he continued, voice strained but somehow very calm. Will finally stares back, finding Mike already watching him. "So much has happened. Not just today, these past two years as well. I... felt like you didn't want anything to do with me anymore, so I kinda... thought it was the end of the world."
Those same heavy footsteps echo again, damp and slow.
His heart sinks.
"But... seems that I wasn't so wrong," Mike lets out a weak laugh.
His eyes burn, vision blurring.
"Please..."
"I was a huge asshole to you. Instead of... acting like a normal person and... talk about what's bothering me, I... I let this bad feeling linger for so... so long, that I ended up taking everything out on you."
Could they run away from the future?
Mike doesn't think they could.
He reaches out his one hand, reaching for Will's clenched fist, his touch feeling like ice.
"You don't deserve this," the weary voice mutters, as Will feels a warm tear run down his cheek. "We’ve known each other... for more than 10 years. I... I should be the one who... will stay by your side forever. But I’ve hurt you... so, so many times I hurt you," the voice breaks. "I just don’t want to lose you, Will..."
A stray tear runs down Mike's temple.
"I... I don't want to lose you either, Mike. Never, in my life. I can't imagine my future without you by my side!" He vomits those words without thinking. Will unclenches his fist and holds Mike's hand the proper way, intertwining their fingers and resting them on Mike’s chest. "You can’t die on me..."
"I'm sorry for everything..."
Will's face twitches, the tears now flowing unceremoniously.
There’s no way back. He ruined everything. It didn't matter how much he tried to revert the situation, remedy, solve, fix, help. There’s no way back from here.
He looks down at his hands. His muscles are stiff, pale hands contrasting with the aggressive red of the blood. The pool beneath them looks bigger than before, despite his seemingly futile attempt to stop the flow. The light. White, blinding, flickering. His nose picks up the strong scent of metal, mixed with disinfectant.
His face. Very pronounced cheekbones. Freckles spreading over the nose and cheeks. His long, curved nose. His black hair, messy, like a cascade falling on the forehead. His eyes, almost going through Will's head, while nothing else really exists around him.
Shouldn't be Mike.
He tries to keep his eyes open, blinking very slowly, while still holding Will's hand. He tries to open his mouth, say something, but not even a groan comes out of his throat.
They lost.
"Some people do not belong in this world, William," that guttural noise. "They belong to mine."
He loses all breath. Everything hurts.
"...Why...?"
"All because of you."
All because of you.
Because Will rejected Vecna?
‘I will make sure you will always remember the weight of your decision.’
Decision.
The students at school. Holly. Mrs. Wheeler. The hospital staff.
Mike.
All because Will rejected Vecna?
Was there anything he could have done?
Where are Dustin and Lucas, after all? Where is mom?
He denied, resisted, tried to make a difference. He tried to prevent the fate dictated by those stains, but to no avail. If he had accepted, submitted, remained in fear, it would have been the same. He was never enough.
Decision. Decision.
What difference is he capable of making? Are his words, thoughts, or his whole self really any relevant to be taken into account? What kind of power does he have?
What should he have done instead?
He failed.
All of this is his fault.
By not telling Mike the truth after waking up from the vision. By failing to recognize sooner the significance of the stains. By failing to protect Holly. By failing to prevent Mrs. Wheeler from suffering this tragedy.
When he surrendered to fear, when he tried to act. He failed.
"See what you have done? You condemned these people."
Why is Will the reason for all this?
What’s left of him? What’s remaining?
You can't run away from the future.
His chest burns.
Will watches, while everything in him hurts, as Mike's face begins to relax. He grips that hand a thousand times stronger, holding it like a lifeline, but the hand he holds is cold and weak.
It burns. It burns with the fires of a thousand suns, heat radiating from the middle of his heart to his lungs, abdomen and all his insides.
This is the end. This is how the story ends.
It's how the world ends.
Will wasn't enough. Never was. Never will be.
Vecna won.
"Will..."
A snap.
--
It's very dark.
Illuminated only by the moonlight, behind the surrounding trees, the station is empty. The cold autumn breeze makes the hairs on his body stand up.
Glancing around, he looks at the large porch that covers the entire high platform by the tracks. One of the walls outside the building is totally collapsed, debris strewn across the floor and vines dominating. The ground is full of leaves and lots and lots of dust. Cobwebs cover every inch of this place. There are many waiting benches lined up.
It's strange, but familiar at the same time.
Hasn't he been there before?