Pain.

It echoes through him even after the source of it all is long gone. It lingers in his bones. Muscles. Nerve endings, as though permanently ingrained there for the rest of time. And maybe it is. Maybe it will never stop. Maybe he is doomed to feel as though his body is going to break apart, bit by bit, for the rest of his life.

However long that may be.

He is still curled on the ground, the jagged edges of the rock beneath him digging into his skin, while red lightning crackles overhead. And he cannot move. Even trying brings a resurgence of the pain that initially immobilized him.

His fingers curl into the rock, making little indents in the surface, and catching bits of rubble beneath his nails. And he still cannot understand how that is possible. How he can have enough strength to shatter rock with little to no effort at all. None of it makes any sense. Absolutely none of it.

His mind scrabbles for the lingering fragments of who he used to be, trying to remember. Trying to seize onto any clue he can find for answers. Trying to piece it all together. He had been close, in the other world. Close, until instinct took over. Until the burning in his veins—the hunger scorching his throat—demanded acknowledgment. He can still taste the metallic tang of blood against his lips. He can feel the way it soaked into his veins. The strength that seemed to vibrate through him in the aftermath.

Some of that strength still rests beneath the surface of his skin, but it is still mostly masked by the lingering pain.

Pain, and a sense that, in the time since he had been subjected to such a thing, he was, miraculously, not alone.

He hadn't known what to make of it, at first. The feeling of another presence—one far different from the specter that ordinarily lingered in the far reaches of his mind—brushing against his own consciousness had startled him. Almost frightened him. But it felt—warm. Gentle. Almost familiar.

He had been so lost in the sudden tremors wracking him after the never-ending waves of pain that were being thrown at him to devote much energy to trying to explore that particular avenue, though. All he could seem to focus on had been his own discomfort, such that he lost track of that other presence in fits and spurts.

It wasn't until he realized the agony that was rooting him to the spot was also curling through this other presence that he tried to fight it at all, but as always, the other lurker in his mind took over. Grappled its way to victory.

He could still feel that other presence, though. The softer one, trembling in a pain of its own, but remaining close. And a part of him had struggled to find a means of sparing any pain for that other—something—in his mind, but he couldn't manage it. Not when fire seemed to be ripping its way through his veins, coiling around him until he could barely breathe. The first presence—the gentler one—seemed to brush against him, then, almost curling around him and he still cannot understand why.

Something tells him that he should have been the one protecting whoever or whatever it was, not the other way around. But he had taken the offer provided with little to no hesitation at all. He had felt it as soon as that presence was ripped away.

He didn't understand why it was almost worse to be alone once again, but it was. The pain had built and built until he started to believe he would simply combust from the weight of it all. But as soon as he came to believe he would survive no more of it, it had ended. It had ended abruptly enough to give him whiplash.

Perhaps that is part of a reason why he is still curled on the craggy rock beneath him. Or perhaps that is simply because of his own weakness.

Either way, he knows he cannot remain here for long. Not if he doesn't want a repetition of the agony he already endured. And even if a part of him wonders at the prospect of encountering that other presence—the one that had been so comforting—again, should he earn more punishment, a still greater part objects to the thought of causing that presence any more pain as a result.

He knows he will not be venturing up to that other world again. Not until it will serve a greater purpose. The hunger he felt before will resurface, again. It will become a permanent part of him. A part that can override whatever pull he may feel toward the familiarity he found the first time.

Even though that sinister dweller in his mind that never fully leaves him had not said so outright, a suspicion begins to grow. A suspicion that the next time he is allowed back into that world, he will be so far from himself that there will be nothing to stand between him and the carnage he creates.

Though he had been punished for what is clearly a transgression, he knows it will soon be twisted into something useful. Something to aid in a plan he still cannot fully understand. A plan he hardly knows.

He is nothing more than a cog in a machine, now. A useful weapon, to be taken out and forged into something deadly.

It likely will not be long, now, before he forgets that niggling sense that he used to be something more. Someone more. Whatever he used to be will die, fading away until only the monster remains.

And somehow, he is starting to believe that is precisely what he deserves.

…

"I'm fine."

"Sit. Down."

"Steve—"

"Sadie, I swear to God, just—just sit, okay?"

"Where's Will?"

"I don't think you really need to worry about—"

"Steve. Where. Is. Will?" Sadie repeats the question, startled at the vehemence in her tone, and noting that Steve appears to be equally as caught off guard, his stern expression faltering for a moment to reveal his own worry in next to no time at all.

"Robin and Nancy have him. They're with Dustin and Jonathan. Out—outside."

"Is he alright?"

"Are you?"

Sadie allows a shaky sigh to escape, sinking into the chair Steve places behind her, and curling in on herself to rest her head in the cradle of her hands. Her entire body aches, leftover tremors from—whatever it was she had just endured—rippling through her and causing her to emit a strangled whimper in response.

She can feel Steve's hand against her back, between her shoulder blades, and it takes everything she has to resist pulling away. But she knows he is only trying to help. To put her at ease.

And she hates the fact that a part of her wishes he wouldn't even bother to try.

"Did you—I don't know, did you—see anything?" Steve asks, aware of Sadie's almost immediate shake of the head, and biting back the exasperated sigh that wants so badly to break free in response, "What—was there anything you could sense?"

"Just—just the pain."

"Was it Vecna?"

"Yes. But it wasn't—it wasn't his pain," Sadie begins, frowning as she tries to think of how best to explain. She is hardly sure of it, herself, having been so distracted by the spasms tearing through her body. It is entirely likely she may be wrong.

Still, she can remember an instinctive pull toward—something else—while engrossed in her own torment. A pull to something she could swear she used to know.

She couldn't quite put her finger on what exactly that something was, though. And then, as soon as the pain had come, it was gone…

It left her gasping. Shivering. Strangely bereft, as though something had been there, in that other world. Something beyond the pain. Something she longs to get back to.

"Sadie?"

"Sorry, I—"

"No. No, don't be sorry," Steve says, removing his hand from Sadie's back, and watching her carefully as she straightens in the chair, her still-trembling hands smoothing down the fabric of her jeans, "You said it wasn't—that it wasn't Vecna's pain?"

"No."

"Then whose pain was it?"

"Someone else's."

Eleven's voice diverts both Steve and Sadie's attention towards her as she sidles into the kitchen, Mike, Lucas and Dustin following along close behind. But her eyes lock on Sadie's features alone, some sort of unspoken communication passing between them before she takes a steadying breath, and starts to speak again.

"He—I think Henry has—someone else down there, with him."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know," Steve repeats, dragging a hand through his hair, his desperation to obtain answers at odds with the apparent lack of any being forthcoming, "Well that's just great."

"Hey!"

"What, Wheeler? I'm not allowed to want more than just a guess?"

"But it's not. It's not just a guess," Lucas cuts in, looking between Sadie and Eleven for a moment, before turning his attention to Steve instead, "Not with how Eleven and Sadie have each spent a while rooting around in Vecna's mind."

"So why don't they know who he's torturing?"

"Remember when the Mind Flayer took Will?"

"Yeah."

"I think Sadie and El might be able to see what Vecna can do. What he is doing. But only in flashes," Lucas states, holding out a hand to waylay Steve's obviously impending protest, and ignoring the impatient huff he receives in response, "So they can pick up on some things, but not the full picture."

"Like Will did when we found Hopper in the tunnels underground," Mike adds, an arm looping protectively around Eleven's shoulders, the gesture so genuine it prompts a slight tug at the aching hole in the center of Sadie's chest, "Vecna might not even be aware he's giving that kind of intel to them. And it looks like he's giving it to Will again, too."

"Okay. Do we know why?"

"No."

"Right. Because that would be too easy," Steve scoffs, clearly choosing to ignore the twin looks of frustration that Mike and Lucas are sending him in favor of going on, "How are we supposed to figure out what any of this crap means, then, huh?"

"We—I don't know. We wait for it to happen again," Lucas suggests, once again looking to Sadie and Eleven, though neither of them appear ready to step in to correct him, "The—the next time, Sadie and Will can be prepared, and then—"

"And then what?"

"And then we just—see what else they learn."

"Or we could—try to find Vincent," Mike offers, immediately noting how Sadie seems to tense, though Eleven steps forward, crouching down until her knees rest on the floorboards, and her hand reaches forward for Sadie's own as she agrees with what Mike is clearly trying to say.

"It might be the only way."

"You really think we can trust him?" Steve demands, unsure if the way his gut seems to twist at the thought of going back to Vincent stems from his own recollection of the moments leading up to Vecna's disappearance, or from Sadie's pale and drawn features on their own. He still hasn't found a way to tell her of his own suspicions regarding her uncle. For the time-being, her own reluctance to have anything to do with the man had seemed good enough.

But now, it seems like that may no longer be what he hoped it would be, the sudden steely determination in Sadie's features giving him every reason to believe her decision on the matter has already been made.

"If it helps Will, or Eleven, I—I'll do it."

"Sadie, listen, you don't have to deal with him if—"

"No, Steve, I—I think I might need to," Sadie insists, finally looking him in the eye, even though it is more than apparent she does not truly want to, "It's—it's okay."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sadie doesn't know what makes her say it. Not when the reality could not be any farther from the truth. She isn't entirely sure if she will ever be truly willing to face Vincent again, because even if it is not fully rational, she doesn't know if she will ever be able to stop blaming him for what happened to Eddie.

She knows if he hadn't done what he did, Steve, Robin and Nancy would likely be dead. Vecna may have killed Max, rather than simply putting her in a coma. He might have killed Sadie, herself. But in spite of that knowledge, she is still not entirely prepared to forgive him.

She knows that means she is selfish. Just like her mother always said.

Maybe that is why she continues to hold Steve's gaze, willing him to believe her words are genuine. Because she is so desperately trying to prove her mother wrong. Because she doesn't want to be the type of person that would even consider accepting the death of three other people who have done nothing but support her, just so she can have someone to love.

And if proving she isn't as terrible as she believes means looking Vincent Creel in the eye again, then Sadie supposes there is nothing left to do but face him before she has enough time to lose her nerve altogether.

…

Back in the relative safety of the small bathroom attached to the room Wayne had insisted she take as her own in the new house, Sadie stands before the mirror over the sink, having just allowed Nancy to assist in removing the old bandages around her sides, and replacing them with fresh ones. Her eyes are tracing over the remaining bruises from that night at Benny's, the brilliant purple fading at the edges to green, and a lighter shade of yellow as well.

Nancy is otherwise occupied with cleaning the last of the debris from the counter, and Sadie allows a fingertip to lift, running over the edges of the fading hand shaped bruise at the center of her chest, momentarily disappearing into her own world, at least until Nancy is placing a hand against the bare skin of her shoulder.

"Have you thought about telling anyone?"

"Telling anyone about what?"

"Those bruises," Nancy says, a pointed look in the mirror causing Sadie to avert her gaze, her attention suddenly all but fixated upon finding her shirt and starting to drag it over her head, "They didn't come from Vecna."

"I know."

"So where—"

"It doesn't matter."

"Sadie—"

"It doesn't," Sadie presses, frowning as the cast on her right arm gives her the same amount of trouble it always does when it comes to getting through sleeves, Nancy's wordless decision to step in to provide assistance causing a knife of guilt to twist in Sadie's gut over how easily her words could be interpreted as a cold dismissal of any sort of appreciation at all, "I just mean it—it's nothing compared to everything else that's going on."

"If someone is hurting you, that's not nothing."

"They're not."

"But they were?" Nancy questions, aware of how Sadie's lips purse into a thin line, her features seeming to grow pale as she carefully avoids looking her in the eye, "Sadie, you don't have to be ashamed of—"

"I'm not ashamed. I just—this isn't what we should be focusing on right now."

"Did Eddie know?"

Nancy regrets the words almost as soon as she says them, the way Sadie goes rigid making her wish there was some way she could take it all back. Because she knows. She knows exactly why Sadie always avoids any mention of Eddie at all, as often as she can.

There still were times when Nancy said Barb's name out loud, that it nearly crippled her, and she had been given years to adjust to the gaping hole her best friend had left behind.

Sadie, by comparison, had only been given a handful of days.

And Nancy had known almost from the first moment she saw them together that Sadie had loved Eddie as more than just a friend.

"I'm sorry, Sadie, I just—I don't want you to suffer through this alone, you know?"

"He knew."

"W—what?"

"Eddie knew," Sadie confesses, still avoiding Nancy's gaze, her attention fixing on picking at a stray thread on the hem of her shirt, instead, "Or he—he figured it out based on the fragments of what I would give him, and—and then he—"

"And then he died."

Sadie bites down on her lower lip, willing the burning at the corners of her eyes to disappear with everything she has. And she can feel Nancy moving closer to her. She can feel the other girl's hand moving to rest on top of her own, and does what she can to resist the instinctive urge to pull away.

It's irrational, but a part of her still can't shake the thought that the revelation of everything that had happened with Andy had contributed to Chrissy's death. To Eddie's. Even though Max hadn't known the truth, she was still connected to Sadie as well. Patrick could be considered linked to her as well, through her brother. Her dead brother.

Sadie shakes her head to ward off those ridiculous notions, because she knows, at least on some level, that they cannot possibly be true. That she is reaching, almost as though she is determined to find some means of blaming herself for everything.

"Sadie, I think—I think he would want you to talk to someone."

"You can't—you can't want anything when you're dead."

Nancy doesn't know what to say to that, and so she elects to remain silent, removing her hand from Sadie's and leaning back against the countertop beside her instead. She had said the same thing, herself, once she knew Barb was gone for good. She had known it was true, despite her mother's best efforts to tell her that her best friend wouldn't want to see her in pain.

The circumstances may be different, but Nancy would be a fool to pretend she doesn't see the similarities between her situation, and Sadie's. She would be a fool to pretend she doesn't know exactly how difficult it must be for Sadie to find anyone to blame other than herself.

She's been through this before. She is still, technically, going through it.

And that only makes Nancy even more determined to walk Sadie through this as best she can until the other girl can claw her way out of her guilt on her own.

"So. Vincent," She begins, biting down on the inside of her cheek to restrain a grin as Sadie's brow furrows, clearly not entirely following the sudden change in topic of conversation, "You're sure you're ready for that?"

"I kind of have to be."

"No. No, you don't."

"Nancy, he—he saved your life. Steve's and Robin's too."

"And if I'd been in your shoes, begging for Jonathan's survival, or my family's, and someone bypassed them to save someone else instead? I would be feeling the exact same way."

"Nance—"

"I would," Nancy persists, turning to face Sadie head-on, and allowing herself to feel some small amount of relief when this time, Sadie does not seem so determined to look away, "So I get it. Believe me. I get it."

Sadie doesn't want to admit it, but it fills her with an almost absurd amount of relief to know that Nancy would feel the same. That someone she had already started to think of as purely selfless didn't judge her for wanting to keep her distance from a man that, to her point of view, had betrayed her. She had expected Nancy to see her reluctance to face Vincent as overly dramatic. Ridiculous, even.

Finding that her newfound friend views the entire situation as anything but is nothing short of a relief.

"I still need to be—you know—okay with it."

"Why?"

"Because we can't do this without him. I—I don't think that I can do this without him."

"Sadie, are you kidding? You—you were amazing. Through—through all of it."

"No, that's not—that's not what I mean," Sadie corrects, mulling over how she can explain what it is she is trying to say, without sounding like some child that doesn't know how to execute the most basic of functions, "It's just—since everything happened, I—I've been avoiding any deliberate use of—well, you know—"

"Your abilities."

"Right. And it works. For—for the most part. But sometimes, there's this—this buildup, and I just—I can't hold it back. And if it gets bad enough, I can't—I can't stop what comes next."

"So when Steve said he already had to help Wayne set up a new refrigerator because the old one died—"

"It was a casualty. Yes. And I tried—I tried to use that as another reason why Wayne shouldn't want me anywhere near him, but—"

"Something tells me he didn't listen," Nancy concludes, watching Sadie's nod, and hoping that her next remark doesn't come off as condescending when that is just about the farthest thing from her intent, "Well you had to have seen that one coming."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I really did."

"Sadie, is that why you've been so—distant lately?"

"It might be a part of it," Sadie admits, adjusting her position a bit against the countertop, while her attention shifts, at least for the moment, to her toes, "I can't hurt anyone else. I just—I can't."

"And you won't."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, yeah. I think I do," Nancy persists, ignoring the lingering skepticism that is so apparent in Sadie's features in favor of going on, "You decimated a refrigerator. Not a person."

"Only because Wayne was at work."

"Or maybe, it's because even with these—surges—you're still able to maintain some level of control."

Sadie spends a moment considering that, unsure if she can truly allow herself to believe it. Unsure if she can allow herself to hope that somehow, even if everything about her abilities is still out of whack, perhaps she is not as dangerous as she fears. And she knows, if anyone can give her answers, it will be Vincent, whether she is truly brave enough to face him after everything, or not.

"So. We try to find Vincent. Tomorrow"

"Tomorrow," Sadie repeats, once again looking to Nancy, and managing a faint smile before going on, "I guess one good thing can come out of this."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"If nothing else, Robin and I will have another chance to torment you over ogling him again."

"Oh my God, I did not ogle him!" Nancy protests, bumping her elbow against Sadie's side, pleased to find that somehow, the act has her friend laughing, even if the amusement does not entirely make it to her eyes. For now, she will take just the simple laughter as a sign that maybe she's gotten through to Sadie, even if only for a little bit.

And if it means allowing the blonde to join forces with Robin at her own expense, then Nancy supposes that is exactly what she is going to do.

…

In the void, it is utterly black.

It doesn't alarm her anymore, though. Not since that first time. Not since it had allowed her to find Max. Not long after she excused herself for the night, and climbed into bed, Sadie had been debating whether or not to do this. Trying to figure out if it was worth the risk.

Because it is a risk. With how unreliable her abilities are becoming—with how she still does not fully understand them—she could very likely wind up doing far more harm than good. But she hasn't been able to stop thinking about the pain that crippled her, earlier that day. About the thing—whatever it was—that drew her in, in spite of it. That made her realize she was not alone. A small part of her wonders if it is just a trick. Just some new ploy of Vecna's to lure her into something she cannot escape.

Almost as soon as the thought enters her mind, though, Sadie is casting it aside, because she knows what it feels like to bump up against Vecna's consciousness. She knows the feel of his traps because she has seen them before.

She wants to find what that something is, because instinct seems to suggest that she has encountered it before. And that is why she is poking around in the void, now, whether it is truly an intelligent idea or not…

And if she happens to accidentally encounter Vecna along the way?

So be it.

Her feet are submerged in that same, unfamiliar clear substance as she walks, the sensation causing a shiver to race its way up her spine while goosebumps erupt against her skin. But as much as she tries to reach out with her mind—to try to find what she is searching for—Sadie still comes up absolutely blank.

Blank, until frustration causes her to push outward with a bit more force than originally planned, the solid wall she slams against sending her scrambling backwards in hopes of keeping her footing, rather than falling to land in the liquid still sloshing around her toes.

Furrowing her brow, Sadie exhales slowly, and pushes outward once again, though this time she exerts a significant amount of effort to go more slowly than she had before. She is more hesitant, this time. Ready to pull herself back if it turns out she is walking directly into a threat. But that threat never comes. She brushes up against the wall again, and comes to the startling realization that it is more of a sentient being than anything else.

Sentient. Alone. Afraid. Confused, and in pain.

Before she can stop herself, Sadie is brushing up against it again, her breath catching in her throat as that other being seems to recoil as though expecting still more pain.

Reeling back, Sadie contemplates simply leaving, worried that somehow she is poking at a dead end that will never turn into anything tangible at all.

What if this is just like the figure she keeps seeing in Wayne's yard? What if it is nothing real, at all?

What if she is really, truly going insane?

Sadie does not get the opportunity to debate the answer, though, because as soon as she is preparing to try, something is pushing back against her. Something tentative. Conflicted. It almost seems to pace around her, as much as something without a true physical form can pace, but somehow, Sadie is not afraid.

Instead of trying to pull away, or push her mind outward again, she simply remains still. Steady. Calm. She allows that other being to explore, testing her. Evaluating her. It seems almost curious, even in spite of the hesitation that is so apparent behind the contact.

Sadie is drawn in again before she can even realize it, and the other presence almost seems to slink closer, as though half prepared for her to retaliate in some way. She doesn't, though, because that sense of familiarity is back, rooting her in place. Her breath catches in her throat, because what she wants to believe cannot possibly be true.

Just as she is prepared to reach out again, trying to confirm her theory as best she can, though, the presence is yanked away. It is just—gone. And the shock of it all sends Sadie catapulting back to the present, wrenched from her own mind's explorations with enough force to take her breath away.

She sits up in bed, struggling to catch her breath. Trying to will herself to consider that her mind is simply showing her what she wants to see. Because what she suspects is insane. It has to be. There is no other logical explanation that she can think of, other than her own desperate wish for the losses she and the others face to simply go away. She would give anything for Max to wake up. Anything, for Eddie to simply be—alive.

A part of her wonders why she even bothered attempting to search for the other presence again if she wasn't going to trust her own results. But the other part—the part that she is seriously starting to question, as far as sanity goes?

That other part is nothing less than determined to try again. To exert a more concentrated effort to find that presence and figure out what—or who—it is.

What little she does know of her own abilities reminds her that they were stronger in the Upside Down. That somehow, she was able to exercise them with a little bit more control in that other world. And whatever the ordeal with Vincent entails, assuming they are even able to reach him at all, Sadie is suddenly determined to do whatever she can to find answers.

She is going back to the Upside Down. Even if she has to go it alone.

…

Hello, everyone! And welcome to another chapter in Sadie and Eddie's sequel! Once again, I appear to be completely incapable of giving these guys a rest, because the ideas just keep coming. So hopefully that isn't something any of you mind all that much? I'm having far too much fun to stop now!

As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! And special thanks to mistyagami and SailorErinViz95 for leaving such kind reviews the last time around! I am so, so very appreciative of every single one of you for taking the time to give this story a chance! And as per usual, I can't wait to see what you think this time!

Until next time, lovelies…

MOMM