Chapter Text
No one spoke after Will finished.
The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to. They stayed where they were, thick in the air, pressing down on everyone’s chest in different ways — guilt for some, confusion for others, something quieter and sharper for a few.
Mike didn’t look at anyone. He couldn’t. He kept his eyes on the corkboard, on the string lines and yellowed paper, like if he stared long enough they’d explain themselves all over again. Like maybe they’d hurt less.
Lucas sat back against the couch, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was holding himself together. Max stared at the floor, jaw clenched, blinking a little too hard. Even Steve, who usually filled silences without trying, stayed still — elbows on his knees, hands clasped, thinking.
The house felt too small.
Finally, Dustin broke.
“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except there was nothing funny in it. “I— I need air. Like… real air.”
No one stopped him.
They listened as his footsteps climbed the stairs, faster than necessary. A moment later, the front door opened, then shut again — too loud in the quiet.
Steve stood slowly. “I should check on him,” he said, already moving, like he didn’t trust himself to sit still any longer. “He’s… yeah.”
And then he was gone too.
Lucas glanced at Max. She didn’t look at him at first. When she finally did, her eyes were glassy, unfocused.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Me too. This is—” She shook her head, unable to finish. “This is a lot.”
Lucas nodded. “We’ll be back,” he added, more to the room than to Mike or Will. “Just… give us a minute.”
They followed the others upstairs, their footsteps softer, heavier somehow.
The house emptied out until only two people were left behind.
Mike and Will.
The silence that settled afterward was different. Thinner. More fragile.
And somehow, heavier than before.
It was just Mike and Will in the basement now.
The silence wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t shared. It sat between them like something unspoken, something alive.
Mike stayed at the table, hunched forward in the chair, staring at the wall as if it might answer him if he looked long enough. The corkboard was still there, strings sagging slightly, papers curling at the edges. He didn’t move.
Will sat on the couch, stiff, hands clasped together so tightly his fingers hurt.
If the others were here, he’d know what to do. He always did. He could speak up, add something thoughtful, deflect attention away from himself. He could be part of the noise.
But alone with Mike—
He didn’t know where to put his hands. Or his eyes. Or his heart.
Minutes passed. Too many.
Will became painfully aware of how quiet it was — the faint hum of the fridge upstairs, the house settling, the sound of Mike breathing. If he didn’t say something soon, the silence would start asking questions. Questions Mike was good at answering.
And worse — questions Mike was good at noticing.
Will stood before he could talk himself out of it.
He crossed the space between them slowly, like his body had decided for him. When he reached the table, he stopped. Opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Instead, his hand lifted.
He didn’t plan it. He didn’t think about it. His palm settled on Mike’s shoulder, light — barely there — like he was afraid the contact might break something.
Mike startled slightly.
He turned in the chair, looking up at Will.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
“Are you okay?” Will asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
Mike didn’t answer.
He just looked at him — really looked — like he was trying to memorize something. Like Will was proof of something he wasn’t ready to name.
Mike opened his mouth.
And then—
“Will?”
The voice came from the top of the stairs.
“Babe?”
Will’s hand dropped instantly, like he’d been burned.
The word hit him harder than he expected.
Mike looked down, jaw tightening. He let out a slow breath through his nose, heavy and tired.
Will knew exactly what had just happened.
His heart kicked hard against his ribs, panic flaring, but he forced his face into something neutral. Something normal.
“Yeah,” Will said, turning toward the stairs. “You’re back.”
Ryan stood there, keys still in his hand. “Yeah. I just— it’s getting late. I was wondering if we should, um… head out?”
Mike flicked his eyes up.
Just once.
The look wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t desperate.
It was worse than that.
It was quiet.
A please-don’t-go he didn’t say out loud.
Will felt it anyway.
He swallowed.
“Uh—” Will said, then turned back toward Ryan. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Ryan smiled. “Yeah. What’s up, babe?”
Will flinched at the word "babe".
Not because of Ryan — but because of where they were. Because of who was sitting ten feet away, staring at the floor like it might cave in under him.
Ryan noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Will said quickly. Then, almost without thinking, he turned back to Mike.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ll be right back. Okay? Just— just a minute. We’ll talk.”
Mike looked up.
There was a small smile on his face. Barely there. Like he didn’t trust it to stay.
He nodded once.
And that was enough.
Will took the stairs two at a time, his chest tight, like the air had changed the second he left the basement.
Ryan followed him into the kitchen, closing the distance but not crowding him. He didn’t rush.
Will stopped near the counter, hands braced against the edge like he needed something solid.
“There’s… something going on,” he said finally.
Ryan waited.
“Someone we all thought was gone,” Will continued, words careful, chosen, “maybe isn’t. Or— maybe she is. We don’t know yet. It’s… complicated.”
Ryan’s expression shifted — concern first, then understanding, settling in quietly.
“I can’t talk about it,” Will said, shaking his head. “ Atleast not right now. I’m sorry. I just— I need to talk to them.” He gestured toward the front of the house, where Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Steve stood on the porch, half-silhouetted under the light.
For a moment, Ryan studied him — really studied him — like he was putting something together without asking for the pieces.
Then he smiled. Small. Gentle.
“That’s okay,” Ryan said. “You don’t owe me an explanation right now.”
Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Go,” Ryan added. “Deal with whatever this is. We can talk later.”
He paused, then nodded toward the living room. “I’ll hang out here. Maybe keep Mr. Wheeler company. He looks like he’s been watching the same channel for an hour.”
He let out a soft laugh, just enough to lighten the room.
Will smiled back, grateful and a little broken all at once.
“Thank you,” he said.
Ryan squeezed his arm once — brief, reassuring — and let him go.
Will didn’t look back as he opened the door.
The night air hit him as he stepped onto the porch, cool and sharp, grounding.
The others turned toward him.
And whatever was coming next — it was starting now.
Dustin had his arms crossed tight over his chest, rocking slightly on his heels. Steve leaned against the porch railing, one foot hooked around the bottom rung, staring out into the dark like the answers might be hiding in the yard. Lucas paced. Max sat on the steps, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm, annoyed that they wouldn’t stop watering.
Steve broke first.
“Right? Like—” He let out a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “That was… a lot. I mean, dude. A lot. The theory has holes. Big ones. I’m not saying Mike’s wrong, but— I don’t know if I’m ready to say he’s right either.”
Dustin nodded automatically, then stopped himself.
“Yeah, but…” He hesitated. “It’s Mike.”
Lucas scoffed, turning sharply. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Dustin said, defensive now, “that every time something insane happened, Mike was the one who connected the dots first. Every single time.”
Lucas shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but this isn’t the same thing. This isn’t a monster or a gate or some upside-down crap we can see and fight. This is—” He gestured vaguely toward the house. “This is grief.”
Dustin opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I’m not saying I fully believe it,” he said. “I’m just saying… maybe she didn’t die the way we thought.”
Lucas stopped pacing.
“Dustin,” he said slowly, carefully, “we watched her disappear. We all did. I miss her too, man. Every day. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“That’s the thing,” Dustin snapped, voice breaking just a little. “What if there was something we could’ve done?”
Steve straightened, his jaw tightening.
Dustin’s hands were shaking now, but he didn’t hide it.
“What if he’s right?” Dustin said. “What if this whole time— this entire time — she was alive and we just… moved on?”
No one answered.
“What did we do?” Dustin pressed. “We went to college. We got jobs. We tried to be normal. And if she was out there— captured, hurt, alone—” His voice cracked. “I don’t think I can live with that.”
Max scrubbed at her eyes harder, frustrated tears spilling anyway.
Steve swallowed. “So what are you saying?” he asked quietly. “We just… go out there? Chase a maybe? Because that’s not a plan, Dustin. That’s a hope. And hopes get people killed.”
Dustin looked at him. “What about the sleeve?”
Lucas frowned. “What sleeve?”
“The fabric Mike found,” Dustin said. “From the tunnels.”
Lucas shook his head immediately. “That could’ve belonged to anyone. I don’t even remember what she was wearing that day.”
“I do.”
They all froze.
Max lifted her head slowly.
Lucas blinked. “What?”
“She was wearing something like a surfer’s suit,” Max said, voice rough but steady. “Not exactly swimwear, but close. That tight fabric. I noticed it because—” She swallowed. “Because I’d seen it before. In California. Girls wore stuff like that. Billy too. Sometimes.”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”
Max nodded. “I don’t remember the exact color. Or the badge. But the fabric?” She closed her eyes briefly. “Yeah. That part stuck with me. I remember thinking it was weird at the time.”
Lucas ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “That still doesn’t prove it’s hers.”
“No,” Max agreed softly. “It doesn’t.”
Dustin looked between them, eyes shining. “But it doesn’t prove it isn’t either.”
Silence settled again — heavier now. Less dismissive. More dangerous.
Steve stared back toward the house.
“And if he’s right,” he said slowly, “then we didn’t just lose her.”
He swallowed.
“We left her.”
No one argued with that.
The porch light hummed quietly above them, and for the first time, the night didn’t feel calm.
It felt like the beginning of something they couldn’t undo.
Will had been quiet for too long.
Too still.
Finally, he stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides, voice tight like it had to fight its way out of his chest.
“I can’t believe you’re even arguing about this.”
They all turned to him.
“This is El,” Will said, disbelief bleeding into anger. “This is the girl who saved us. Over and over again. And you’re standing here talking about logic and proof like that’s ever been the thing that mattered to us.”
His voice shook now.
“What happened to us?” he demanded. “We never made choices because they were easy or made sense. We made them because we loved each other. Because someone needed help.”
He laughed once, sharp and bitter.
“So what is this now?” Will asked. “Life happened? You got older? You got comfortable?”
His eyes swept over them — Lucas, Max, Dustin — and then lingered on Steve.
“You all got your happy endings, so suddenly it’s too much trouble to fight for someone who doesn’t fit into it anymore?”
That was when his voice broke.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… cracked.
Tears slipped down his face, fueled by anger and grief and something dangerously close to guilt.
Dustin stepped forward instinctively. “Hey— hey, man,” he said softly. “We’re not being selfish. It’s not like that. We’re just— we’re shocked. All of us are.”
He reached out, resting a hand on Will’s shoulder.
Will shook it off immediately.
“No,” he said, wiping at his face roughly. “Don’t.”
His breath came fast now.
“Aren’t you planning to do the exact same thing?” Will shot back. “The fancy job. The office. What was it? The Outreach Center. ??” His gaze flicked to Steve.
Steve flinched.
“So why back down now?” Will asked. “Why now, when it actually matters?”
No one answered.
Dustin and Steve exchanged a look — not defensive this time. Just heavy. Like they both knew he wasn’t wrong.
Will pressed on, voice lower but no less fierce.
“And if you don’t believe him,” he said. “If you don’t believe El is alive— fine.”
He took a shaky breath.
“Then do this for Mike.”
That landed harder than anything else he’d said.
“He’s alone in there,” Will continued. “Sitting in that basement, waiting. Waiting for someone to choose him.”
His voice softened, breaking again.
“Do you have any idea what he’s been through these past years? While we were building lives and moving forward?” Will shook his head. “He didn’t. He stayed right where he lost her.”
Will’s throat tightened.
“And none of us were there,” he said quietly. “Not even me. Not when he needed it most.”
The porch was silent except for his breathing.
“He’s our friend,” Will said. “And we don’t get to abandon him just because this hurts.”
He wiped at his eyes again, looking at each of them in turn.
“If you believe she’s gone,” Will said, “then prove it to him.”
Their heads slowly lifted.
“Mike said it himself,” Will went on. “If she’s alive, that place is the only one she’d go.”
His voice steadied.
“So we go,” he said. “All of us.”
“And if she’s not there,” Will added, barely above a whisper, “then at least he gets the truth. At least he gets to stop carrying this alone.”
He swallowed hard.
“Help him,” Will finished. “Do this for him.”
No one spoke after that.
Lucas stared at the ground, jaw clenched.
Max pressed her hands into her sleeves, shoulders shaking.
Dustin’s eyes were red, his glasses fogged.
Steve dragged a hand down his face, breathing out slowly like he was bracing himself for a fall.
The argument was over.
Not because they had answers.
But because they couldn’t walk away anymore.
Will wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm, breathing out slowly, trying to steady himself before going back in.
The night air still clung to him when he reached the door.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he pushed it open.
The house was quiet in that way that only came after something heavy had been said. The TV murmured faintly somewhere down the hall — ordinary sounds that felt wrong after everything outside.
Will stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.
And froze.
Mike was standing there.
Right on the other side of the door.
Like he’d been there the whole time.
Listening.
Their eyes met.
Will’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The space between them felt charged, stretched thin with everything that had almost been said and everything that still hadn’t.
Will swallowed.
“I—” Mike started, then stopped, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to speak yet.
He tried again.
“Thank you,” Mike said quietly. “For… sticking up for me....For believing me.”
The words were simple. Bare.
But they landed hard.
Will shook his head immediately, stepping closer without really thinking about it.
“No,” he said, voice breaking. “Thank you.”
Mike looked up at him, confused.
“For not stopping,” Will said. “For not giving up on her when the rest of us did.”
He hesitated, then pushed on, because if he stopped now he wouldn’t be able to say it at all.
“We all moved on,” Will said softly. “College. Jobs. New lives. And you stayed here. Searching. Believing.”
His chest ached.
“I can’t even imagine how lonely that must’ve been.”
Mike’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to the floor.
“She was my sister,” Will said suddenly.
The words came out quieter than he expected.
“She was my family. And I still—” His voice cracked. “I forgot. I let myself forget.”
He swallowed hard.
“I should’ve been there, we all should've been ” Will said.
His voice lowered, raw and honest.
“I’m sorry, Mike. For everything.”
Mike didn’t answer.
He stared at the wood grain of the floor like it held the answers he couldn’t say out loud.
Then his shoulders shifted—just slightly.
A tear slipped free, tracing a quiet path down his cheek before he could stop it.
He wiped it away quickly, almost angrily, blinking hard like he could force it back inside.
Like showing it would mean breaking.
Will didn’t reach out this time.
He just stood there, close enough that Mike could feel him.
Not alone.
Not anymore.
And for the first time that night, Mike didn’t step away.
They stepped outside together.
Mike stood there for a moment, unsure where to put his hands, where to look. Finally, he exhaled and broke the silence.
“So…” he said quietly. “What do you think?”
No one answered right away.
Dustin took a step forward. His usual sarcasm was gone, stripped away by something raw and sincere.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said, voice cracking despite his effort to keep it steady. “We all should’ve been there for you.”
Mike blinked, clearly not expecting that — not from Dustin, not said like this.
Before Mike could even respond, Dustin pulled him into a hug.
It was clumsy. Too tight. Desperate.
Lucas didn’t hesitate. He joined in, wrapping his arms around Mike’s back. Max followed a second later, resting her head briefly against Mike’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.
For a moment, Mike stood frozen.
Then his shoulders sagged.
He let himself lean into them.
Will watched from a few steps away.
His chest ached — not with jealousy, not exactly — but with something deeper. Relief. Guilt. Love tangled so tightly it hurt to breathe.
Steve stood beside him, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was holding himself together by force alone.
“God,” Steve muttered, voice rough. “I hate feelings”
Will laughed softly through tears he didn’t bother hiding.
The hug finally broke.
Dustin wiped at his face aggressively, trying to recover some version of himself. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Enough. Before I completely lose my reputation.”
He took a breath, then looked around at all of them.
“We’ll go,” he said. “We’ll check the place out. Together. Like always. Right, guys?”
Lucas nodded immediately. “Yeah. Together.”
Max nodded too. “We don’t leave anyone behind.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “Guess I’m in then.”
Everyone turned to Mike.
Mike looked stunned — like he was afraid to believe this was real. Then his eyes shifted to Will.
Will met his gaze.
Mike smiled at him — soft, grateful, full of something unspoken.
Will felt it settle deep in his chest.
“Yeah,” Mike said finally. “Together.”
Lucas glanced at his watch, then up at the sky. “It’s late,” he said gently. “We’ll talk about the details tomorrow, okay? The trip, the plan — all of it.”
“No one’s going anywhere tonight,” Max added. “We’re all still here.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
There was a quiet agreement among them, unspoken but solid.
One by one, they started heading off toward their parents’ houses. No one rushed. Each goodbye lingered longer than necessary, like letting go felt harder than usual tonight.
Dustin squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Lucas nodded. “First thing.”
Steve gave him a crooked smile. “Try to get some sleep, yeah?”
Mike nodded again.
Eventually, the yard emptied.
And when the last footsteps faded—
Mike and Will were left standing there, alone in the glow of the porch light.
It was just the two of them again.
The night had gone quiet in a way that felt intentional, like the world was giving them space it didn’t usually allow. The porch light hummed softly behind them. Somewhere far off, a car passed, then disappeared
Will shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how close Mike was standing.
“I, um…” Will said, clearing his throat. “I don’t really have a place to stay.”
Mike looked at him.
“So.. um...I’ll just—” Will gestured vaguely toward the house. “I’ll get Ryan and we’ll go to a motel.”
He turned toward the door.
He barely made it a step.
Mike reached out.
His hand closed around Will’s wrist—not tight, not forceful. Just enough.
Will froze.
For a split second, everything inside him went painfully quiet.
Mike was standing behind him, close enough that Will could feel his warmth, close enough that the air between them felt charged, fragile. Mike’s hand was steady, familiar in a way that hurt more than it helped.
The contact sent something sharp and electric through Will’s chest. Not excitement—something deeper. Something dangerous. Like a memory his body remembered even when his mind tried to forget.
Will swallowed.
Slowly, he turned around.
Mike was looking at him with an expression Will had seen too many times in his life—soft, unguarded, almost helpless. Like Will was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“You can stay here,” Mike said quietly.
Just that.
No explanation. No justification. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Will’s heart clenched.
For one foolish, terrifying second, he wanted to say yes.
Then his eyes flicked past Mike, through the window.
Ryan was inside.
Real life rushed back in all at once.
The warmth in Will’s chest turned sharp, almost unbearable.
This is what you do to yourself, he thought bitterly. You let him pull you in. Every time.
Mike had always been like this. Unintentionally gentle. Unfairly kind.
Even when they were kids, Mike had held onto him differently. Spoke to him differently. Said things to Will he never said to Dustin or Lucas. Touched his shoulder. Pulled him closer. Looked at him like he mattered more than he should.
And Will had carried that with him for years.
Mike still looked at him like that.
Even now.
Even today.
But Mike loved Eleven.
Mike had never stopped loving her. Never stopped searching. Never stopped believing.
Mike would never love Will the way Will loved him.
And knowing that—choosing to stand here anyway—felt like a quiet form of self-destruction.
Will gently took his hand out of Mike’s.
The loss of contact felt immediate. Cold.
“It’d be weird for Ryan,” Will said softly, forcing his voice to stay even. “If I stayed.”
Mike’s face fell, just a little.
“I’ll come back in the morning,” Will added quickly. “Okay? We’ll talk then.”
He tried to smile.
It didn’t quite work.
Mike nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, hands hanging uselessly at his sides, watching Will like he was slipping through his fingers.
Will turned away before he could change his mind.
Before he could hurt himself more.
He went inside, gathered Ryan, murmured something about the motel. He didn’t look back when they stepped out into the night.
Mike stayed where he was.
He watched them walk away, their silhouettes shrinking as the street stretched out in front of them. At first, there was space between them—just two figures moving in the same direction, nothing more.
Then Ryan’s hand found Will’s.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed. Just… natural. Like it belonged there.
Mike felt it anyway.
He kept his eyes on them, even when he probably shouldn’t have. Even when his chest started to ache in that dull, familiar way he never had words for.
The night air grew colder. Will must have felt it too, because he slowed, shoulders hunching slightly.
Ryan noticed.
Mike saw him shrug off his coat without a word, saw him step closer, drape it around Will’s shoulders, adjusting it carefully like he was afraid Will might slip away if he didn’t do it right.
Will didn’t argue. He just pulled it tighter around himself.
Something in Mike’s throat closed.
He told himself it was fine.
That this was good.
That Will wasn’t alone.
Still, his fingers curled slowly at his sides.
It wasn’t anger he felt—nothing sharp or loud. It was quieter than that. Heavier. The strange, disorienting weight of realizing someone else was doing the things he had always done. The things he had never questioned, never named.
He didn’t know what he was allowed to feel.
Jealousy felt like the wrong word. Grief felt too dramatic. Confusion came closest, but even that didn’t cover it all.
He just knew that watching Ryan’s arm brush Will’s back felt wrong in a way he couldn’t explain, especially when everything else in his life already felt like it was falling apart.
Mike stood there until they turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Only then did he look away.
The porch light buzzed softly above him. The house behind him was warm
But he was alone again.
And the emptiness stayed, settling deep in his chest, long after the street went quiet.