Chapter Text
Will knew better—never lack a backup plan.
After he first manifested that fleshy wall of protection, he didn’t leave Castle Byers for nearly three days.
Safety had suddenly become sacred.
The next time Will ventured out into the dark—his food and water supply was always dangerously low—he knew there needed to be someplace else, just one other place, where he could escape to.
One hiding spot would never be enough.
And now, Will felt a small bit of pride—thinking ahead had paid off.
The trees gave way—Mike's house came into view, nestled neatly on the corner of Grovers Avenue.
The house looked normal. Well, normal for this place's standards.
It wasn’t obvious at first glance that this house was a fortress.
The protective shield wasn’t outside, like the one he built for Castle Byers—it was inside, hidden from view.
But Will knew it was there; he could feel the safety closing in around him as he grew nearer.
His leg practically dragged behind him.
He was sweating despite the cold air falling all around him. He shed one of his jackets, his skin heating up uncomfortably from the fire or the sweat—Will wasn’t sure.
By the time he made it inside, he was close to collapse. But he needed to dress his wounds. An infection in this place would be deadlier than the monsters.
Gizmo was injured, too. Her hind was red and raw, the skin sloughing off.
By the time he reached the front door, Will was shaking, his legs weak and unsteady.
He still climbed the stairs anyway.
His entire stash of supplies had burned down—he didn’t get the chance to collect anything. Not his backpack full of first aid necessities, not his clean water, not his food, not even the radio.
The first thing he needed, besides medical care, was light.
Will clutched his side, hobbling through the house in search of candles. There were some in Mrs. Wheeler's bathroom; they were dark red, and the faint smell of roses clung to them.
Will hadn’t smelled something nice in so long. He pressed the thin candle against his nose, trying to breathe in the floral scent. It passed through his nose briefly before being swept away by the putrid smell clinging to the air.
He stood in the bathroom, locking himself behind the door. Will may not have needed privacy, but a closed door could offer just enough protection in case something made its way through the barrier.
Gizmo curled around his legs, clicking softly.
He patted the top of her head, his arms feeling wobbly.
Will sucked in a rattling breath.
He carefully lifted the hem of his shirt. The movement sent a sharp, searing pain up his side into his ribs. He hissed, his teeth clenched together.
He forced himself to stop—the fabric was sticking to his skin.
Will tried very hard to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes flickered toward his reflection.
Will startled at the sight of himself.
It had been a long time since he’d looked into a mirror.
His pants—two pairs of sweats—hung low on his hips. His ribs were visible; his fingers, clutching the hem of his shirt, were also surprisingly thin.
Scars littered his body.
A thick, puffy scar wrapped around his waist. A vine had pulled him back against a tree so hard he thought it was going to split him in half. Its usual slimy exterior was suddenly hard and jagged like the vines on a thorn bush. It bit into Will’s skin, tearing into his flesh. He had just enough strength to conjure up a pocket knife, slicing through it—he fell to the forest floor, gasping and shaking.
Then, one of those flying creatures had wrapped its tail around Will’s neck once, dragging him through a neighborhood. It pulled him through someone’s backyard into the empty pool. Will hit the concrete so hard that he ended up passing out.
When he woke, Gizmo was there, holding the creature down—she may have lacked teeth, but her latch was strong.
Wrapped around Will’s neck was a thin, pale pink ring, a reminder that his breath could be taken from him at any moment.
His wrists had scars, too. Those weren’t from the monsters, though. Will had done that to himself.
And now—
The fire had burned across his hip and the top of his thigh.
The skin on his side was red and inflamed. Some spots were flushed and tender-looking. Some spots had begun to swell; blisters were already forming, shining in the candlelight.
Will’s chest rose rapidly.
If he didn’t hurry up, he might pass out before he could dress his wounds.
He peeled off his shirt, tears stinging his eyes—he bit the inside of his cheek so hard the skin broke.
He slowly shed his pants and underwear, clutching the edge of the sink as pain radiated up his side.
The burn on his thigh was less angry, but the skin was still red and puffy. The flesh there was unbearably hot, as if the fire still lingered there.
He took out a bottle of peroxide from the medicine cabinet. He held it in his hand, his heart beating fast.
He unscrewed the lid—
Will breathed hard, his whole body thrumming with anticipated pain.
He tipped the bottle toward himself.
There was another fire burning inside his chest.
Will was angry.
He was angry for himself, for the innocence that was stolen from him, and the abuse his body and mind had endured. Most days, he could still feel that horrible, slimy appendage in his throat slithering around inside of him.
He was angry for his mom, who still blamed herself for what happened. Every time she spoke to Will, she cried—she begged Will to forgive her.
He was angry at his brother. Everyone else believed he was alive—why didn't Jonathan? Did he even miss him? Had he even tried to talk to him? Did he even want to?
He was angry that his friends were moving on without him. Before he knew it, they were going to graduate and leave Hawkins—they were going to leave Will behind.
He was angry that someone else was loving Mike. No one had to say it out loud—Will knew El was in love with him. And Mike was probably in love with her, too.
That was supposed to be Will. Mike promised him—
Will seethed.
He poured the peroxide over his stomach, letting it drip down his torso and thigh.
The sound that left him was brutal. He sobbed, his breath wet and thick in his throat.
The pain kept coming; it didn’t let up or dissipate. It overwhelmed him; it consumed him wholly until the world plunged into darkness.
Pain prickled across Will’s face.
He blinked against the darkness. There was no more candlelight to illuminate the space.
He must have passed out a while ago.
Little pin-pricks of pain spread across his cheek.
Gizmo was suckling on his face.
Will weakly pushed her face away. She had no teeth, but the inside of her mouth was rough like sandpaper.
She kept nuzzling his face.
“That hurts,” Will groaned.
He tried to turn his face away, but his head throbbed immediately.
“Stop it,” he breathed, swatting at her.
She shrank back, nudging his shoulder with her head.
Will’s whole body ached. He could barely breathe without his ribs protesting.
She snuck her head under his arm, trying to pull him up.
She mewled, pleading with him.
Will just lie there, his body shivering from the cold and the pain. He was freezing and sweating all at once.
She latched onto his side, her mouth pulling against Will’s ribs. He jerked, the pain fresh—it wasn’t dull like the burns plastered across his skin.
Will’s lungs burned as he breathed. It was painful, but it was necessary. He needed to get up to bandage his wounds—Gizmo was still hurt.
He sat up slowly, his chest burning. He pressed himself against the cabinets, his breath faltering in his chest.
Gizmo curled against his side, her head in his lap.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
The next time we opened his eyes, the darkness wasn’t the only thing that greeted him.
A candle was burning, outlining the body couched next to him.
It was Mike.
He was facing sideways, his profile strong.
Will almost smiled before he realized something was terribly wrong.
What gave it away was the fact that this Mike was undoubtedly older.
His jaw was sharper, his nose was more prominent. His hair was longer, curling around his jaw and sitting softly against his collarbone.
Will felt close to tears—happy tears, sad tears, frustrated tears, fearful tears.
He knew this wasn’t his Mike, but he still called out to him.
“Mike?” he croaked.
Mike’s fingers curled around Will’s bare knee.
Will’s face flushed—he was still naked.
But Mike didn’t seem to notice.
He turned his head—
The other half of his face was missing.
His skin was melting off like wax dripping down a candle.
Will could see the tendons and stringy muscles keeping his jaw together; he saw his tongue lying flat in his mouth. His eye was gone too, just a dark concave hole.
Will’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach.
“Mike?” he whispered, his hushed voice sounding loud in his ears.
“I tried to get through,” Mike gurgled. “But only half of me made it.”
“Mike—”
“You did this,” he rasped, his fingers pressing deep into Will’s skin.
He cried out, trying to jerk his leg away, but Mike’s grip was strong.
“Let me in—all of me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough. “The rest of me is so cold out there.”
Will had nowhere to go. His back was pressed against the cabinets, the small knobs digging into his side.
He tried to push Mike—this thing—away, but his hands slipped on his shoulders.
Chunks of flesh sloughed off between Will’s fingers.
“Wha—” his chest heaved.
Will looked up.
It wasn’t just half of Mike’s face that was missing—the entire left side of his body was too.
Will stared into his chest cavity and watched his heart beat—ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.
“Let me in, Will,” Mike urged. “I’ll freeze out there.”
He grabbed Will’s face, his fingers squeezing—Will’s jaw was forced open. He surged forward, and for a terrifying, awful moment, Will thought he was going to press his mouth against Will’s.
Mike’s breath was hot against his face.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he whispered. “Just let me in—please.”
Will tried to push him away, but his fingers kept slipping against the loose skin.
“You’re not real,” Will gasped. “You’re not real.”
It wasn’t the first time some grotesque version of Mike appeared. Every time, Will faltered. Every time, a flutter of hope unfurled inside his chest. Every time, he was weak—he was so stupid for believing it was real.
Mike started to cry, his fingers falling away from Will’s face, only to then clutch the back of his head.
He slammed Will’s head against the back of the cabinet over and over until the world disappeared around him.
Will somehow found the strength to stand on his feet.
The hallucination of Mike left him feeling hollowed out, like someone had scooped out the last remaining remnants of hope from his chest. Eventually, Will thought, there would be nothing left inside him. He would be empty.
Will dressed his wound with the urgency of a broken clock.
He hardly cared if he lived or died.
No matter where Will went, they were listening.
The Shadow Man and the Shadow that followed.
They knew what Will desired most. They knew it would break him if he had that one thing—if he had Mike. If he had him, he would be easy to control. They could do whatever they wanted to him. They could make him do whatever they wanted.
It was almost tempting to accept their offering.
But Will wanted the real Mike—the boy who approached him on the swing set all those years ago. The boy who reserved only his softest voice for Will. The boy who knew what Will's favorite shade of yellow was. The boy who offered him the cream inside his Oreos because he knew that was the only part Will liked.
The boy who talked to him every day—never did Will think Mike’s voice wouldn’t reach him.
When you come back home, Mike had whispered one day, I think I'd like...He paused, leaving behind just the sound of static. I think I'd like to make you mine. But you have to promise me you'll come home. Promise Will—and I'll be yours too. You have to promise.
Will said nothing back.
He couldn’t make that promise—Will knew a long time ago that he wasn’t coming home.
And friends weren’t supposed to lie.
That was the night of the first birthday he celebrated in this place.
It felt like decades ago.
Will distracted himself from the burning ache in his chest by dressing Gizmo’s wound.
She snapped at him when he poured peroxide over the burn. Will pinched her hip and then immediately felt bad when she jerked her body away from him.
“Don’t—don’t be mean to me,” Will whispered, his throat clogged with tears.
She clicked at him before slowly lying back down.
Later, Will rummaged through Mike’s room.
He tried really hard not to think about what it would look like now. What movie posters had replaced the old ones? What did his sheets smell like? Did he still have a binder of Will’s drawings hidden under his bed?
Will’s cheeks warmed.
He felt bad for snooping around, but it wasn’t like he could tell anyone about what he found. He’d never speak to another person again.
His radio was gone—destroyed by the fire.
The silence permeated every cell in his body.
He pulled on a pair of Mike’s pajama pants. They were way too large, but at least they didn’t rub against his wounds. He pulled one of his sweaters over his head, his ribs protesting with every movement.
He crawled into Mike’s bed, Gizmo hopping in after him.
Will covered himself in a thick layer of blankets, and for the first time in nearly two years, he cried himself to sleep.
November 1, 1986
“You’re not coming,” Hopper said. “It’s not safe.”
The finality of his words stung Mike deep, like an insect bite to the chest.
“Fuck you,” Mike spat.
It was the third time he told Hopper to fuck off in the last hour. The old man was entirely unfazed at that point, which only angered Mike more.
“I’m coming with you,” Mike said.
His heart was beating fast. His hands trembled at his side.
They were close, closer than they had ever been. Mike could feel it in his gut. The hope burned hot through his chest like a constellation of shooting stars; Mike was going to wish upon every single one of them.
“Hopper’s right,” Jonathan sighed. “It’s safer for you to stay here.”
Mike had to bite the inside of his cheek hard. He tasted blood in his mouth.
There were a million awful things he wanted to say to Jonathan. None of which would land nicely.
Now his heart was beating fast, not in anticipation but in anger.
Jonathan had wasted three years dismissing Mike and his friends, his own mother.
It wasn’t until Mike had begged him to listen in on his last talk with Will that he realized they were right—Will was alive. He had been alive this whole time.
Mike hoped the guilt would eat Jonathan alive.
He hadn’t even felt bad for feeling animosity toward him. He had sat there for years, ignoring Mike and Joyce, refusing to listen.
Jonathan was quick to try to form a rescue mission. The regret was etched onto his face—Mike hoped he’d never know peace again.
Truthfully, he didn’t think Jonathan was worthy of ever seeing Will again. He didn’t deserve to see his face or hear his voice.
It had been two hundred and twenty-four days since Mike last heard Will’s voice. It had been longer before—the first time he had spoken to him since going missing—but this time was different.
Will wasn’t screaming in pain, which was a relief. Mike almost passed out from how dizzy he felt hearing Will’s normal voice. It wasn’t the voice he had been used to; Will’s voice had clearly aged with him. It was a bit brittle around the edges and deeper, but it was still Will.
It was what he said that startled Mike the most.
They’re listening.
There was someone—something there with Will. Multiple somethings.
The thought left him with no comfort. Mike knew that place was dangerous—El had told him.
She hadn’t been there physically, but at the lab, they had forced her mind there. She had seen what the creatures looked like; she had felt the desolation and the cold.
Will wasn’t referring to the creatures.
The way he said it—it reminded Mike of when they were little, playing hide and seek with Nancy and Jonathan, back when they were actually cordial toward each other. Mike had giggled loudly, and Will had clamped a hand over his mouth, shushing him. Will took hide and seek very seriously. He knew their siblings would be listening.
Will was referring to someone. Mike knew it.
“My decisions final,” Hopper told him, zipping his bag.
“I hate you,” Mike breathed. And because he felt like he didn’t say it with enough hatred the first time, he said it again. “I hate you.”
The look on Hopper’s face satisfied something small inside him. But it wasn’t enough to erase the anger he felt.
He was close enough to hit Hopper, so that’s what he did.
Hopper caught both his hands, his fingers curling around his wrists.
“I hate you,” Mike sobbed, trying to bang his fists against Hopper’s chest, but he was stronger.
“I know, kid,” Hopper sighed, tugging Mike closer to him.
“You know he’s out there,” Mike breathed, his breath caught in his throat. “And you won’t—I should be there. I should be the one to bring him home. And you—”
“You’re no good to him dead,” Hopper interjected. “We don’t know what we’re up against.”
Mike made a frustrated noise, dropping his head forward; he curled his fingers into his palm, his nails biting into the soft flesh. He kept pushing against Hopper’s grip.
A part of Mike knew Hopper was right. A part of Mike also knew it wasn’t fair. Mike would die for Will—he’d face any amount of fear to save him, to bring him home.
“If something happens to us,” Hopper said, pulling Mike close to his chest. “Then you’ll be here to try again—you’ll be here.”
Mike still hated him, even if his words somewhat settled the anxiety pressing between his ribs.
Hopper was right.
Mike was here, and he didn’t need Hopper’s permission to be somewhere else.
He lived in America for fucks sake—this was a free country.
Mike was shaking with fatigue by the time he arrived at Max’s house.
He immediately started banging on the door.
Max flung open the door; her cheeks were almost as red as her hair.
“Could you bang on the door any louder?” she huffed.
He ignored her. “Where’s El?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Wouldn’t you love to know.”
Mike didn’t have time for this. He pushed past her, completely tuning her out as he hurried toward her room.
El was there, lounging across her bed. She perked up immediately when she saw him.
“Mike—”
“I need you to show me where the gate is,” he blurted.
She blinked.
“What gate?” Max asked. She walked into her room, glaring at Mike. “What is he talking about?”
“Nothing,” El said quietly. She gave him a look—that are-you-serious look. “He is just…being weird.”
“I’m being serious,” Mike said. His heart was starting to beat wildly in his chest. “Tell me where it is. Or show me on a map—I don’t really care. But I need to know.”
El sat up slowly, the comic in her lap falling away.
“Mike,” she said, as a warning.
“I don’t care what Hopper says,” he grumbled. “I’m going to get Will.”
Max whipped her head around.
“Will?” She stared between the two of them. “Your dead friend—”
“He’s not dead,” Mike snapped. Then, he turned to El. “Is he, El?”
“Ok,” Max laughed, clearly confused. “What is he talking about? What gate—what about Will?”
Mike never took his eyes off El.
He wanted her to sit there and confront the truth. He wanted her to squirm under the scrutiny of Mike’s eyes.
“I have to go, Max,” she said calmly, sliding off the bed.
Max grabbed her arm.
“No—wait,” she huffed. “Don’t just leave because Mike is being weird or whatever.”
El gently lifted Max’s hand away from her arm. “He is not being weird,” she sighed. “He is being…stubborn.”
Mike’s cheeks flushed.
Maybe he was misplaced in his behavior—maybe he shouldn’t have barged into Max’s house demanding things from her. But he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.
He glanced at the clock on Max’s nightstand.
6:04 blinked back at him.
He had five hours and fifty-six minutes left before it was too late.
El discovered that the lab—the government or whoever the hell was in charge—was opening a gate. They were going to enter the Upside Down.
Tonight, at midnight, the gate would be opened. Mike could step into the world that had taken Will from him and finally bring him back home.
Max looked at El, then at Mike. She looked back at El.
“Well—then I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Mike and El said at the same time.
She gawked at them. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s none of your business,” Mike nearly shouted.
“You’re such an asshole, Mike,” she complained. Then, she turned to El. “I thought friends don’t lie.”
El hesitated for just a second. “I am not lying,” she said. “I am just not telling you why I have to go.”
Max looked irate. “Ok, so tell me where you’re going then.”
El looked at Mike, but Mike just stared.
He was still pissed off that she didn’t tell him what she’d found.
“I…cannot tell you,” El sighed.
Max groaned.
Mike couldn’t care less about how Max felt. He was over this conversation the moment it started.
Every minute that passed was a minute longer that Will had to spend in that place.
He grabbed El’s wrist. “Let’s go.”
Max grabbed Mike’s wrist.
“Stop being so fucking bossy,” Max snapped at him.
Mike tried really hard to keep his mouth closed—he was probably going to bite a hole through his cheek with how much holding back he’d been doing.
“You don’t just get to come in and make all these demands after treating her like shit all week,” Max barked.
Mike felt a ping of guilt ricochet off his heart.
But Max didn’t know what it felt like to be lied to about the most important thing in your life.
“She doesn’t even want to go with you.” She turned to look at El. “Do you?”
She blinked, as if she was surprised she even had a choice.
“She owes me,” Mike said sternly.
Max rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t owe you shit.”
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Mike was trying really hard—he was—but Max was making it difficult.
“You have no idea what’s going on.”
“Maybe that’s because no one tells me anything,” she huffed.
El drew her hand away. She looked frustrated, like she was processing several different emotions at once.
“Maybe we should tell her,” El said, her brows drawn together.
“No,” Mike fretted.
His chest suddenly felt tight.
He hated feeling cornered, like some feral animal being trapped. Will wasn’t just his friend who went missing. Will was his best friend—his everything.
No one had known Mike so intimately. No one had ever looked at Mike the way Will had; he looked at Mike like he hung every constellation in the galaxy.
A deep, sorrowful agony swept through Mike’s chest.
“She doesn’t need your permission to tell me anything.”
“Yes, she does!” Mike shouted. “This is about Will and Will is—”
Mine.
He didn’t dare say that out loud.
His heart beat loudly in his ears.
He just wanted to bring Will home. They didn’t need to involve more people—it was already complicated enough.
“Will is what?” Max demanded.
“None of your business.” He turned to El. “Let’s go.”
Max refused to let it go.
Mike refused to give a shit anymore.
He only cared about one thing—it consumed him wholly.
The moment he found out El had gained insight into the lab, there was nothing else he could think of.
There was a way into the Upside Down. How long, Mike didn’t know. But he thought if he knew the exact amount of time, it would hurt something awful in him. Will had spent too much time in that place already; to know that they could have saved him sooner left him feeling riddled with guilt and shame.
“You told her?” Lucas hissed, grabbing Mike’s arm.
“I didn’t tell her shit,” Mike huffed.
He shrugged off Lucas’ hand, walking toward his bed. He started throwing things into his backpack. He had laid out all sorts of supplies—canned food, water, first aid, medication.
“Your girlfriend is nosy—she doesn’t know how to mind her own business.”
“So who told her Will was alive?” Lucas pressed.
Mike paused, his fingers curled around his folded sweater.
“She did.” Mike nodded toward El.
She was sitting on the edge of Mike’s bed, her own bag open in her lap.
Mike tossed a couple of his sweaters into her bag, just some random ones that his mom had put away a long time ago for Mike to grow into.
Lucas sighed, massaging his temples.
“She wants to come with us,” he said.
“Who wants to come with us?” Dustin asked.
He walked into Mike’s room, carrying an armful of snacks.
Mike stared. “Is all that necessary?”
“Considering your rescue plan consists mostly of blind optimism,” he scoffed, “yeah, I'd say fuel is necessary.”
“Whatever,” Mike breathed. He turned back to his bag. He could feel six pairs of eyes staring into the back of his head. “Let’s just go—bring whatever food you want. Bring Max, don’t bring Max. I don’t care. I just—I just want to get to Will.”
“Hopper will be mad,” El said. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
She was scared—Mike knew she was using Hopper as a ruse.
Mike didn’t think any of them had the right to be scared. Will had been down there for over eight hundred days now—he was the only one who had a right to be scared. They were going in there, grabbing Will, and hightailing it the fuck out. Their journey would be a walk in the park compared to what Will had been suffering through.
Mike gritted his teeth.
“If you’re so worried about disappointing him, then stay here,” Mike scowled.
The room fell silent.
Mike’s heart beat in his throat.
The tension in the air was thick; it made it hard to breathe.
“You are being mean,” El whispered. “I showed you where to go, and now you are treating me like I am…disposable. Like trash.”
Mike froze.
It wasn’t entirely untrue.
Ever since he discovered what she knew—what she was purposefully withholding from him—he could never look at her the same.
There was a dark twisted part of him that didn’t care. But maybe when he got Will back, some of that light in him would return.
“I just want to find Will,” was all he could say.
“We all want to find Will,” Lucas chimed in.
Mike refused to look up at him.
He knew Lucas would have that look on his face. Those sad downturned eyes—reflected there would be an awful kind of sadness, one that pierced through your heart.
“So let’s—let’s act like we’re a team, ok?”
Lucas sighed, and the breath that left him was heavy, layered with exhaustion and fear. Mike could practically feel it in the air.
“Mike does not want me on his team,” El said quietly.
Mike’s head snapped up.
Anger passed through him first, then guilt. Because she was right. Mike didn’t want her to come along.
She had lied to him—when he asked her if she had found anything that could bring them closer to Will, she told him she hadn’t, but that she’d keep trying.
She already found the access point. And instead of telling Mike the truth, she lied.
Mike didn’t care if Hopper told her she couldn’t tell him. Hopper had no right to keep that information from him.
But Mike needed her. Really, he just needed her powers.
Later, he knows he’ll feel like the world's biggest asshole for that, but he couldn’t really think straight. All he could think about was Will.
“But we want you on our team,” Lucas said, eyeing Mike.
A Sinclair’s look of disappointment could slice right through you.
Mike stared back down at this bag, which he most certainly overpacked.
Dustin came over and dumped his armful of snacks onto the bed beside El.
“Mike wants you on our team, too,” he smiled. Then, he proceeded to talk about Mike as if he wasn’t standing right there. “He just gets a little angsty when it comes to Will.”
Mike felt his cheeks warm.
“A-angsty?” She asked, her brows drawn together.
“You know—emotional turmoil?” She just stared. “Anxiety, dread, worry.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “It is because he misses him,” she said. She squinted at Dustin, as if she were studying him closely. “But you are not… angsty.”
“No,” he shook his head, biting into a granola bar. “Mike is angsty because he’s in l—”
“Can we go now?” Mike snapped. “Please?”
His face felt like it was hovering over a flame.
They barely made it halfway down the steps before their plan started to unravel.
“The Sheriffs put out a curfew,” Mike’s mom shouted from the kitchen.
Fuck you, Hopper, Mike cursed in his head.
“You kids have to be home and tucked in bed by nine o’clock,” he clicked his tongue for emphasis. He didn’t take his eyes off the TV, not once. “That’s eighty thirty for you, Michael.”
It was currently seven thirty-six—they had less than one hour.
For a second, Mike wanted to protest. But it didn’t really matter. Curfew or not, Mike wasn’t going to be home at all tonight. He knew his rescue mission would take time.
“Cool,” he said. Then, yelling so his mom could hear, “We’re leaving!”
He didn’t wait for a response.
In the garage, Nancy and her boyfriend Steve were just getting out of his car.
Steve, the annoying loser that he was, smirked. He eyed them up and down as they pulled their bikes upright.
“Are you guys…going camping or going to war?” he laughed.
Something strange started to unfold inside Mike’s chest. It was pretty large, almost large enough to be considered pure hatred.
Mike had bitten his cheek a lot this past week. He was thinking the skin needed a break.
“Your boyfriend’s an asshole, Nancy,” Mike called to her.
Steve looked like he’d been slapped.
Dustin laughed behind him.
Nancy gawked. “Mike—”
“I’ve hated you since the third grade,” Mike told him, wheeling his bike past him. “But also—fuck you for what you said about Will.”
Conversations traveled fast in Hawkins.
It wasn’t a secret that people speculated what Will was—a fag, queer, gay. Whatever label they decided to slap on him, he wore it like a branding. Lonnie, Troy, Andrew—Steve and his gaggle of fucking geese.
But the week Will went missing was brutal. It was like every goddamn person in this town suddenly found their confidence. Everyone wanted to chime in on what they thought happened to Lonnie’s boy.
Mike’s stomach churned at the memory.
My dad says he’s in fairyland with all the other queers.
You think some other fag came in and killed him? Who knows who the boy’s been talking to. They’re all promiscuous at that age.
The worst part—his family never did anything to defend Will. Not his mom, who claimed Will had always been her favorite. Not his dad, which wasn’t all that surprising. But Mike had a suspicion that his dad sat around fueling the rumors or, at the very least, he let them fester without so much as a comment. And Nancy—
There was no way she didn’t know about what Steve and his friends did to Jonathan. Everyone saw Tommy Hagan draw devil horns on Will’s missing person flyers.
Tommy had been in their house just recently. Carol Perkins, too.
“And Nance?” Mike walked past her. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst right through his chest. “Fuck you too—I know you were there when he broke Jonathan’s camera.”
Mike had found broken pieces of a camera lens in their shared bathroom. That same day, he saw Jonathan’s shattered, beat-up camera sitting on the Byers’ kitchen table.
Steve said something in disbelief, but Mike had already tuned him out.
Mike stared at his sister—she didn’t look shocked. She looked ashamed.
Mike felt satisfaction ripple through him, like a small drop of water in a vast ocean; the possibilities of what it could become were endless.
Mike didn’t think he’d be biting his cheek anymore.
“So Will has been alive this entire time?” Max asked for the fifth time. “And…he’s been trapped somewhere?”
“In the Upside Down,” El clarified.
“Right,” she breathed.
Mike couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the look she was wearing.
They were walking through the woods, headed north toward the edge of Hawkins lab.
Their flashlights sliced through the darkness; the glow of the laboratory was the only other source of light in the darkness of the woods.
“And you’ve been talking to him,” she said. “Through…”
“Mike’s supercom,” Lucas told her. “El just—”
Mike could imagine he was sticking his hand out, mimicking El when she channeled her powers.
“Right—how could I forget?” Max huffed. “Your dead-not-dead childhood best friend has been alive for three years, and Mike’s girlfriend has powers.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Mike snapped, turning around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
Max glared.
Lucas blinked.
Dustin fiddled with his flashlight.
Mike avoided El’s eyes.
“Does El know that?” Max questioned.
Mike’s pulse beat against his throat.
“You treat her like she is,” Max defended. “At least you used to.”
“Being nice to someone doesn’t mean you’re dating,” Mike snapped.
“Being nice?” she laughed. “You’re possessive. When we first met, you wouldn’t even let me sit next to her at lunch. You—”
Dustin stepped forward, staring at the compass in his hand.
“Guys,” he whispered.
They ignored him.
Mike’s chest started to ache.
Before Will disappeared, Mike had been a nice kid. He was a little snappy and easily irritated, but he was nice. He cared about other people’s feelings—he knew what it was like to be forgotten or ostracised. He knew how bad it hurt to be viewed as something othered, something less than. Frog face, faggot, nerd.
At home, his parents hardly noticed he existed. He was just there to do things for them. Mike, set the table. Mike, go fold the laundry. Mike, go to the store—I need this.
After Will went missing, everything changed.
Mike was tired of being nice.
Being nice got him nowhere.
"That's not true," Mike said, knowing full well she wasn’t lying.
Max crossed her arms. "Really? Because from where I'm standing?”
Mike opened his mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out.
The forest went quiet except for the hum of electricity coming from the lab.
Before Will disappeared, Mike would've apologized by now. He would've found a way to smooth things over. He would've cared that El looked hurt by his words.
But Mike was tired.
The anger and grief were weighing him down, and he had never stopped sinking.
"Three years, Max," he whispered. "Three years of people looking at me like I'm crazy."
Nobody spoke.
"Three years of teachers pulling me aside. Three years of my parents telling me I needed to move on. Three years of hearing that he's dead."
His throat tightened—tears stung his eyes.
"And every single time I talk about him,” Mike breathed, “people look at me like there’s something wrong with me."
Max's expression softened slightly.
Mike looked away; her softened eyes were too much to bear.
"I wasn't being possessive of El,” he said quietly. "I just..." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I couldn't lose anybody else."
The admission hung heavily in the air.
El lowered her gaze.
Lucas shifted uncomfortably.
Max's shoulders relaxed. "Oh."
Mike hated how small her voice sounded, like she was trying to be gentle with him all of a sudden.
Dustin finally looked up his compass.
"Okay," he said. "I know we're exploring our feelings right now, and that's great, super healthy, love that for us—"
"Dustin," Lucas groaned.
"But," Dustin continued, pointing at the compass, "if we're done psychoanalyzing Mike—”
He pointed forward, toward the lab.
That got everyone's attention.
The building started to glow.
It wasn’t the warm buttery glow of office lights or the sharp white flare from fluorescent hallways. It was a deep, unnatural red that leaked from every seam in the building; brush strokes of blood-red painted the sky and the forest floor. Light spilled from beneath doorframes, through ventilation grates, and between cracks in the concrete like water escaping a flooded room.
Mike slowed.
The hairs on his arms stood upright.
A low hum vibrated through the air. At first, he thought it was machinery. Then he felt it in his teeth.
The laboratory lights flickered.
White.
Red.
White.
Red.
The colors pulsed rhythmically, like a giant heartbeat hidden beneath the earth.
Max frowned. "Do you guys feel that?"
Nobody answered—there was no way they didn’t.
The air itself seemed charged.
Static crawled across Mike's skin. His flashlight flickered. Lucas yelped when a tiny spark jumped from his fingers to the metal zipper on his jacket.
Above them, dark clouds churned violently. They twisted in a slow spiral over the laboratory.
Then, the lightning struck.
Not white—red.
A jagged bolt slammed into one of the communication towers. The entire structure erupted in sparks of white.
For a brief moment, the world turned red like an eclipse passing over the earth.
El froze. Her face had gone pale.
The humming deepened. The ground trembled beneath their feet.
A second later, an alarm wailed from somewhere inside the facility.
Blue emergency lights burst to life along the perimeter fence. They flashed against the strange red glow, painting the lab in alternating colors—crimson and cobalt, blood and ice.
The effect was nauseating, but Mike couldn’t look away.
The center of the building seemed to pulse.
Every few seconds, brilliant veins of red energy raced across the concrete walls like cracks spreading through glass. They converged toward one point.
Toward whatever was hidden inside—toward the gate.
A deafening crack split the night. The clouds above the laboratory tore open.
For a fraction of a second, Mike could have sworn he saw another sky staring back.
Black. Endless. Filled with drifting red lightning.
El sucked in a sharp breath.
"They opened it," she whispered.
The red light croscendoed above their heads.
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Hopper yelled over the blaring alarms.
They spun around, their flashlights illuminating the three adults.
Hopper stood there, dressed in full tactical gear like he was ready for war.
Joyce was right behind him, her face pinched in confusion and surprise. Jonathan was jogging forward, wearing the same expression.
Hopper looked furious. “I swear to god, Mike—”
“We really don’t have time for arguments,” Dustin shouted.
The needle on Dustin’s compass started spinning wildly.
Red lightning crackled through the sky and struck the earth.
The impact was so strong that it pushed them back.
Mike hit the ground hard. His backpack cushioned some of the impact, but his breath still stuttered in his chest.
Where the lightning struck, a flicker of red sparked through the air.
It started to grow, twitching red and white.
Mike stared.
The world fell away. There was no sound, no chaos. Just this one thing.
He didn’t even register his body was moving—he was pulled forward, like a string tugging him toward the fizzling energy.
Someone yelled his name, but he ignored them.
He reached toward it and let himself be pulled forward into the darkness.
Mike had always been fond of roller coasters.
The way your stomach almost floated in your body, the way your heart sprang into your throat—it was addicting.
For a moment, Mike felt like he was on one. He was falling forward fast, but there was no seatbelt to keep him safe, and there were no tracks to slow his fall.
When he finally hit the ground, he landed on his side—there was no cushioning this time.
The pain was immediate.
It spread through him fast, radiating through his hips and chest.
Mike was so stunned—he lay there, gasping through the pain.
He tried to roll on his back, but his backpack straps weighed him down. He frantically pulled his arms out—his jacket torn off with it. His chest heaved under the weight and the pain.
Once he slid free, he rolled onto his uninjured side, wheezing hard.
He lay on his side for a moment, trying to adjust to the pain.
The cold hit him all at once.
Mike had been cold before—he’d tracked through snowstorms in Minnesota when visiting his grandparents. He made snow angels in just pajama pants and a thin t-shirt.
This type of cold was brutal.
It nipped at his face like tiny knives; it pressed against his skin, trying to sink into his bones.
Mike gently rolled on his back; the trees sprouted above him. The sky was grey, as if a permanent rainstorm was pressed against the backdrop of this place.
Red lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating shadows flying through the air.
One of them was flying right at him—nose-diving toward the place where Mike lay.
“Shit,” Mike gasped, scrambling to his feet.
He stumbled, pain washing over him. He fell back down again, his hands falling out in front of himself; the ground was cold and damp against his palms.
He barely made it to his feet again when something wrapped around his neck, yanking him back.
The thing loosened its grip as it slammed him down to the ground. Mike clawed at the thing around his neck—he had just enough strength to pull away from its grasp.
He staggered to his feet—
Another one of those creatures flew down, landing heavily in front of him.
Its wings unfurled with a wet snap. They resembled the wings of a bat only in the most cruel, distorted sense—as though something had tried to recreate one from memory and failed.
The membrane was thin enough for light to shine through, revealing a webwork of black veins pulsing beneath the surface as more lightning flashed.
Its body was skeletal—not from starvation but by design.
Every rib protruded sharply beneath taut gray skin. Its jagged spine was visible, curving outward.
The creature's head was the most unsettling thing of all.
Its face possessed none of the softness associated with bats. There were no curious eyes or twitching nose. Only a mouth.
A long, predatory maw split nearly the entire length of its skull, packed with dozens of needle-like teeth. When it opened its mouth, they unfolded impossibly wide, revealing layer upon layer of teeth descending into a black throat.
It dug its webbed arm into the ground, circling Mike.
His heart pounded.
He took a step back, but the creature acted fast.
It whipped its tail around, striking him across the face.
Pain exploded across Mike’s face.
The force spun him sideways. For a moment, all he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears; white sparks burst across his vision.
He stumbled, nearly losing his footing.
Heat spread through his face, followed by a deep, throbbing ache that settled behind his eye. His teeth slammed together hard enough to make his whole mouth hurt.
Mike sucked in a sharp breath.
The world tilted.
He pressed his fingertips against his nose. The skin was already burning where the thing had struck him.
His pulse hammered painfully beneath the impact site, each heartbeat sending another wave of pain through his head.
For one terrifying second, he thought he might black out.
The creature screeched.
Mike covered his ears, the sound piercing through the night.
The creature behind circled him.
There were two on either side of Mike, caging him in.
Mike breathed hard, his whole body throbbing like a giant heartbeat.
Despite the pain and the terror racing through him, all he could think about was Will.
Will had been living in this cold, awful place—with these things—for three years.
Anger pressed between his ribs.
Mike channeled every last bit of strength he had and ran.
Will had never seen a storm quite like this.
The skies were always dark and unruly, but nothing quite as chaotic as what was currently unfolding.
He stared out the window, a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He pulled it tighter around himself as if it could protect him from the flashing lightning.
Gizmo was curled up on the edge of his bed, completely oblivious.
Will was about to turn away when something caught his eye.
One of those flying creatures was drifting through the sky, its body illuminated by the red lightning.
But it wasn’t just flying. It was carrying something.
Will leaned closer to the window, squinting.
It was carrying a body.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was flying right toward the house.
For a moment, Will thought it might try to fly straight through the window. But it hovered right over the front lawn and dropped the body into the wilted grass. And then it just…flew away.
This was clearly a trap.
Will pushed away from the window, breathing hard.
He rubbed the corner of the blanket over his mouth, his heart racing.
What if it wasn’t a trap?
Will quickly shoved that thought aside. Of course, it was a trap. They just wanted Will to leave the house so they could attack—they wanted to take him back to that place so they could lay more creatures in him.
He turned back to the window, his hands shaking.
He couldn’t see any identifying features. They were lying face down in the grass, unmoving.
He looked away.
When Will turned around, Gizmo was there. She was sitting up, sniffing the air.
A second later, she darted off the bed and out of the room.
Will ran after her, tossing the blanket to the side.
When he came downstairs, she was sitting in front of the door, her small tail thumping against the floor.
She wanted to go outside.
“Come here,” Will hissed, his heart beating loudly in his ears.
She looked over her shoulder, clicking softly.
“Come here,” he breathed, patting his leg.
She didn’t budge. She just kept looking at Will.
“Gizmo, please,” he begged.
Will was starting to feel panicked.
She had never gone to the door without Will. She had never wanted to go outside.
For a terrifying moment, Will thought she was turning on him; the Shadow Man and his Shadow were taking the last thing he had left from him.
But she cried out to him, trotting closer to him. She rubbed her face against his pant leg. She grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging him forward.
There was something so gentle about the way she suckled on his shirt.
Will let her lead him to the door.
He hesitated before opening it and stepping into the night.
The storm was stronger than Will anticipated. Wind was whipping through the air; thunder roared through the sky. Lightning flashed, painting the sky red.
Will crouched down next to the body, his hand hovering over their back.
He could see their chest rise and fall beneath their shirt. They weren’t dressed for the cold, which left Will feeling very uneasy.
Slowly, Will rolled them over.
Will had been stunned into silence many times. But this moment might leave Will speechless for days.
It was Mike.
This place had conjured up many false Mike’s over the last three years, but never a version so realistic.
This Mike was clearer—they were usually a little hazy, blurring around the edges like a moving object captured by a camera.
And he wasn’t as grotesque as the other versions. There was a deep cut across the bridge of his nose, but he was otherwise untouched.
Will’s breathing quickened.
Hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his finger across his hairline.
Will startled, pulling his hand away. His skin was warm.
Nothing here was ever warm—nothing but fire.
Gizmo tilted her head as if she were studying him. She leaned down and started nipping at his cheek.
“Stop it,” Will rushed, pushing her face away. He didn’t want her to leave a mark.
The realization hit him hard.
He didn’t want her to hurt Mike. Because this Mike—
Something was approaching the house—Will could feel a surge of energy pass through the air.
It wasn’t strong enough to be the Shadow Man, but it was also stronger than the creature's energy.
Will had never felt its presence before.
“Go back,” Will ordered Gizmo.
He grabbed Mike under the armpits, starting to drag him toward the front door.
Will wasn’t particularly strong, but he had recently learned that he could suck the bone marrow out of the creatures’ bones—eating more had given him back some of his strengths.
So, he held onto Mike and used every bit of strength he had to pull him up the steps.
But when he got there—
The front door was still open. His protective sheath covering the door pulsed and hummed.
Mike couldn’t enter the house, not unless Will brought down the barrier.
That wasn’t an option.
His heart was starting to pound against his ribs.
The energy was growing nearer.
Will grabbed Mike’s hand, hesitating for just one second. He looked back at the fleshy wall then down at Mike. He could live without his hand, Will decided. He flopped Mike’s arm down over the threshold.
A second later, he yanked it back out—
His skin was untouched.
Will had watched dozens of creatures try to crawl through the barrier. Their skin seared right off the bone each time.
Mike—he was fine.
Will laughed.
Of course, he was fine. Mike had always been a part of Will, hadn’t he?
He grabbed Mike’s arms and pulled him into the house.
Will dropped Mike’s body—probably a little too hard.
He rushed toward the door, ready to slam it shut when he saw a group of shadows pass through the tree line.
He slammed the door, latching the lock.
He stepped back, his chest heaving.
“What the fuck,” Mike breathed.
Will whipped around.
Mike was sitting up on his elbows, staring horrifyingly at Gizmo.
She was sitting up next to him, her head tilted.
Mike’s eyes flickered toward Will, then back to Gizmo, then back to Will.
“Holy shit,” he gasped.
He scrambled to his feet, wincing in pain. He clutched his side, doubling over for a second. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were stained red.
Will almost rushed forward, panic starting to press against his chest. He hadn’t even noticed the blood on his stomach. Will looked down—his dark shirt had hidden the mess, but there was an unmistakable wound there. Something had bitten him in the side.
But that didn’t seem to faze him.
Mike stumbled forward.
“Will?” he choked.
Will almost cried. He hadn’t heard someone say his name out loud—a real voice, not one through the static—in so long.
Mike walked forward, his eyes wild. His face was pale and bloody, but he looked so alive.
Will stepped back, colliding with the side table by the door. He gripped the edge of the wood, splinters biting into his palm.
Mike was just a few steps away, and it didn’t look like he planned on stopping.
His hands were shaking as he reached out.
Will had nowhere to go, but he still tried to push himself farther away.
His heart had never beat so fast in his life.
Mike noticed—he faltered.
“Can I—can I touch you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
This was dangerous. Will knew that. But he nodded anyway, unable to find his voice.
Mike walked forward a bit quicker, but still cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal.
When his hand touched Will’s cheek, he flinched.
Mike pulled back immediately, his eyes filled with sorrow. Will wanted to grab his hand, but his whole body was shaking.
“It’s just me,” Mike whispered.
Will nodded again.
He stepped even closer, the heat from his body reaching toward Will.
Will closed his eyes, tears sliding down his face.
He never thought he’d feel the warmth of another person ever again.
When he opened his eyes, Mike was still there. His eyes shone wetly.
He curled both his hands around Will’s face, his touch so gentle it made Will sob.
“It’s ok,” he sighed. “I’ve got you.”
Will stepped forward at the same time Mike drew him into his arms.
He curled his hands against Mike’s chest, feeling unworthy of touch—he was suddenly aware of how filthy and disgusting he was. But he let Mike pull him into his arms; he curled his fingers in the back of Will’s hair, holding him close.