Chapter Text
Dustin came back inside through the kitchen door, shoes muddy, hands shaking.
Claudia looked up from the counter. “Where’s Mews?”
The question landed heavier than anything else that night.
Dustin swallowed. His throat burned. He kept his eyes on the floor, on the little scratch by the table leg he’d memorized years ago.
“I think…” His voice wobbled, then steadied with effort. “I think she ran away.”
Claudia sighed, tired more than upset. “That cat was always trying to get outside.” She shook her head. “Figures.”
Dustin nodded quickly, gripping the hem of his jacket so hard his knuckles hurt. Saying more felt dangerous. Saying the truth felt impossible.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” he added. “I promise.”
His mother hummed distractedly and turned back to what she was doing. Just like that, the moment passed.
Dustin slipped down the hallway to his room and closed the door softly behind him. He leaned against it, eyes squeezed shut, breathing shallow.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one.
Outside, the wind rattled the storm cellar door.
Dustin locked the bathroom door and turned on the sink.
Water rushed over his hands, warm at first, then hotter. He scrubbed hard, nails digging into his skin, watching the red swirl and fade down the drain.
But it didn’t feel gone.
He rubbed again. Soap. More soap. His hands stung, raw and pink, yet when he lifted them, he swore he could still see it. Still feel it.
His chest tightened.
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to.”
The mirror reflected a boy he barely recognized. Eyes too wide. Face too pale. A smear of dirt still at his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears gathered, slipping free no matter how hard he fought them.
They dropped onto his hands, mixing with the water.
Dustin leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink. His shoulders shook, silent sobs trapped behind his teeth so his mother wouldn’t hear.
No matter how much he scrubbed, the guilt stayed.
Amelia’s house felt hollow without meaning to.
The TV played to no one, its voices drifting through the living room like ghosts. Marcy’s car was gone again. Of course it was. Amelia stood in the doorway for a moment, backpack still on, listening to the quiet press in on her ears.
She shut the door and locked it.
Upstairs, her room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the late afternoon light. She dropped her bag by the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall where her old drawings were taped up.
Her stomach twisted.
She lay back, shoes still on, and covered her face with her arm. The house creaked around her, settling, like it was breathing without her.
El was gone.
Dustin was hurt.
Will wasn’t right.
And somehow, she felt like the center of none of it. Just someone standing too close to the blast.
Amelia turned her head toward the window. Outside, the sky had gone that strange gray that always came before trouble.
“I did everything I could,” she whispered, trying to believe it.
The words didn’t answer back.
The thought slipped in quietly.
Maybe she treated Dustin too harshly.
Amelia stared at the ceiling, the sentence repeating itself like a bruise you can’t stop pressing. She rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up, fingers curling into the sleeve of her jacket.
He hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. She knew that. Dustin never did things out of cruelty. He did them because he cared too much, because he believed things could be better if he just tried hard enough.
Like with El.
Like with Will.
Like with her.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She remembered his voice cracking when he begged her not to leave him. The way he looked after the hospital, smaller somehow. The way he still checked on everyone else even when he was bleeding.
And she’d pushed him away.
“I was scared,” she murmured to the empty room. “That’s all.”
But fear didn’t erase the way she’d looked at him like he was the problem. Like losing El had been his fault alone.
Amelia sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. Her throat burned.
“If you hadn’t been there,” she whispered, “…We would’ve lost everyone.”
The realization settled heavy in her stomach.
Maybe the person she was really angry at wasn’t Dustin at all.
The thought landed harder than the last.
Maybe it was herself.
Amelia’s grip on the pillow loosened. The room felt smaller, like the walls had leaned in to listen. She stared at her hands, at the faint scabs on her knuckles from fights she never talked about.
She’d run when things got too painful to face.
Dustin hadn’t made her do any of that.
She’d blamed him because it was easier than admitting she didn’t know how to save anyone. Not El. Not Will. Not even herself.
Her chest ached with the weight of it.
“I’m not a hero,” she whispered. “I just pretend to be brave.”
The house creaked again, answering in its own way. Amelia wiped at her eyes, surprised to find them wet.
For the first time since everything fell apart, she didn’t feel angry.
Just tired.
Amelia changed into her pajamas and turned off the light.
She lay in bed, staring into the dark for a while, listening to the quiet hum of the house. Every sound felt louder at night. Every thought heavier.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Her breathing evened out. Her hands unclenched. The worries loosened their grip, just enough.
As she drifted off, one last thought slipped through her mind.
Tomorrow, she would talk to him.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and the night settled in.
Morning light crept through Dustin’s curtains in thin, pale stripes.
He blinked awake, groggy, the events of the night before feeling distant. For one fragile second, he thought it had all been a nightmare. The Demogorgon. Dart. Mews.
Then he sat up.
The smell hit him first. Rusty. Wrong. His eyes dropped to the floor, to the dark stains near the bed that hadn’t been there yesterday.
Blood.
His chest tightened as reality snapped back into place. This wasn’t a dream. Not even close.
Dustin swung his legs off the bed, feet touching cold wood. His shoulder throbbed, a deep, sick ache pulsing under the skin. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look around the room.
The shoebox was gone.
The nightstand was scratched.
Everything felt… violated.
He pressed his palm to his face, breathing fast.
“Mews…” he whispered.
The house was quiet. Too normal for what had happened. Somewhere downstairs, his mom moved around, the sound of cabinets opening and closing drifting up the stairs like nothing was wrong.
Dustin stood there, frozen, surrounded by the proof.
The monster had been real.
And he had let it inside.
The knock came again.
Three soft taps. Careful. Like whoever it was didn’t want to wake the whole house.
Dustin’s heart jumped. Mike would’ve knocked like he was trying to break the door down. Lucas would’ve shouted his name through the window. Will wouldn’t have come alone.
He wiped his hands on his pajama pants and crept down the stairs, each step slow, his shoulder screaming with every movement. When he reached the front door, he hesitated, breath held.
Another knock. Quieter this time.
Dustin opened it just a crack.
Amelia stood on the porch, bike tipped onto its kickstand beside her. Her hoodie was pulled tight around her shoulders, hair messy like she’d rushed out without thinking it through.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Her eyes flicked past him, just barely, like she already knew something was wrong. Then she looked back at his face.
“I…” She swallowed. “Can I come in?”
Dustin nodded without trusting his voice.
She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. The morning light framed her in a way that made her look smaller. Less sharp. Less angry.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Amelia said quietly. “About last night.”
Dustin glanced back up the stairs, then back at her.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said.
Her expression softened, fear and guilt threading together in her eyes.
“I know,” she whispered.
Dustin didn’t answer right away.
He just turned and headed up the stairs, moving slowly, like his body weighed more than it should. Amelia followed a step behind him, her hand hovering near the banister, like she was afraid he might fall.
When he opened his bedroom door, she stopped.
The room smelled wrong. Metallic. Heavy. Her eyes went first to the dark stains on the floor, then to the torn bedsheet, then to the claw marks gouged into the wood near the nightstand.
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
Dustin stepped inside and shut the door behind them. The click sounded final.
“It was Dart,” he said, voice flat. “He got out.”
Amelia turned to him, her face pale. “Dustin…”
“He wasn’t just some creature,” he continued, words spilling now. “He was growing. Changing. And then…” His throat tightened. He pointed weakly toward the floor. “Mews.”
Amelia covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes filled instantly.
“He killed her,” Dustin whispered. “And I didn’t stop him.”
Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating.
Amelia took a step closer, carefully, like he might shatter. “You didn’t know,” she said. “You couldn’t have.”
Dustin shook his head, shoulders trembling. “I let a monster live in my room.”
Her gaze dropped to his shoulder, to where his shirt hung loose. She noticed the way he winced when he shifted.
“And that bite?” she asked softly.
Dustin met her eyes.
“It’s getting worse.”
Dustin swallowed, then said it anyway.
“He’s from the Upside Down,” he whispered. “Dart. That’s where he came from.”
Amelia’s breath caught.
“And Will…” Dustin went on, voice shaking. “I think Will knew. Or felt it. The way he looks sometimes, like he’s listening to something none of us can hear.”
The room felt colder all of a sudden.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Dustin said. The words fell apart as soon as they left him. “Everything I touch turns into something bad.”
He stepped forward before he could stop himself and hugged her.
Not tight. Not desperate. Just enough to hold on.
Amelia froze for half a second, then wrapped her arms around him. She felt how tense he was, how thin his shoulders felt under her hands. How he shook, just barely.
“You’re not alone,” she said quietly, resting her cheek against his hair. “You never were.”
Dustin’s grip tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of her hoodie.
“I’m scared,” he admitted. “And I think it’s inside me too.”
Amelia closed her eyes, holding him like she could keep the world out if she tried hard enough. Her anger from before felt distant now. Small. Pointless.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Together. Okay?”
Dustin nodded against her shoulder.
For the first time since everything went wrong, he believed her.
Dustin pulled back just enough to look at her.
His eyes were red, rimmed with exhaustion and fear. His voice came out small.
“Do you think I’m a monster?”
The question hit her harder than anything else he’d said.
Amelia’s hands stayed on his shoulders. She shook her head immediately, like the answer didn’t even deserve time to exist.
“No,” she said. Firm. Certain. “Not even a little.”
“But the bite,” he insisted. “And Dart. And what happened to Mews. What if I’m turning into something like that?”
She lifted one hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart. She could feel it racing.
“Monsters don’t worry about hurting people,” she said quietly. “They don’t cry about cats. They don’t ask questions like that.”
Dustin’s breath stuttered.
“You’re scared because you care,” Amelia continued. “That’s not what monsters feel.”
He stared at her for a long second, like he was trying to memorize her face in case he needed to remember this later.
“Promise?” he asked.
She nodded. “I promise.”
Dustin let out a shaky breath and leaned forward again, forehead resting against her shoulder this time. Amelia held him there, steady, like an anchor.
Whatever was inside him, she knew one thing for sure.
It wasn’t evil.
Dustin pulled back, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes flicked toward the window, toward the backyard beyond it.
“We need to check on Dart,” he said quietly. “The storm cellar.”
Amelia stiffened. Fear flashed across her face, but it didn’t last. She took a slow breath and nodded.
“I’ll go with you.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” she said. “But you shouldn’t do this alone.”
They slipped downstairs carefully, avoiding the creaky steps. The back door opened with a soft groan, letting in the cool morning air. The yard looked normal. Too normal.
The storm cellar door sat exactly where he’d left it.
Dustin stopped a few feet away, his hand hovering over the latch. His shoulder pulsed again, a dull warning.
“If something happens,” he said, voice tight, “you run.”
Amelia shook her head. “Not happening.”
He swallowed, then reached down and pulled.
The door opened with a long, hollow creak. Darkness yawned beneath them, damp and cold. The smell of earth and rust drifted up.
“Dart?” Dustin called, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then, from below, something shifted. A wet scrape echoed against the concrete steps.
Amelia’s fingers curled into Dustin’s sleeve.
Whatever waited in the dark was still alive.