Chapter Text
July 1st, 1985, El
“It's fine! Really, it's fine.”
Steve raises his hands into a shrugging position, then moves them to rest on his waist like a disappointed mother. He seems to be the only one taking this well, which is not something El would expect. She wouldn't expect anyone to take this well.
Will had confirmed the worst; the mindflayer was back.
The monster that had chased them just hours ago was a spitting image of the drawings he had made last year, right before his possession. However, he had never really seen it, apparently. Just it's shadow. Because what they saw wasn't a shadow monster, it was a raging, fleshy, gory creature. And El had never seen anything like it.
Of course, it was in the same world as the Demogorgons. It was automatically looped in with them, with it's dripping slime covered body and array of small, jagged teeth, but the resemblance stopped there.
El was pacing. This wasn't possible. It made sense when it came back last year, because Will had been marked by the mindflayer. But they got it out of him. She closed the gate right after he was saved, so something exactly like this wouldn't happen. But here they were.
The group was in The Wheeler's basement, the usual meeting spot. Despite Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's complaints, they all barreled in the second they shook the monster's trail on them. For all they knew, it was still out there. Actually, it had to be out there.
Nancy, who has become the group's unelected and unspoken leader, was standing in front of the stairs, as everyone else scattered around the room. El was walking back and forth near the desk in the corner, Dustin, Lucas, and Robin were sitting at the DND table, Steve was standing next to them, and Jonathan and Will were on the couch pressed against the wall. Will was obviously shook, knowing that the demon that had possessed him has now returned.
“How is it fine, Steve?” Jonathan protested.
“Well, I mean, we've beat it before, right? We can do it again.”
“Yeah, and we just barely made it. And people died. People died, Steve. It's not going to be fine.” Lucas says in agreement with Jonathan.
“It does not make sense.” El blurts, continuing her paces around the room. “I closed the gate. It should not be possible. And with its size, how did it even get here? The gate would have to be bigger than a house. A building.”
“And what does it want?” Robin adds to the list of questions, and is answered by Dustin.
“I doubt it wants anything. Those things don't think, all instinct. If it knows that El and Will are here, then it's probably pissed. And it feels it needs to eliminate any threat.” Dustin pears over to El, and she stops pacing.
“What do you mean?”
“It knows that you two are the only thing that can hurt it. You, obviously, with your powers, and Will because he's connected to it. If he's hurt, then so is it.”
Half of the group looks to El, the other half to Will. He was right. If she and Will weren't in the equation, what would stop it from getting whatever it wants? Or, more likely, what it needs?
“Well, then we need to do something about it.” Nancy speaks up.
“If that thing's on the loose right now, doing God knows what, we need to move quick.”
“Well what do you suggest? In case you didn't notice, that thing's like twenty feet tall, and its only thought is to kill us.” Robin asks.
“Well we know its weaknesses. If we even get a touch of fire to its skin, it'll go crazy, and will wound it enough for El to jump in and put it in its grave. There's just one problem.”
A dark silence fills the room when Nancy's tone drops to a more sinister tone. She sits down on the stairs, bringing her hands to her face, stretching out her skin, then letting go.
“Which is?” Steve asks.
Nancy moves her gaze to the couch, and El and the rest of the group follow with their own eyes.
“We need to make sure Will can't feel any of it.”
Will doesn't look up when Nancy makes the comment. He continues fiddling with his hands, pressing his shoulder against his brother's.
Ever since El was cleared to live in the outside world, and interact with others legally, she found herself gravitating towards Will. They did live together, after all. The party would someimes call them the “Wonder Twins.” Will was the only one who could really understand any of it like she did. And Will was great. He was kind, gentle, thoughtful. He might as well be her brother, given everything they've gone through, together and apart.
“And how would we do that?” Jonathan asks, slow and skeptical.
Nancy breathes, shoulders rising and falling with her chest. “We could test it. Get Will to focus, see if he can tap back into the hive mind. If you're up to it.” Her eyes land back on Will.
El takes a second to admire Nancy, the way she isn't afraid to say what needs to be said. To do what needs to be done. She makes a good leader, and El has always looked up to her. The word pretty had come into her vocabulary by looking at Nancy, after all.
“Yeah.” Will suddenly speaks, voice low and mumbled. “Yeah, I'm up to it.” With that, he simply rises from the couch and walks past El and Nancy, climbing up the stairs, and closing the door behind him.
El immediately moves to follow him, but feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns around.
It's Dustin, with a small, sympathetic smile on his face. “Maybe he just needs time. It's a lot.”
El thinks about what Dustin says, and comes to the conclusion that he is right. This is a lot to process, and Will is very brave to agree to something so dangerous so quickly.
Relaxing a bit at the touch, she raises her opposite hand and rests it on top of the hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Dustin smiles at her again, wider, with those small teeth still struggling to come in. She feels something strange going on in her stomach, and since she can't decide if she likes it or not yet, she walks away and plops down onto the couch, next to Jonathan.
“So what do we do now?” Lucas asks.
They all look at each other, coming up with no answers for the question. Eventually, Robin lifts her eyebrows and tilts her head slightly, looking at Nancy.
“You got any cards?”
— — —
July 1st, 1985, Will
Mike's room was always a comfort for him.
The blue walls were the perfect shade, not too soft, but not too deep. The queen bed that had replaced the loft one from years ago was in the middle of the room, with blankets sprawled around messily on the mattress, pillows on the floor. His desk was just as crazy, maybe even more, with homework and pencils and books stacked on every inch of the small space. What really brings him the comfort he seeked when coming here was hung above the desk, a bunch of small, crinkled papers, with a small -Will in the right hand corner of each drawing.
Why Mike hung up all of his drawings, he didn't know. If anything, Will thought it looked tacky, the lined paper with smudged crayons and eraser marks everywhere, but it still was his favorite part of the room. Probably the whole house. He didn't know why Mike did this, but he loved it.
It made him feel special. Each member of the party had their own special quirks, Dustin was good with music, Lucas was always a built-in athlete. Nancy was studious, Jonathan was a photographer. Robin didn't have just one thing, and was good at almost everything you handed to her, adding her own little twist to it. Max was a very skilled skateboarder, and Mike had always been a writer. El had freaking superpowers, and Steve was Steve.
But Mike only brought recognition to him. Will used to scold himself for thinking this way, but eventually just let it rest, and accepted the absurd thoughts. Mike was just being a good friend, letting Will be proud of himself by hanging them up. It's not like you could just hang a guitar or basketball on the wall for the others. Will's drawings were practical, and they fit, so it was fine.
But Will wasn't practical.
Will didn't fit.
He brings his hand to the drawing of him (Will the Wise) on a dragon, casting green fireballs at the monster. He silently chuckles to himself at the memory of his mom calling them cabbages. He remembers when he first showed the drawing to Mike, and when he insisted on keeping it. It was so sweet, the way Mike perked up, and even five years later, he still remembers the look on his face.
Where are you?
I really need you right now.
Then a knock comes, followed by the sound of the door creaking open, and Will nearly jumps out of his skin. His hands whips away from the drawing and he stumbles back a little, just barely catching himself.
Lucas steps into the room, softly closing the door behind him.
“Hey, we were planning on going over to Melvalds, get some pre-spy milkshakes. You coming?”
Will wipes his hands on the sides of his pants, just then realizing how sweaty they were. Jeez, what is wrong with him?
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Just a minute.”
Will says the words as a hint for Lucas, but he doesn't move. They stand there for a moment, looking at each other. Will scans Lucas's face, and sees only what he can recognize as understanding.
“I miss him too.”
Whatever half and half world Will was living in, this comment rips him harshly back to the right side.
“I- What?”
“Mike. I miss him. And Max. And Erica, believe it or not.” He chuckles lightly, not the kind of laughter that's for humor. Just to set the mood.
“I… yeah. I hope they get back soon. Wherever they are.” Will looks down, and moves his hands between each other, a habit he's built since he was little.
Another silence comes, and it's almost unbearable. Whatever Lucas wants to say, Will knows he isn't going to like it. If Lucas thought he would, he would've said it already.
“Will…?”
“Yeah?”
Will raises his head, and meets Lucas's eyes.
“It's okay.”
What? What is he talking about?
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
“I don't.”
Will starts to dig his fingers into his palms, letting his arms fall to his sides. He couldn't know what Will was really thinking, right?
He hid it well enough. It was pretty much his life's mission, to keep his stupid, disgusting, unrequited feelings to himself. If he had failed at that, something so important, what else would he fail at?
Lucas confirms Will's worst nightmare, indirectly, with eight words.
“I miss Max. You miss Mike. It's okay.”
Where was he again? Mike's room, right. Will thinks he could be anywhere in the world, in hell even, and it wouldn't come close to being enough to shake him from the trance of his thoughts.
I miss Max.
Yeah, yeah I like her.
You miss Mike.
No, there's no lady.
It's okay.
It's okay.
“Hey, Will, hey look at me-” Lucas walks up to Will, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Will was panicking, he knew that. It was the only solid thing that he could think of. This is panic. True panic.
He knows.
Someone knows.
“It's okay Will.”
“No. No it's not.” Will chokes out, eyes still locked on Lucas's. He can feel the tears forming in his eyes, for reasons he can't be sure of. Lucas said it's okay. He knows and is okay with it. He should be smiling, giddy with relief. So why the hell is he crying?
“It is. Trust me. There's no reason why it shouldn't be.” Lucas pulls him into a hug, bringing his arms up and rubbing Will's back in gentle strokes.
“You don't…” Will whispers into Lucas's shoulder. “You don't think it's… wrong?”
He feels as Lucas shakes his head back and forth. “No. No Will, no.”
Will stares at the closed door to the room, lets his eyes peer around. What would Mike do if he were here? How would he feel if he knew that something like this was going on in his bedroom? Would he be mad? Or would he be like Lucas, and embrace him without question?
It's Mike. Will's mind immediately throws at him. Of course he would.
A few minutes pass, a few minutes of them just standing there, comfortable in each other's embrace. Will was so grateful for Lucas. Besides maybe Jonathan, Will doesn't think he'd rather have anyone else here with him at this moment.
Finally, Will pulls back and looks Lucas in the eye. His expression is pure comfort, pure acceptance.
“Thank you.” Will breathes, his voice barely coming out with it. “Gosh Lucas, thank you.”
“Anytime man. You ready?”
Will takes another deep breath, lifting his shoulders with the intake of air. With a few moments of collecting himself and wiping away a few unwelcomed tears, he eventually nods.
— — —
June 30th, 1985, Max
“Would you stop squirming? Your back is so bony.”
“Shut up. I'm trying to focus.”
“On what? Gouging your spine into my side?”
“Shut. Up.”
Max has had enough of this kid. Enough of the other two kids, wherever they were. Enough of these stupid, meathead Russians, and enough with her life.
But especially the lanky, whiny, nuisance of an ice cream slinger tied to her back.
After Max made her discovery of the gate opening, the Russians decided it was the perfect time for them to gain consciousness and actually realize there was a group of children infiltrating their facility. The elder two of the squad had put up a pretty decent fight, and Erica and Derek had managed to get away, somehow. God bless them.
Max and Mike hadn't been so lucky. A few punches, a very small, probably broken stool, and a hell of a lot of zip ties later, they were sat back to back in the middle of what looks like a lab. It was a small room, with a few counters with trays and tools spread across the top. Lovely.
“Done focusing yet?” Max not so gently pushes her own back into Mike's, making him wince in pain.
“Okay, I have an idea.”
“Hallelujah.”
Mike ignores her comment and begins to explain his profound plan. “I think if we both jump at the same time, we can get the stool over to that counter, reach for those scissors, and get ourselves untied.”
Max closes her eyes, trying to imagine being anywhere else. Maybe she's in the car, buckled tight into the seat. She's with Lucas, El, and Will, and they're on their way back from the pool (Dustin is not someone you want in the same body of water as you, take her word for it). Maybe the blood dripping from her nose is just water that she didn't scrub off. It's all fine.
But then she has to wake up.
“Or,” she scans the area, trying to envision Mike's plan. “We miscalculate, fall sideways towards the table, and impale ourselves with twenty different kinds of surgical equipment.”
This earns her a small moment of much needed silence, a break from Mike's huffing and puffing and stupid ideas, but she can almost hear the gears turning in his head, which pisses her off all over again.
With this new knowledge, Mike makes another philosophical statement.
“You got a better idea?”
Max looks up at the ceiling. Her brain is pounding on the sides of her skull, blood is escaping from every hole in her face, and she would rather be doing anything but having a double-sack race with Michael Wheeler, but luck is a foreign concept to Max, so she simply says, “No.”
“Then we're doing it.”
“Fine. But if one of those syringes flies into my eye, you're paying for it.”
“We'll see. Okay, ready?”
“Yeah.” Max feels as Mike shuffles against her back, trying to fix his posture as much as possible. She does the same.
“Okay… Three, two, one!”
When Mike says the last word, they both elevate their legs and push up, bringing them up and then back down, a few inches left from where they were previously.
“Shit!” Max lets out an exasperated laugh, and Mike shares it. She whips her head up to the ceiling, her head crashing backwards into Mike's.
“Alright, same thing. Ready?” He barks out, and Max parrots back the last word.
“Okay, three, two, one!” Max says the words this time, and they end up successful once again, now an arms distance away from the tray with the scissors.
“We only need one more.” Max determines, turning her head as far as she can. All she glimpses of is Mike's shoulder and a fraction of his neck, but can see the movement as he nods.
“Okay. Three, two, one-”
Mike jumps a second too early, and Max knows it the second she feels as his back moves up slightly before hers. Shit.
The blunder sends them tumbling down, and Max feels as a section of hair is split in half as her head comes way too close to the tray of equipment. Ultimately, they end up on the ground, shoulders definitely becoming bruised.
“Shit.” Mike breathes, after a long moment of silence.
“Yeah, shit.”
“Sorry.”
Max peers around her new angle of surroundings, the floor beneath her making indents on the left side of her face.
“You're lucky I'm in too much pain to be pissed at you.”
Mike chuckles lightly. “At least we didn't get decapitated.”
“I'm starting to think that might've been better.”
This causes them both to burst out laughing, choking on their breath at the statement. It wasn't even funny, but Max thinks they're both way beyond rational thought. Really, what was going on? It's ridiculous. Max didn't even know how long they had been down there. It has to have been at least a couple days. All she knew was that she was hungry. Really hungry. Thirsty too, but hungry above all things. She thinks about what she would do for some fresh pistachio ice cream, and concerns herself with the amount of possibilities.
“Do you think they escaped?” Max asks, an attempt to interrupt her own thoughts.
“Them? Oh no.” Mike answers with confidence. “I doubt they even made it down the stairs.”
Then they're laughing again. Max is glad she's gotten this far with Mike, far enough to not be bickering every five minutes. She really likes him when he's not being an ass.
“Hey Max?”
“Yeah?”
“What are we gonna do?”
Max thinks. It's a good question, one she couldn't form a solid answer to. They were kidnapped by Russians hundreds of feet underground, beaten, tied up, and left alone with nothing but their solitude.
“I don't know.”
She hears the door swing open a moment after she speaks, and counts at least three pairs of feet walking into the room. Another few seconds pass, and the two of them are being dragged up by their bonds and slammed back down onto the ground. Max raises her pounding head slightly, and an old, wrinkly, very angry Russian is staring into her soul. Great.
“Na kogo vy rabotayete?”
Max blinks.
“I’m sorry?” Her face animates her emotions, which she assumes comes close to however what the fuck looks.
“Who do you work for?” The English words are clearly a trial on the Russians tongue, making Max barely able to understand them. She then realizes that the words don't come from the man in front of her, and rather from behind.
“I don't even know, dude.” Mike says.
The comment that Max honestly thinks is true earns Mike a strike across the face. Max hears as his blood splats on the floor.
She whips her head around, breaking the intense stare she had with her appropriated Russian.
“Don't touch him!” The restraints on her arms and back make it hard for her to meet the other man and make her point, but she does her best.
“Who. Do you. Work for?” The man repeats, pausing between the words.
“Erik Johnson! He's our boss!” She frantically lets out, turning her head back around to who she is now subconsciously naming Russian Number 1.
“Or was it John Erikson…” She says under her breath. “We've only met him once! But he's a real nice guy, trust me. I bet he'll let you have more than one free sample!”
Russian Number 1 cocks his head, furrowing his brows.
“You know? Free samples? Ice cream? Everyone loves ice cream.” Max tries to bargain.
This only seems to further confuse the man. Apparently choosing to ignore the pleas, he continues to grill her for answers.
“What does this Erik Johnson do?”
Didn't she just say that? He probably needs his ears checked. Or his internal translator. Or his life.
“Ice cream! He's our manager. Ice cream, scoops ahoy!” Mike babbles, clearly still dazed from the hit.
“What?” Russian Number 2 spits out.
“We sell ice cream! I mean seriously, look at us! You think we just wear this?” Max asks genuinely. She didn't know how stupid Russians were.
The confession seems to tickle them, because suddenly, Russian Number 1 abruptly gasps, bends over, and bursts out laughing. His buddy seems to do the same. They laugh and laugh until Max doesn't know if she wants to join in or punch him. Finally, their laughter ceases enough for them to speak.
“Let's try this one more time.” He leans down in front of her, so close that she could head butt him.
“What does Erik Johnson do?”
Max is now officially overcome with annoyance, and even though it's definitely not the smartest choice she could make, she couldn't care in the slightest as she makes it.
“Your mom.” The response comes with a ball of spit flying from her mouth into the man's face, and a trained leg from skateboarding meeting him hard in the lower mid section.
The man falls to the ground, clearly not as high and mighty as he thinks he is.
It's now Max and Mike's turn to laugh, and they pull each other's backs back and forth as they try to fall over, but fail due to the ties holding them together.
The third Russian, the one positioned by the door, has to walk up and hold back Russian Number 1 from slapping the shit out of Max. He whispers something into his comrades ear, a Russian sentence, and it seems to slightly ease him.
“Idi voz'mi syvorotku.”
The instructions from Russian Number 1 to Russian Number 2 seem ominous. They then leave the room, and Russian Number 3 is the only one remaining.
“You guys got Tylenol?” Mike asks the man, unbothered from the absurdness of the question.
“Oh so now you want it?” Max jokes.
“What?”
“I offered you some earlier.”
“That was way longer than earlier.”
Oh, right. Max really wanted a calendar. And some food. And to sleep. She wanted a lot of things, and now Mike's idea of Tylenol does sound a little appealing.
“So, do you?” Mike repeats.
“I doubt Russians have Tylenol.” She chides.
“Sure they do. It's like, international or something.”
“Tupitsy.” The man at the door says quietly.
Max throws her head back, getting a scold from Mike. She tries to get comfortable in the small stool, but after a few minutes of wiggling around and accidentally elbowing Mike about six times, she deems it impossible. Eventually, she just slumps down against Mike's back, and another few minutes pass before the other two men return.
In one hand, Russian Number 2 is holding another tray of mysterious tools, and in the other, two filled syringes. The two walk over to the counter, swerving past the teens.
“What's that?” Mike asks skeptically.
He doesn't get an answer, and the man puts one of the syringes down. He flicks the one remaining in his hand and crosses over to Max, bringing it down towards her neck.
“Hey! Don't touch her! I'm serious man, don't fucking touch her-” Mike yells desperately, but it's no use.
“Woah woah woah, hey, we can talk about this! There's really no need-” Max is interrupted by the syringe stabbing itself into her neck, and almost immediately, she becomes dizzy.
“Max? Hey, Max!” She feels Mike's bony arms digging into her sides, trying to shake an answer out of her. “Max! Are you okay? Talk to me!”
It's a funny feeling, she decides. She's not entirely dazed, but she thinks she's getting there. Her vision is a little clouded, and the sound of Mike's voice is not how it usually is. She doesn't know what it is, but just knows it should not sound like that.
“Mike?”
“Yeah! It's me. You're okay, alright?”
“You sound squeaky.”
“I- what?”
“Squeaky.” She elbows him, first with her right arm, next with her left. “You. You sound squeaky.”
She sees the man who she assumes drugged her walk past her and onto the other side of the counter, picking up the other syringe.
“Woah! Dude! Let's just, let's take a minute, yeah?” Mike begs, and Max can feel him squirming around in their shared chair.
“Don't worry. It's nothat ba.”
“Max, what?”
“It's not. It's not that bad.” She takes her time choosing her words, enunciating the vowels.
“Seriously man! Look, I'll tell you whatever you want! Literally, whatever you want to know about America, or the mall, or scoops ahoy-”
Max hears as the needle hits his skin, and he immediately stops talking.
“We’ll give it some time to kick in.” Russian Number 1 says through his teeth, failing to suppress his grin. “Have fun, kiddos.”
“Eh.” Mike retorts.
Max isn't 100% sure, but there's a pretty good chance that the room is upside down. Hah. Upside Down. That's funny. She thinks she should laugh about that.
She does.
“What's so funny?” Mike's words come out slurred, and Max is impressed with herself for understanding them.
“We're upside down.”
“No we're not.”
Max kicks his leg. “Think about it. Look at the ceiling. Wasn't the floor that color a few minutes ago?"
Mike lets out a sound of realization, half oh, half gasp. “That makes sense.”
“Are we fucked?” Max asks.
“Oh yeah.” Mike responds, and he kicks her leg simply because he can.
“We're so fucked."
— — —
July 1st, 1985, Dustin
“You ready?”
Will takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
The party sits circled around Will, who is sitting criss crossed on the floor. Jonathan and El are closest, and the remaining group members are huddled around them. If the circumstances were different, Dustin would laugh. They look like a classroom of kindergarteners.
“Okay, just let us know if anything goes wrong, alright?” Jonathan pats his brother's back.
“If it does, you come back. Understand?” El asks.
"Yeah, I know. I'm ready.” Will's unusual sharp tone is enough to stop his siblings from coddling him and to have Steve grab the blindfold.
“Good luck.” He says as he ties the fabric around Will's head. Will takes another breath, then he stills. And so does everything else. You could hear a pin drop in the room.
Minutes pass, and nothing happens. He just sits, not saying a word.
“What do you think it feels like?” Lucas whispers, breaking the silence.
“Maybe it's like swimming.” Robin suggests.
“Why would it be like swimming?” Lucas scowls.
“Cause. You know how El goes in that weird void pool place? Maybe he's doing that.”
“Dude. Shut up.” Dustin scolds the two. El had superpowers, and she saved the world more than once by going to that void pool place. He thinks he may be taking it too hard, but he doesn't care.
“Do you think he could find Mike and Max?” Steve offers. Nancy elbows him for talking, and Jonathan gives him a dirty look. He throws his hands in the air, and points to the other three speakers.
“And Erica.” Lucas adds.
“Stop talking.” Will says quietly, and the entire room falls back into silence.
Dustin stands up and moves to sit next to Nancy, the only person not pissing him off. Lucas and Robin continue to silently argue, misunderstanding each other with vague hand movements and bad lip reading.
More times goes by, and Dustin is becoming bored. Occasionally, Will will let out a huff of breath, and the group will shoot up and wait for something to happen, but nothing comes. Dustin thinks about what he could be doing. Is he just sitting there? Not seeing or doing anything?
“I found it.” Will suddenly says, and everyone jumps and leans closer. Jonathan and El lock eyes, then eventually ask.
“What did you find? The Mindflayer?” El asks tentatively.
“Yes.”
Dustin inhales sharply. This could either go really good or really bad, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.
“What is it doing? Where is it?” Nancy speaks up for the first time.
“I… I don't know. I can't see where it is. It's just… there.”
Everyone finds a partner to lock eyes with. Dustin finds El’s gaze, and she simply shrugs.
“It's not moving either. I think it's resting.”
Dustin wonders at what this means. Where could it be resting? Why does it need rest? There were way too many essential questions that they weren't guaranteed the answers to.
“What do I do?” Will asks.
“Whatever you've been doing. If it got you this far, it can keep you going.” Nancy moves so that she is sitting in front of Will, Jonathan and El on either side of him. Dustin stands and hovers behind El along with Steve, and Robin and Lucas stand behind Jonathan.
“You can do this Will.” Nancy takes his hand for a moment, gives it a light squeeze, then let's it fall back into his lap. “Just focus.”
She bats her head both ways and brings her finger to her mouth, silently shushing everyone. This time, they obey, and no one says a word. Steve and Robin decide to wander off, investigating The Wheeler basement. Lucas eventually joins them, and Nancy moves to the couch and puts on her I'm thinking so no one talk to me face.
Dustin stays seated next to El, and Jonathan sits across from them. Will is still laser focused, not moving a muscle. If not for the tiny movement from his chest rising and falling, Dustin would think he was a corpse.
Then things change.
Will starts to move, his arms and legs shaking. His breath becomes uneven, and slowly, drops of blood fall from his nose.
“Will!” Jonathan shouts, and the wandering four come sprinting back to their makeshift circle.
“Will get out of there!” Nancy grabs his shoulders and shakes, but Will doesn't seem to register any of it. He's now letting out small whimpers, and his head flies back.
“Will, Come back!” El takes both of his hands in hers. Will begins to scream.
No one knows what to do. Lucas grabs a pillow and they get him on his back, but that only seems to make it worse. Dustin rips off the blindfold and is met with horror. Will's eyes are fully rolled back into his head, leaving only the white sclera visible. His body seizes, and he rolls onto his side, bringing his arms to his stomach and curling in on himself.
“El! Can you find him?” Jonathan shouts over his brother's screams.
“I- I maybe? Give me the blindfold!” It's in her hands in less than a second, and she's now mimicking her brother's position from before, criss crossed. However, it's much less calm, and Dustin doesn't know if she'll be able to reach him under these conditions.
What seems like hours of screaming finally end when Will jolts up forward, his eyes returning to their natural location. El’s nose is now bleeding too, and she rips off the blindfold and crawls over to embrace him.
“Will! You're okay.” El puts a hand on the back of his head and the other on his back, and leaves room for Jonathan to get in too. Dustin lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“What the hell happened?” Dustin asks after Will calms down a little, and Jonathan and El release him.
“It saw me. I think… I think it tried to spy on me. Like I was spying on it.”
“Do you think it got the chance? To spy back?” Steve poses.
“I don't think so. I fought it. And I think…”
Will's voice trails off, and his eyes seem to lose focus.
“I think I know where it's headed.”
Dustin is about to answer, but it's interrupted by the basement door swinging open against the wall, and two familiar kids running down the stairs, panting like they just ran a marathon.
“Why don't you people ever answer the damn phone!?” Erica shouts, and everyone just gawks at her, and Derek standing behind her.
“Erica?” Lucas shoots upwards, his hands in the air.
“We have gone to every single one of your guy's houses, and called the next one while we were there!” Derek adds.
“Wait, what?” Robin gasps.
“Where's Mike? Max?” Dustin walks up to them, staring them down until he gets an answer.
“They're still there!” Derek shouts.
“Where?” Steve presses them further.
“The elevator! The Russians! Whatever it is.” Erica stalks over to the couch and plops down, bumping El’s shoulder with her knee.
“I'm sorry, Russians?” Jonathan turns his attention away from his brother.
“Yes! They're freaking crazy. They beat them up and shit, me and Erica barely escaped even when all of the security was on them.” The boy from the stairs walks over and meets his buddy on the couch.
“Are they okay?” Will and Lucas ask at the same time.
“God knows. Those Russians did not look happy.” Erica plays with the hem of her shirt.
“They didn't look okay.”
“Shut up, dipshit! I'm sick of you.” Erica punches his shoulder, and he does as he's told.
Dustin follows them over to the sofa and kneels in front of the pair. “Okay, back up. You said elevator. What elevator?”
“Behind the mall. There's a huge elevator they use for bringing stuff in, but it's really just a hideout for the commies.”
Dustin hears as the group shares a collective sigh of shock and exhaustion. This was the last thing they needed. Russians? In Hawkins? It made no sense.
“I swear, if this is just some prank Erica-” Her brother begins.
“It's not! We've been missing for days and you think it's a prank!?” She shoots up and marches over toward Lucas, staring him down.
“Okay,” Dustin starts. “Let's entertain the possibility that there are Russians beneath the mall, and that Mike and Max are still there, being tortured. How do we get it, and how do we get them out?”
“Getting in is the easy part.” Derek answers, and Erica finishes for him.
“It's getting out that's a stick in the ass. The entire place is insanely guarded and every single button is in commie talk. We just had to mash the buttons together and pray that it would go up.”
“Oh and another thing, Max said that they're doing something called “opening a gate”, whatever that means.” Derek says the words so casually, it's almost laughable.
The silence that follows causes the younger kids to raise their brows.
“Is there something we're not sharing with the class?” Erica crosses her arms.
“Well that explains a lot.” Steve runs his hands through his hair.
“Okay. We need to go get Mike and Max, but there's another thing we need to worry about.” Nancy tells Erica and Derek. “We'll break into groups. Will, you need to be as far from this thing, so you'll need to go with the mall group. Lucas, Steve, And Robin, you go with him. Me, Jonathan, El and Dustin will track down the Mindflayer, and El will knock its ass back to hell. Clear?”
“What about us?” Derek complains.
“You're going with them, obviously. We need you to lead them through.” Nancy crosses her arms, and looks at everybody at least once. “Clear?”
No one argues.
“Then let's get to work.”