Chapter Text
will had been passed out for half an hour.
nancy, steve, and jonathan were still hacking at the vines trying to keep the path open, but they were slowing. even robin’s hands were shaking. eleven was pale, bleeding lightly from her nose, her whole body trembling with the strain of holding back the dark.
will had been passed out for half an hour, and now his body jerked— violent, sharp. a seizure, sudden and awful. his nose bleeding.
joyce was on her knees beside him in an instant, one hand under his head so it wouldn’t slam against the concrete. the other pressed flat to his chest like she could anchor him to the world through sheer force of love.
“baby, breathe— will, i’ve got you, it’s okay, i’ve got you—”
his eyes fluttered, rolled back. foam at the corner of his mouth. his fingers twitched at his sides like he was reaching for something he couldn’t touch.
will byers had been passed out for half an hour, and not a single demogorgon had shown up. this— whatever this was— felt different. too familiar in the wrong way.
it was robin who noticed first.
“uh— guys?” she hissed, grabbing lucas by the arm and yanking him over. “i didn’t think vecna’s curse could affect him if he’s… you know. technically vecna-adjacent?”
lucas blinked. “robin— what—”
“he looks like max,” she said, and her voice cracked in the middle. “he looks exactly like max.”
lucas whipped around so fast his flashlight clattered to the floor. he scanned will’s shaking body once, twice, then sprinted toward erica and practically tore the walkman off her backpack.
“hey— what the hell—?” erica snapped.
“mrs. byers!” lucas yelled, already fumbling with the cassette. “what’s his favorite song?”
joyce blinked at him, breathless. “his what—”
“song. music. what pulls him back— now—”
“uh— the clash— anything— the clash—” joyce could barely get it out.
the music blared. everyone waited.
nothing changed.
eleven staggered toward them then, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. her eyes locked on will— and the blood drained from her face.
“one,” she whispered. “he has him again.”
her knees buckled. mike immediately knelt down, tying the bandana tighter around her arm as she shoved her sleeves up.
“el— you sure you can—”
“mike.” she didn’t even look at him. “i have to.”
mike swallowed hard, nodded.
will had been passed out forty-five minutes now. still seizing. still unreachable. music doing nothing. vines creeping closer in the corner of everyones vision.
“mike now,” eleven said again, and she sat down beside will, closing her eyes.
he held her shoulders steady as she leaned into the void.
it was damp in the void. not cold— just wet, like fog settling on skin. the air felt heavy. the dark stretched out forever.
eleven listened. the quiet was… unsettling.
every mind she’d ever entered had a noise to it— echoes, screams, memories scraping against each other. max’s mind had been deafening. like walking through shattering glass.
will’s mind was silent.
too silent.
“will?” her voice echoed, small.
nothing. no movement. no memories showing themselves.
so she went searching.
california— empty. blistering light, ocean, dust swirling, but no will.
the starcourt mall— dark, hollow, hissing. he wasn’t there. not that she expected him to hide in a nightmare.
the memories from when the mind flayer had him— she didn’t want to look, but she checked. nothing. blank spaces.
her chest tightened. “will,” she whispered. “please.”
she was losing strength. losing grip. she chose one last memory at random. one she expected to be meaningless.
and suddenly she fell right into color— into music.
into will.
knees and elbows, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, sketchbook open on his lap, stereo blasting so loud she could feel it vibrate in her ribs. the memory flickered like old film— warm, grainy.
he didn’t look up.
she stepped closer, bare feet on the carpet. he was so young here— barely eleven, maybe. but his face was tight, eyes red.
“will,” she said, quieter.
he didn’t move.
so she sat cross-legged beside him. their knees touched.
“i didn’t think the curse could take you,” she said softly. “you’re not like max.”
he stopped drawing at that. finally looked up, eyes tired.
“he already did it to me once,” he said, voice soft, shaky. “why wouldn’t he finish the job? i’m like max, aren’t i? a vegetable.”
“no,” she said immediately. “i couldn’t find max when one took her. but i found you. you’re here.”
he looked down again, picking at his eraser. “i shouldn’t be. i’m supposed to be… gone.”
eleven glanced around. the room felt too bright. too vivid. she looked down at herself. she froze.
she looked like him.
narrow face. knobby knees. the exact posture, the exact age. a mirror, really the only difference being hair and gender.
“sorry—” will muttered. “i’m still getting used to the fact i can… change stuff here. i don’t know why i made you— look like— that.”
she swallowed. “i don’t mind.”
they sat in silence for a while. just the soft hiss of the stereo.
“why this memory?” she asked eventually.
he shrugged, stood to turn down the volume a little.
joyce and lonnie were screaming downstairs. jonathan’s voice somewhere between them, breaking. will turned the stereo back up.
“it’s not a good one,” he said. “but it’s one of the stupid ones where i feel… safe? all alone. like no one can bother me.”
“i get that,” she murmured.
he flopped onto the bed, arms sprawled.
“i can’t believe i’m like you,” he said suddenly. “in here, i mean. stuck like this.”
she turned fully toward him.
“i like being like you too,” she whispered.
his eyes softened. just a little.
that was all she needed. she grabbed his hand without even thinking. everything around them blurred— pulled— snapped—
and reality slammed back into will’s lungs.
in the real world, will sat up with a gasp so sharp it sounded like a scream. his whole chest heaved, breaths coming in shallow panicked bursts.
“mom— mom i thought— i thought i died— i thought—”
“oh god, sweetheart, i know— i know, i know—” joyce pulled him in, holding his head to her chest, hands shaking almost as hard as he was. “you’re okay, you’re okay— i’ve got you— breathe with me—”
mike was standing frozen, tears in his eyes, hand still halfway outstretched. he watched will curl into his mother, shaking, sobbing, their matching dark hair blurring together.
and then— will lifted his head for a second. just enough that mike saw his eyes.
hazel. but cloudy. like aged film. like something had washed over them and stayed.
“will,” mike breathed. his stomach dropped. “oh my god—”
will turned toward the opposite direction of his voice. wrong direction. “mike? you’re… are you here?”
he reached out blindly, fingers trembling. mike touched his shoulder gently— and will flinched hard, recoiling into joyce.
“mom—” his voice cracked, terrified.
joyce cupped his face with both hands. “will, baby— look at me. open your eyes for me, okay? as wide as you can.”
he blinked fast, tears still spilling, then forced them open.
joyce swallowed visibly.
“what do you see?”
will’s breath hitched. his mouth opened, closed.
“…oh.”