He was bleeding.

He could feel bubbled blisters bursting on his palms, blood and fluid running down the sore skin. He gripped the chains tighter. Up and down. Up, he felt his heart open its arms towards the sky. Down, his stomach plummeted back to the ground. Up, his bare legs extended, thin and white as bone. Down, they swept under him, toes nearly brushing the mulchy ground.

The night sky was beckoning him. Constellations pointed him North. What's North? It wouldn't say.

There was a big house in front of him, a small barn behind him. Skeletal trees towered around him, swaying in the breezing, reaching, reaching, clawing for him. He wasn't afraid. The trees formed a perfect circle around the house and the barn with him in the exact middle.

Up, down.

The swing's shrieking chains were the only sound. It split the night wide open.

His hands kept bleeding. Red drops stained the mulch.

A single light was on in the house. He could make out curtains drawn in a room on the second floor. Pale purple light glowed inside. A spidery silhouette appeared. He watched as it reached out a shadow-like finger and pulled back the curtains.

The chain snapped.

He fell.


Mike jolted awake. He sat up so quickly his head swam, his hand immediately going to his temple where it was about to hit the ground moments before. His fingers came away clean. No blood. He examined his hands for another moment. No blood. The blisters were gone. They'd never really been there.

Mike took a deep breath. His heart was rabbiting in his chest. He scrubbed at his face. Sunlight was streaming through Will's bedroom window. Mike blinked owlishly at it. It must be late. He untangled himself from the blankets on the floor. He stood up, stretching. He was thirsty. He needed coffee. And a cigarette.

He wandered down the hall into the kitchen. Will was sitting alone at the table, his pencil flying over his sketchbook. He looked up when Mike walked in. Will smiled wryly. "Morning.''

"Morning,'' Mike managed, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon.''

"Shit.''

"I was getting worried,'' said Will. "You slept for, like, sixteen hours. How do you feel?"

Mike thought for a moment. "Pretty good, actually.'' He felt better rested than he had in months. He located the coffee pot and poured himself a mug. It was still fresh and the pot was nearly full, despite the rest of the family having probably awakened hours ago. Mike wondered if Will had made more specially for him.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mom and Jonathan both work Sunday mornings. El's out with friends, I guess.''

"Hm.'' Mike gently blew at the steam wafting from his mug as he joined Will at the table. He leaned over his shoulder, cocking his head to examine the sketchbook. Will put his pencil down. He glanced at Mike, then quickly looked away. Mike studied the drawing.

It was made from short, light strokes, all shading and blended soft. Sharper, veiny lines spread along the edges of the page, but the focus was centered in the shadows. Mike traced his pointer finger along the willowy shape. Will said nothing, but Mike knew he was waiting for his reaction.

"Looks better than it did in crayon.''

Will made a little noise of annoyance.

"What?" Mike tapped the drawing with his finger. "You asked.''

"I didn't.''

"But you wanted to.'' Will scowled and Mike smirked. He took a sip of his coffee, trying to channel the same condescension his dad managed so naturally.

"Whatever.'' Will flipped the sketchbook shut. Mike snatched it up.

"Hey!" Will stood up so quickly that his chair skidded back with a screech.

Mike raised his eyebrows.

Will crossed his arms. "Whatever,'' he said again.

Mike set his coffee down on the table and opened the sketchbook. Most of Will's drawings were landscapes. The beach, the woods, the desert. They were good, but boring. A few sketches of fantasy characters. Narnia, Prydain, the Fellowship. Mike liked these better. He flipped to the next page and made a delighted noise. It was them – Will, Mike, Lucas, Dustin – as the four Hobbits.

"That was from a while ago,'' said Will. He sounded embarrassed.

"It's great.'' Mike grinned. It wasn't just the technique of the sketch that was good. It was the accuracy that Will had managed to capture his childhood friends, while still making it clear who each character was. Will was drawn as Frodo. Lucas and Dustin were Merry and Pippin respectively. And Mike –

"Why am I Sam?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Will shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno . . . It just seemed right. Everyone else was taken,'' he added.

Mike touched the drawing tenderly. They were drawn as they were at twelve or thirteen. Will's expression was serious, haunted. Mike was looking at Will, fearful and trusting. Not us, Mike reminded himself. Frodo and Sam. But the thought remained. The Lab was our Mordor. Mike turned the page.

The next few drawings were all of the Byers. Joyce, Jonathan, El. A self portrait. A family portrait. Will had captured them all perfectly. This was where his true talent lay: Drawing the incredible likeness of the people he loved.

Mike flipped the page and found himself staring in a pencil-drawn mirror. Will snatched the sketchbook away, but it was too late. Mike had seen himself as Will saw him. Fine-boned and hollow-cheeked, but also with deep, mournful eyes, and delicate, long lashes. His lips were parted, the bow elegantly defined. His hair fell in soft curls that framed his angular face. The likeness was uncanny, except that Will had perhaps made Mike more beautiful than he really was. It was art, Mike told himself. He was made more beautiful for artistic reasons; it wasn't because Will saw him that way. Mike felt his face flush.

Will said nothing. He refused to look at Mike. He clutched the sketchbook to his chest, something like shame marring his expression. Mike's eyes fell on the page that Will had hastily flipped back to. It was his drawing from that morning. Unfinished, but uncanny.

"I dreamt about him last night,'' said Mike.

Will's expression changed. His brow furrowed. He bit his lip. He examined his own drawing. "Are you sure, Mike?"

It reached out a shadow-like finger and pulled back the curtains. "Yes. I'm sure.''

"Why?"

Mike shrugged. "Do you not? Do you just make scribbles of him?"

Will sighed. He closed his sketchbook on the Mindflayer. "Let's get out of here.''

"Okay,'' said Mike.

Ten minutes later, coffee gulped, breakfast skipped, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, Mike clambered into the passenger seat of Jonathan's 1971 Ford Galaxie. Will put it reverse and began backing cautiously out of the driveway.

"So,'' said Mike, "do you, uh, drive often?"

"Not really. Jonathan usually has the car for work and stuff, but Argyle drove him today.'' The car lurched to a halt. Mike twisted around. There was nothing behind them. He glanced at Will, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry,'' Will muttered. "I was just checking the breaks.''

"Well, I'd say they work.''

"Put your seatbelt on, please.'' Will inched the Galaxie back another few inches. He stopped again. "Mike, this car isn't moving until I hear a click.''

"God, you're just like my Nana.''

Will waited. The car didn't move.

Mike clicked his seatbelt on.

One eternity later, they were cruising down the neighborhood streets, Will's head whipping back and forth as he looked for the imposing threats of stray dogs and children. Pleased to be moving, Mike rolled down his window and stuck his head out. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm air beat against his face and sweep back his hair. He laughed joyously. "You didn't tell me you could drive, Will!" He called.

"You didn't ask,'' Will yelled over the wind. He suddenly slammed on the breaks. Mike was thrown forward, narrowly missing hitting his face on the rearview mirror. His seatbelt bit into his chest.

"Shit, sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?" Genuine panic laced Will's voice.

"Yeah,'' Mike rubbed his chest. "I'm fine.''

Will was looking at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Seriously,'' said Mike. "I'm fine. Really. Jesus, Will, you should see Max drive. She's a fucking nightmare.''

Will cracked a nervous smile. "Zoomer?"

Mike laughed. "Hell yeah.'' Will still seemed a little shaken, so Mike encouraged him, "You, ah, weren't gonna miss the red light. It's actually not as close as it looks. And you don't have to stop before the white line – you can totally stop on it. Don't worry though, for real. It's no big deal.''

Will smiled without looking at Mike. His hands twisted on the steering wheel. The light turned green. He hesitantly proceeded. They left the neighborhoods behind, passing the bus station Mike arrived at just yesterday, and headed into the town of Turkle.

"Can I ask why you're such a . . . jumpy driver?" asked Mike after sometime of watching the palm trees go by in silence.

"I don't know,'' Will answered. "I don't like all the control I have. When I get behind the wheel, I have not only my own life in my hands, but the lives of everyone else in the car and everyone in the general vicinity. Like, the people in the other cars, and the people on the sidewalks, and the people crossing the street. And kids, who are crazier here than they were in Hawkins – I mean, they actually run into the road! Not to mention the dogs . . . I don't think people in California believe in leashing their dogs.''

"Or their children.''

Will shot Mike an incredulous look.

"Kidding,'' said Mike quickly.

"It's just that I'm in a two-ton killing machine,'' Will finished. "And it scares me.''

Mike thought about that. It was kind of a strange thing for Will Byers of all people to be scared about. But Mike tried to feign understanding. "Yeah, I get it.''

They lapsed into silence again. Mike let his hand trail out the window. The warm air felt so damn good. He missed summer already. He glanced over at Will, who was tensely preparing to make a right turn. Mike's eyes wandered to his tan hands, knuckles white against the wheel. Mike thought of how soft those hands were when they were kids. Whenever Mike happened to brush by him and their hands found each other, as they usually did, Mike would always be surprised by how soft and warm Will's hands were. Belatedly, Mike remembered last night. The hall, knuckles brushing, Will withdrawing as though he'd been burned. Mike looked away. Things had changed.

Downtown Turkle was basically downtown Hawkins with a beach aesthetic. It was all small cafes and convenience stores, a church or two, Town Hall, a police station. Post office. Tourist-esque beach shops, although Will explained that, because they were located a few hours from the nearest actual beach, Turkle's tourism was practically non-existent.

"Hey, I'm a tourist,'' Mike said as Will parked in a cramped little lot.

"Yeah, right.'' Will turned off the ignition, pocketing the keys. He got out, Mike following suit. Mike tagged after Will, who was walking with his hands jammed in his pockets.

"Uh, speaking of which,'' said Will after a few minutes. It took Mike a moment to recall what they'd just been talking about. "Are you going to tell me what you're actually doing here?"

Tell him. "I already did.''

Will frowned. "Mike.''

"What?" Mike couldn't keep the edge out of his voice.

"It's . . . been awhile,'' said Will carefully, "but I still know you, Mike.''

"Do you?"

"Yes,'' Will's voice was soft, "I think I do.''

Mike closed his eyes for the briefest moment. Then he said, "I wouldn't be so sure, Will. I'm a wreck.''

"Wreck or not, I've known you for as long as memory has mattered, Mike. I know when you're lying. I don't get why you'd lie about this specifically though. You don't have to have a reason for visiting my family, but don't lie and say you do. It doesn't make you as coy and elusive as you think it does.''

Despite himself, Mike laughed incredulously. " That's what you think I'm doing? Trying to make myself mysterious or some shit?"

"That's not what I said!" Will protested.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Byers.''

"Don't be juvenile.''

" 'Juvenile'? God –''

"Okay!" Will held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry! I'll stop now.''

"Please don't stop, Will,'' said Mike. "This is the most fun I've had in months.''

Will looked dubious, but Mike thought he was secretly pleased. "We're just talking.''

"So? Fine, it's the best little chat I've had in months.''

Will shook his head, his face splitting into a grin. "Okay.''

"Okay?"

"Okay.''

They walked in comfortable silence. Mike was interested in the town, the palm trees and the heat and the sunglasses and the surfboards, but it was Will he wanted to know more about. He couldn't stop looking at him. He knew he needed to, shit, he really needed to stop staring. Unfortunately, Will had really grown into his looks. Even in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, he looked devastating. He was too bronzed, too muscled, too confident. He looked like a Grecian hero. Mike felt a little self-conscious of his own body in comparison. He still was taller than Will, but he was skinny as a rail. He was pale as ivory, and his long dark curls appeared like a childish imitation of a rockstar, a Mick Jagger wannabe. Will's drawing of him though . . .

"Do you wanna go in here?" Mike snapped to attention. Will was gesturing to a shop they were passing.

"Sure.'' Will held the door open and Mike walked in. Nothing immediately caught his eye. It was full of little trinkets, snow globes and key chains. Mike wandered around aimlessly. He touched a wooden carved turtle, feigning interest. Will lingered over his shoulder. "That reminds me of Yertle.''

"What?"

"Yertle.'' Will nodded towards the carving. "The turtle.''

"Oh. Right.'' Dustin used to have a pet turtle named Yertle. Mike had forgotten.

"The high-school football team is called the Turtles,'' said Will abruptly. "The Turkle Turtles.''

"God. That's awful,'' said Mike.

"I know,'' Will agreed. "I guess they thought they were being clever.'' He tapped the carved turtle. "This is random, but speaking of Dusin – well, kinda, I mean, speaking of Yertle – how is he doing, really? Dustin, not his turtle.''

"He's good,'' Mike said. There was not much else to say.

"And everyone else? Sorry, I don't want to be annoying. I know you already told me at dinner last night, but I still don't really feel like I know what's going on with them.''

Mike chewed his lip. "Neither do I,'' he said quietly. He felt Will's gaze slide to him. Mike avoided eye contact, fiddling with a carved dolphin.

"You're not really friends with them anymore, are you?" Will asked, his voice gentle.

"No,'' said Mike. He tried not to sound too defensive as he countered, "I mean, you're not either. Right? You could just call Dustin or Lucas or Max and ask them what they've been up to. They'd love to hear from you, really.''

"I know. We still talk sometimes. It's just harder to maintain friendships long-distance.'' Will touched Mike's wrist. "It's okay that you guys aren't still best friends, you know that, right? You've grown up. I think it's pretty normal to grow apart. You still have friends?''

Mike sighed. He tried to ignore the tingling that wracked his entire arm from Will's light touch. "Yeah, I guess.'' He described Eddie and Angela, omitting the most incriminating details.

"Is Eddie the one who . . .?" Will trailed off.

"Who what?" Mike asked, curious and suspicious. Will was spared from having to answer by a shrill voice.

"Will Byeerrrrrss!"

Mike and Will both turned to see a girl approaching them. She looked like the physical embodiment of California: Tall, tan, teased blonde hair draped down her back. She was wearing tiny shorts and a hot pink bikini top. Mike was not impressed.

"Will, oh my God! What're you doing here?" She laughed a little manically, flouncing forward to greet him. Her hands immediately latched onto Will's shoulders, giving him a little shake. Will cringed away. The girl was either too stupid or too distracted to notice. "Who's your friend?" She demanded, turning her attention to Mike.

Mike backed into the shelf of wood carvings.

"That's Mike,'' Will offered weakly.

"Aw! He's adorable in a fucked up grunge kinda way. He from Idaho too?''

"Indiana.''

"Sexy.'' She turned back to Will. "Sooo whatcha doing tonight?"

"Uh,'' said Will.

"Sounds fun. I'm going for a midnight swim tonight with Jennifer and Colette. You can come if you want, Byers.'' She winked at him. "Your friend can come too,'' she mentioned as an afterthought.

"It's a school night,'' Will lamely offered.

The girl huffed, sticking out her lower lip. "Ok aay. Fine. See you tomorrow then.'' She shoved him in the shoulder with a hiccuped giggle and sashayed away, her golden anklets clinking at the bottom of her long legs. Will watched her go until the little bell on the door jingled as she left the shop. Then he winced, rubbing his shoulders.

"Who was that?" Mike asked, at a total loss.

"Some girl from school,'' Will muttered. "I don't even remember her name.''

"So she's, like, into you?"

"I don't know. She either wants to eat me or elope. I can't tell which.''

"I'd say she wants your dick,'' Mike observed.

Will scowled.

"You're not into her though,'' said Mike, as casually as he could.

"No,'' Will immediately said. "God, no.''

"Didn't think so.'' Mike waited to see if Will was going to say anything else. When he kept browsing souvenirs, Mike tentatively asked, "Is there anyone? At school? Or just around, I don't know."

Will shook his head. "Not my thing.''

"Oh.'' Mike wasn't sure how to broach his next question. "Like . . . it's not your thing in general, or . . . ?"

Will glanced at him. "You said it best yourself.''

Mike blinked.

"I don't like girls.'' Will said it in a low, but steady voice. Quiet, but unflinching.

So I was right about him. He knew it. He didn't feel triumphant relief though. Instead, Mike was struck by how calmly Will'd told him. He was so unafraid. He was so unashamed. He'd grown up more than Mike'd thought. How had Will matured so gracefully? How had he become this quietly assured person? Why am I not like that? Why am I afraid? Why am I ashamed? What makes us different? Mike didn't voice these thoughts. Instead he said, "I'm sorry I said that. About you and girls and shit. I don't know what I was thinking, it was really stupid. And I'm sorry I never apologized, I –"

"Mike.'' Will placed a hand on Mike's arm. "It's okay. It was a long time ago.''

"Yeah, but Will –''

"I know,'' said Will. "I get it.''

Mike downcast his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to keep looking at Will, but his face also burned every time he saw him, and this conversation was making everything so much worse.

"Are you hungry?" Will asked.

Mike nodded.

Will smiled. He wrapped an arm around Mike's shoulders, holding him close and secure against himself. "Come on. I know a great place to grab lunch.''

Will took Mike to a charming little diner at the west end of downtown. It wasn't far, but they took their time walking there, soaking up the heat of the day and enjoying each other's company. Mike had forgotten what it was like to just be with Will. He'd forgotten the easy comfort they slipped into, the sideway glances and inside jokes. Mike had thought that things would be different between the two of them now. They were older and so much had happened between them. But strolling down the sunny sidewalks of downtown Turkle, gazing at Will Byers' bright smile and resplendent features, Mike felt like they were thirteen again. He wanted to reach for Will's hand, lace their fingers together, squeeze them gently against his. Then he felt odd for having the thought.

The attraction to his old best friend was something he was long used to. He didn't remember when it started and he knew it'd never ended, even though sometimes he wished it would. They'd never actually talked about it before today. Mike didn't know if that was a bad or good thing. He didn't know how to feel at all.

"Here we are,'' Will held the door open for Mike, smiling. He led Mike to a sun-faded red leather booth, sliding in across from him. A teenage waitress in low-rise jeans and a tank top that matched the booth came by. Will ordered two Cherry cokes and a side of fries for them to share.

"This is nice,'' Mike said after the waitress disappeared into the kitchen.

"Yeah,'' said Will, folding his napkin into a paper crane. "It is.'' He pushed the small figure across to Mike.

Mike picked it up, examining it. "Wow.''

"It needs stiffer paper; it stays together better that way.''

"Looks pretty good to me.'' Mike pretended to fly the crane back over to Will, landing it in the palm of his hand. Will laughed, a little shyly. It took Mike somewhat aback. He didn't know where to look. He'd been relying on Will's assured nature to propel the conversation. Now what?

A tremendous bang suddenly cracked the air, followed by an almighty crash. It came from the kitchen, causing Mike and Will to simultaneously jump out of their skin. And just like that, Mike was sucked into the vacuum of poisonous memory.

Where was El, he couldn't find her - El! Eleven! - What the hell even was that thing, there was no way that had once been actual people, it was a goddamn Jello monster - Bang! - Colorful sparks burst in the air - Bang! Bang! - It was loud, it was so loud - Bang! - Red, blue sparks - Bang! - Purple and more red, where was El? El, where are you! - Was that Lucas on the balcony, no please please please be careful don't draw attention to yourself please - Bang! - The thing reared back, it was working! The fireworks were too much, but not enough, it was back, oh God -

"Mike! Mike!"

Mike snapped back to reality. Will was leaning across the table, squeezing both his hands, eyebrows drawn together. Mike sucked in a deep breath, then another. He fought the panic building up to his throat, the threat of a scream. Will sat back, relieved, but he didn't let go of Mike's hands.

"S-sorry,'' Mike gasped. "I'm sorry.''

"It's okay, Mike,'' said Will. "You're okay. It was just a noise.''

Mike nodded, head throbbing. It'd come on suddenly, but the panic was ebbing quickly as well. Will was watching him with those big, calm brown eyes. He was clearly concerned, but Mike knew he was holding it together for Mike's sake. Christ, I need to pull myself together. "It's fine. I'm fine,'' Mike said, inadvertently copying Will's anaphora.

A different waitress came out of the kitchen. She raised a hand for attention from the few people at the diner. "Hi. Sorry. We'd like to apologize for that noise and any distress it may have caused. One of our dish racks collapsed in the back, but it's being handled, and no one was hurt. Again, our apologies.'' The waitress vanished back into the kitchen.

"See?'' Will squeezed Mike's hands again, before letting go. "Just a loud noise.''

The paper crane was crumpled on the table. Mike wasn't sure what'd happened to it, but it made him inexplicably sad. He touched its rumpled wings gently.

"I can always make another,'' Will reminded Mike.

Mike took a deep breath. He was thirsty and still shaken. His hands itched for his pill bottle.

Their waitress returned, carrying their cokes and fries on a tray. "God, sorry about all that,'' she said. "You should see the mess back there.'' She jerked her chin towards the kitchen as she set their cokes down in front of them. "I think my manager's about to piss himself he's so angry.''

"We're just glad no one was hurt,'' said Will kindly.

"I'll bet Marianne wishes she'd been crushed by that shit,'' she breezed on. "I don't know what she did to collapse the whole dish rack . . . Alrightie, anything else I can grab you boys?''

"No, thank you.''

"Let me know. I'd do anything to avoid going back in there.''

"Actually,'' Will said, "can we have some more napkins?"

"Sure thing.'' The waitress went behind the counter.

Mike took a sip of his Cherry coke. The syrupy flavor settled him down a bit.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here,'' Will reminded him as he poured ketchup over their fries.

"I know.''

"Just a reminder. Ah, thank you,'' Will accepted the napkins from the waitress as she returned.

"Anything else?"

Will glanced at Mike. "Would you mind getting us a water?"

The water was given to Mike with strict instructions to drink at least half before consuming anything else. Mike rolled his eyes at Will's babying, but he drank the water. He felt better afterwards.

They finished their cokes and fries without any further event. Then Will paid the tab and led Mike back outside by the arm. He didn't let go once they were outside. His fingers were wrapped securely all the way around Mike's thin wrist, and it would have been charming had it not felt like a compromise. Mike wanted to tell Will that he could just hold his hand if he wanted to, but he wasn't totally sure that was Will's intention. Granted, Mike didn't know what else it could possibly be, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions and embarrass himself or worse, face blatant rejection.

They took their time walking back to the car. Will talked about his life in Turkle. School, AV club, his and El's joint dog walking business. He mentioned a few names more than once, but Mike didn't get the notion that these people were close friends. He named Jonathan's friend Argyle and El's various ex-boyfriends and friends more often than he talked about the people he was close to. Mike supposed this was because he hadn't found anyone like his old friends. Neither had Mike, but he didn't want to say that because he'd just grown apart from his old group – Will had moved States.

Mike watched the sun begin to sink. It had to be past 4:00 pm. He suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Will asked, pausing beside him.

"I think I fucked up.'' Shit. Shit. The men from Hawkins Lab. El. He'd completely forgotten. Mike had been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he had put the real reason he was visiting the Byers out of his mind. Fuck. "We need to get back to your house. Will, we need to go now!" Mike surged forward into a run, then staggered to a clumsy halt. "Wait, where's your car?"

"It's that way,'' said Will, nodding, "but, Mike, what – ?"

Mike grabbed his hand and ran. Will's weight dragged at him for a moment, then released as Will gathered his bearings. He ran beside Mike, keeping pace so well that Mike thought he could probably outrun him if he wanted to. His hand was warm in Mike's. This wasn't exactly how Mike had envisioned them holding hands a few minutes ago.

Heads turned as the boys dashed past. They reached the Galaxie sooner than Mike thought they would. He stuttered to a halt, hands catching on the warm body. He tore around to the passenger seat. He paused to catch his breath only when Will started the car.

"Okay,'' said Will, panting. Sweat shone on his neck. "Okay, Mike. You are going to tell me right now what the hell is going on. And for God's sake, put your seatbelt on!"

Mike put his seatbelt on. "This sounds crazy, I know. But I ran away.''

Will didn't react as he cautiously backed the car out.

"I ran away!" Mike repeated, more loudly than he'd meant to.

"Obviously,'' said Will.

Okay. Not what he'd expected. He didn't have time to dwell on it though. "I didn't run away here though – I ran away to Indianapolis. It was supposed to be, like, a two day thing, just a, I don't know, teenage rebellion or something. But then I overheard this conversation,'' Mike explained about the men from the Lab. "I tried to call you, but . . . But I decided to come visit instead,'' Mike finished weakly.

Will's expression was tight. He looked even more tense than he had on the first drive.

"I know it's a lot,'' Mike offered.

"Mike,'' Will began.

"I'm serious! I'm not crazy!"

"And you're sure this wasn't a hallucination or something?"

Mike reeled back, startled. "What?"

Will kept his troubled gaze locked on the road.

"I'm fucked up, but I'm not insane!" Mike snapped.

Will said nothing. Veins stuck out on his hands on the wheel.

"El is in danger!" Mike's voice cracked. "The bad men are coming for her, Will. She's your sister! How are you not freaking out?"

"You're on drugs, Mike.'' Will's voice was flat.

Mike felt like he'd been slapped. "Th-that's what you think?"

"Am I wrong?" Will asked quietly.

He was at an absolute loss of words. He swallowed down the pain, held back the tears. "No,'' Mike's voice was low. He fought to keep it from trembling. "But you're not right either.''

Will's eyes were heavy. He looked sad. Mike resisted the deep hurt. Keep her safe. He swallowed, hard. "Can you go any faster?"

To Mike's surprise, Will sped up. He was now going the actual speed limit and not ten below. Mike stared out the window, willing them to arrive at the Byers' already. He watched the Sunday afternoon crowd setting up for what appeared to be a block party. How were they having a party right now? When El was being hunted like fucking animal? Mike dug his nails into his palms. After what seemed like twice the time it took to get to town, they finally pulled onto the Byers' street.

A van was parked outside the Byers' home.

"Shit, circle around!"

"But –"

"Will!"

"Fine,'' Will muttered, passing his house. Mike shrank against his seat, trying to remain hidden as he peered at the van. TURKLE POWER & LIGHT was painted along the side. Mike glimpsed the driver. He was wearing sunglasses, but Mike definitely recognized him as one of the men from the pastry shop in Indianapolis.

"I think they're just here to fix the power,'' said Will dubiously.

"No,'' Mike hissed. "That's their cover. They've done this before.''

"When –"

"You were in the Upside Down. The van El flipped? That was one of those,'' he jerked his head towards it.

Will's bit his lip. "Okay.'' He turned right, craning his neck to check for approaching cars.

"Will, for Christ's sake!"

"Do you want to get into an accident?"

"I want to save your fucking family!"

"How sure are you,'' Will spoke in an infuriatingly level voice, "that's what's happening?''

Mike felt every nerve in his body tingle like a live wire. He wanted to scratch his skin off. "I'm positive.''

Will took another right turn.

"How do you not believe me?" Mike demanded, his anxiety spiking. He hadn't considered that. What would he do if Will – and possibly the rest of the family – didn't believe him?

"I do believe you.''

Another right. Will parked the Galaxie against a curb.

"What're you doing?"

"Parking. We'll walk to my house.''

"Completely unprotected?''

"I have a plan.''

"Your plan sucks.''

Will got out of the car. Mike followed him, fighting hysteria. Will casually walked around the corner, hands in his pockets, as if he was taking a nice little stroll through the neighborhood. Mike tried to act normal as he followed him. Mimicking Will, he stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets. He thought of the bitter taste of Xanax on his tongue. He couldn't tell if his mind or body craved it more at the moment.

They passed the Lab's "POWER & LIGHT" van. Will lifted a hand in greeting. The driver dipped his head. Mike caught sight of a second person in the passenger seat. He saw the man's eyes follow them underneath his sunglasses. A shiver ran down Mike's spine. Will walked right on up to his front door, unlocked it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mike hissed.

"I live here,'' said Will coolly.

"So this is your plan? We just walk into your house?"

"Yep.''

"Will!" Mike followed him through the hall, glancing over his shoulder. "Will, seriously, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to call my mom.'' Will picked up the phone.

"Okay.'' That made sense, Mike supposed. "What do I do?''

Will sighed, "I don't know, Mike. Go keep guard, or something.''

Mike, feeling completely useless, went back to watch the front door. He wondered if he should go grab his pills, just in case. He got to the door and froze. "Will,'' his voice cracked. "Will!" He turned and ran back to Will, who was on hold with Joyce's work. He looked up in surprise as Mike stumbled to him.

"What –?''

"They're coming,'' Mike gasped. "Up the driveway. They have –''

The doorbell rang.

Mike and Will exchanged a terrified glance.

"Now what?" Mike whispered.

"I'm gonna keep trying Mom,'' said Will, but he sounded unsure now. "Don't open the door.''

The doorbell rang again. They waited in tense silence. A moment later, someone started pounding furiously against the door.

"Come on,'' Will muttered to the phone.

"Maybe try Jonathan?"

Will shook his head. "He got off at four. It's nearly five.''

"Where is he then?" Mike asked desperately.

"With Argyle, probably.'' Will was getting agitated. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Mike himself felt like he'd had too much caffeine. Jitters were pulsing through him like electricity.

A sound like metal against wood rang out. They were breaking down the door. Mike grabbed Will's hand, trying to pull him away from the phone.

"Mike, what're –"

"They have guns,'' Mike whispered.

Will's face tightened. He hung the phone up. Clutching Mike's hand, he dragged them both into the nearest room with a door, which was Will's bedroom. Will slammed his door, locking it. He backed away, looking wildly around for some place better to hide. A bang sounded. Heavy footsteps. Mike and Will locked eyes. They're in the house.

Will glanced at the window above his bed. He looked at Mike, his gaze questioning. Do you think you can fit?

Mike nodded.

Will moved to open the window. Before he even had climbed onto his bed, something hit the door with bang, causing both boys to jump. Mike frantically moved next to Will. He felt Will's fingers wrap around his, squeezing for a moment. Then Will let go and bounded onto his bed. The mattress creaked, causing Mike to wince, although he knew the men couldn't have heard over their own racket. Will unlatched the window, shoving it up as far as it would go. It was tight, but they could make it.

The door burst open. Mike and Will whirled around. Four men stood crowded around, faces covered with black half-masks. The two in the front had military-grade guns.

Heart pounding so hard it ached, Mike lifted his hands. He didn't need to see Will to know that he was doing the same. Fuck, now what?

"Where's the girl?" Mike couldn't even tell which of the men was speaking.

"What girl?" Will's voice was steady.

"Don't give us that shit. We know she lives here.''

The boys said nothing. Mike fought to keep his expression blank. He fought the urge to vomit. He should have grabbed his drugs when he had the chance.

A click. Another. Mike stiffened.

The men raised their guns, the safety now off. "We're gonna ask you one more time. Where. Is. The. Girl.''

He was going to die. Mike was going to die in Will Byers' bedroom, his blown out brains splattered all over the wall. It wasn't supposed to go this way. He wasn't supposed to die like this, staring down the barrel of some bastard's gun. If the fucking Hawkins Lab was going to kill him, they should have saved everyone the trouble and done it when he was twelve.

A gunshot split the air. Mike flinched, waiting for the pain of death. It didn't come. Instead, one of the gunner's went down with a cry, clutching his leg. He dropped his gun. Mike barely had time to register the dark spread of blood seeping from his thigh onto the carpet before Jonathan Byers appeared in the doorway, clocking the other gunner over the head with his hand pistol. He spared a brief glance at the startled, frozen boys. "Run!" He yelled.

Will screamed his brother's name. Mike grabbed Will by the shoulder, shoving him towards the window. Will reluctantly squeezed through the gap. Mike followed immediately. He fit more easily than he expected to, which resulted in him falling several feet onto the dirt outside. Pain jolted through his body. Hands grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. He and Will sprinted around the house, where a new van was parked outside. It was a beat up, red hippie van, clearly not the Lab's. It honked, sounding like a dying pelican. Argyle stuck his head out the window. "Come on, you little shits!"

"Jonathan," Will started, but right on cue, Jonathan hurtled through the demolished front door.

"Go, go, go!" He yelled, gesturing wildly for Mike and Will to run for Argyle's van. They dashed after him. The back door slid open as they reached it, the three boys jumping inside, slamming it shut behind them. Mike immediately found a window. Two of the men were running towards them, one with a gun and a bleeding head wound. Shots rang out, pinging against the van's side doors.

"They're shooting at us!" Mike yelped.

"No fucking shit!" Argyle yelled. He put the van in gear and floored the pedal. They shot forward, the ignertia causing Mike to fall against Will and Jonathan. Jonathan disentangled himself, clambering to the passenger seat. Mike clung to the backseat. He felt Will trembling beside him.

"What the hell?" Jonathan panted. He turned to face the boys. "What the hell?"

Mike and Will exchanged a glance.

"Where am I headed?" Argyle interrupted, conversationally. "And am I about to be pursued by an electrical engineering van full of maniacs with machine guns? Asking for a friend.''

"Get us out of this town,'' said Jonathan. "Get us as far away as possible.''

"Copy that.'' Argyle made a sharp left turn, the van skidded, the back fishtailing. Will fell against Mike. He righted himself, clinging to the seat in front of him, looking terrified.

"Fasten your seatbelts,'' said Jonathan. "You'll need them.'' He was still holding the pistol. He clicked the safety back on. Then he dropped it in the side compartment of the passenger seat. He turned to face Mike and Will. "Explain.''