Thank you for reading! If this looks familiar, it's because there's been a bit of a shuffle - I realized I neglected to post Chapter 37, "Little Lies", so I've replaced that where it belongs and updated Chapters 38-42. Sorry about that! I'll try not to do that again.

"Season of the Witch"

And when I look in my window

So many different people to be

That it's strange, so strange

- Donovan

Halloween morning. Hopper felt guilty for how many late nights there had been—he tried to get home at a regularly scheduled time, he really did, but police work wasn't a regularly scheduled job—so he got up early and made French toast. The kid should have more home-cooked food, fewer TV dinners and meals out of a box, but with only him … And he didn't really remember how to stick to routines and get the food shopping done on time. For years now he had eaten at the diner, or picked up something on the way home, or skipped food entirely and lived on beer. Getting back into a routine was harder than he had imagined it would be.

Still, the French toast looked pretty good, if he said so himself. He'd been an okay cook, once upon a time, finding whatever he could make that Sara would want to eat, when the chemo had her sick to her stomach. A bite here and there was as good as gold.

He flipped it again, trying to concentrate on the perfect golden brown and not think about Sara, when a sound behind him made him turn around.

A specter stood there, white and floating. He yelled without thinking, before realizing it was Eleven in a sheet with holes cut out of it. "Oh, Jesus."

"Ghost," Eleven corrected, in her precise diction.

"Yeah, I see that."

As he carried the pan to the counter, she turned to follow him. "Halloween."

"Sure is." He portioned the French toast out onto the plates, next to the bacon. "But right now it's breakfast, okay? C'mon, let's eat." He grabbed his cup of coffee and balanced it in one hand while he picked up the plates.

Eleven didn't move, standing there and staring at him through the holes in the sheet. "They wouldn't see me," she pointed out.

"Who wouldn't see you?"

"The bad men."

He put the plates down on the table. "What are you talking about?" he asked as he took his seat.

"Trick. Or. Treat," she said, slowly, as though he was being particularly thick.

Apparently he was, because it had never occurred to him what she meant by all this with the sheet. "You want to go trick-or-treating?"

She nodded.

Panic flooded him. He couldn't let her go. Not now. They were so close to being safe. Just a little longer. He couldn't give her up yet.

Getting to his feet, Hopper said, "You know the rules." He caught her by the shoulders.

"Yes, but—"

"Yeah, so you know the answer."

"No, but, I don't—they wouldn't see me!"

He was propelling her backwards, away from the table, and he broke into her protests uncompromisingly. "Hey. I don't care." He kept going, talking over her. "I don't care, all right? You go out there, ghost or not, it's a risk. We don't take risks. All right? They're stupid. And?" He waited.

"We're not stupid!" Eleven snapped it at him.

"Exactly. Now you take that off, sit down, and eat. Your food's getting cold."

She shrugged the sheet off angrily, and sank into her seat, glaring at him. She was going to sulk over this, he could tell, and he couldn't entirely blame her. But he was right. He couldn't risk anyone else seeing her, knowing she was here.

Picking up the syrup, Hopper poured it for her, meaning to hold completely firm, but her angry, unhappy silence beat at him until he had to say something.

"All right, look. How 'bout … I get off early tonight and I buy us a bunch of candy and we can sit around and get fat, and we'll watch a scary movie together? How's that for compromise?"

"Co-compromise?" she echoed.

"C-o-m-promise. Com-promise. How 'bout that's your word for the day. Yeah? It's something that's like kinda in-between, it's like halfway happy."

"By 5-1-5?"

"5:15," he agreed. "Yeah. Sure."

She didn't like it, but she was wavering. "Promise?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "Yes. I promise."

There was a long moment while they looked at each other, and finally Eleven seemed to let it go. "Yes. Halfway happy." She picked up her fork and started to eat her breakfast. Hopper smiled and reached over to ruffle her short hair, getting a small smile in return.

Relief flooded him as he watched her pour yet more syrup on her French toast. Someday, he told himself, he would be ready to let her go out that door. Someday.

But not today.

Joyce rushed down the hall to Will's room. He was going to have to hurry if he was going to be ready on time. "Will? Come on, honey, up and at 'em." She rounded the corner, and stopped still when she saw his bed was empty.

"Will?"

She hurried back down the hall to the kitchen, trying not to panic, trying not to remember that other morning when he hadn't been there when she went to wake him.

"Jonathan?"

He was at the stove making breakfast, and he turned when she came into the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"Where's Will?"

"What?"

"Where's Will?"

"He's not in his room?"

"No!"

She was staring at him, wondering why he wasn't panicking, when she heard a sound. The bathroom door was closed and she pushed it open, relieved and somehow not relieved to see Will standing there. Something still felt wrong to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Will? What are you doing?"

He frowned. "Peeing?"

His voice sounded so normal, so Will, that she felt silly for having panicked. She shut the door, calling behind her, "Hurry up, let's get you ready to go."

They had their breakfast, quickly, and then she got the costume she had made for him and helped him put it on, zipping up the jumpsuit and handing him the backpack. A piece had come loose, and she lifted it, trying to see where it went. "You need some tape. Hold on."

While she was getting the tape, Joyce noticed a picture in the pile on his desk—a different kind of picture than he usually drew. Lots of black. A thing, spidery, with black spiky arms, and clouds rolling in over its head. She turned to him, the picture in her hand. "What's this?"

There was something in his face when he saw it, a shadow of some kind. But then it passed, and Joyce wondered if she had imagined it.

"Oh, nothing," Will said.

"Did you have another episode?"

"No, it's just, um, a sketch for a story I'm writing."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted their lives to be normal so that these things were all in his imagination and not shadows following him from another world. So she decided to believe him, just for today, and put the picture back on the desk.

"Come on, let's get some pictures."

"Mom! I thought you were in this big hurry!"

"So I could have enough time to take pictures. Come on, you look just like that Igor."

"Egon!"

"Right. Egon. Jonathan, we're ready!"

Jonathan grabbed his camera, and they made Will pose until he refused to do it anymore. This was probably the last year Will would wear a costume to school, the last year he'd wear one at all, and Joyce wanted to enjoy every minute.