My eyes open slowly, mind struggling to catch up with my surroundings. The room is dim, a sliver of sunlight creeping through the window. For a moment, I feel safe, warm even, about to close my eyes and drift back to sleep, but it hits me – I'm still in Billy's room.

"Shit," I mutter, bolting upright in bed, heart hammering in my chest. Billy is still sound asleep next to me, one arm draped over his face, blocking out the light.

I lean over him, fumbling for the alarm clock on the nightstand, my stomach flipping when I see the time. 10:00 A.M. "Oh my god," I gasp, my voice rising and my pulse spiking as I scramble off the bed, grabbing my jacket from the floor. I'm late. Way too late.

"Billy," I whisper urgently, nudging him while tugging on my jacket, "Hargrove, wake up!" I shake him a little harder this time, panic building. He groans, rolling over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Jesus, what?" he mutters, staring up at me like I've lost my mind.

"I have to go home," I say quickly, already moving toward the door. Billy rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the pillow and covering his face again.

He groans from the bed, listening to me struggle to put my shoes on, rolling over to prop his head up on his hand. "You don't have to leave yet," he yawns, his voice raspy with muffled sleep. "Come back to bed." It's tempting, so tempting, especially when I remember his warmth and security. This is the first time I've slept in in weeks.

"I can't," I snap, grabbing my bag off of the floor. "I should have been home hours ago. My mom's going to kill me for missing curfew."

Billy sits up now, his face creased with confusion and a little frustration. "Lacy, you've already missed curfew. What's a few more hours?"

I pause, panic flaring in my chest. I can't tell him the truth – he'd never believe me. "Please, Billy. I need you to drive me home."

Billy runs a hand through his hair, blinking at me. "Fine," his voice is quieter, but no less irritated. He throws the covers off of him, swinging his legs out of bed. "I'll drive you home."

I feel his frustration, but I don't have time to unpack it. He'll get over it.

I wait by the door, practically bouncing on the balls of my feet as he gets dressed. "Thank you," I manage to say, hoping it will be enough, but Billy stays quiet.

He grabs his jeans from the floor and I turn away, suddenly interested in the collection of records he has on a bookshelf. He sighs, muttering something under his breath about modesty.I can feel his eyes on my back as he pulls on his jeans, quick and irritated. The room is filled with unspoken things, my heart racing, not because I'm late, but because I know Billy is upset with me.

Once he's dressed, he slips on his boots without bothering to tie them properly and opens the bedroom door for me. "Let's go, Princess."

I freeze by the door, biting my lip at the nickname. It's not about him – I know that – but he doesn't. "I'm not –," I say, my voice weak as I try to figure out what to say to him, "I'm trying to be difficult."

He doesn't respond, but does put his hand on my lower back, leading me down the hallway and out the front door. Guilt gnaws at me as I settle into the passenger seat, but my mind is racing ahead, thinking about Dustin and Steve, and my mess I need to fix.

The drive back to my house is tense and silent. Long gone is the quiet comfortability of the evening, the longing looks, and the gentle touches. Billy's grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles white. I can feel the frustration rolling off of him, and I know I should say something – anything – to fix this, but the words won't come.

My neighborhood comes into view and I feel my pulse begin to quicken, eyes scanning the treelines to see if I can make-out Dustin or Steve's figures.

"You know," Billy finally speaks, his voice low, bringing the Camaro to a slow crawl as we approach my house, "it's starting to feel like you're always in a rush to get away from me."

The accusation in his tone makes my chest tighten. "That's not fair, Billy," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "I just – there's stuff going on."

"Right. Stuff. With Harrington," Billy spits the name bitterly, eyes narrowing on Steve's BMW.

I bristle. "It's not like that," I snap, "Steve and I have a project. That's it."

Billy glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, "And what class is this for again?"

I lick my lips, meeting his gaze head-on. "I don't know why you care so much," I snap. "I'm not ditching you, I just have–" I stop, unable to think of a good lie. He's cornered me.

"Other priorities. Got it." he mutters, chuckling darkly.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath. This isn't how I imagined my morning going. "I'm not your girlfriend, Billy. I don't have to explain anything to you." I finally say, feeling a cool calm settle over me as my words rise with venom.

"Honestly," I continue, giving him no space to interrupt, "I don't even know if you like me or just the idea of getting into my pants. We haven't even gone on a real date! And that's probably my fault because I started it, but jesus! I have to do this and I don't have time to make you feel better about it just because you're jealous!"

Billy leans back in his seat, studying me carefully. I think he's going to yell at me, so I brace myself, waiting for the explosion, but instead, he lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe what I just said.

"I was wondering when you'd drop your halo," he says, a smirk growing dangerously across his face. "Now it makes sense as to how you managed to pal around with Carol for so long."

I blink, his words hitting harder than I expect them too. "I don't have time for this," I mutter, knowing he's trying to get even. This is just another stupid game for us to play.

"You're right, I'm not your fucking boyfriend," he snaps, turning to face me fully, his eyes cold and dark. "But you've sure got more than enough time for Steve Harrington."

"You're twisting my words," I say, but I can feel my throat tightening, my nails digging into my palms as I try to keep my voice steady.

"I'm not the asshole here, Henderson," Billy continues, an eerie distant calm settling over him. "You're the one keeping secrets, running off every time we get a little too close for your comfort. I'm not the one who doesn't know what they want." Billy's knuckles whiten as he tightens a fist, a flicker of hesitation crossing over his face before he hides it with a smirk.

His words hang heavy in the air between us, and I feel a sinking feeling in my chest. He's not wrong. I haven't been fair. For a moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us is suffocating and I finally reach for the handle to open the door, but I hesitate to pull it, knowing that if I climb out right now – he'll probably never talk to me again.

"What do you want?" I swallow, keeping my voice even, trying to quell the frustration and anger to keep the argument from rising.

"What?" he asks, glancing at my hand on the door handle. My question has caught him by surprise and suddenly the tension in his voice is gone, his shoulders slouching forward slightly.

"You said 'I'm not the one who doesn't know what they want'. So what do you want, Billy?" I ask again, feeling stupid for asking. I should just climb out of the Camaro, be done with this conversation, be done with Billy Hargrove, and go find my brother, but I'm rooted to this spot.

"Christ Lacy, if I have to spell it out for you then I don't even know why I'm here." he snaps, but his eyes flicker to the dashboard for a moment, like he's wrestling with something he can't quite bring himself to say.

I sit in silence, the anger dissolving, but my hand still grips the door handle. Billy's eyes are glued to Steve's car parked just in front of us. There's a decision that has to be made here, but he'll never say it outloud— even with all of his arrogance, charisma, and charm — he'll never admit that he likes me — really likes me.

"I like you," I finally admit, laying out the rest of my cards on the table. If this is the game, then I have to show him I'm all in, "in a really stupid kind of way."

Billy hesitates, tapping his fingers against his steering wheel before finally saying, "You have a really stupid way of showing it."

"You're not so easy to read either," I snap, pressing my lips together to force down the frustration again.

"So," Billy shrugs, eyes focusing on me once again, "what do you want then, Princess? Because something tells me, no matter what, you're still chasing after Harrington when you get out of this car."

"Take me on a real date this week," I say, trying to find the middle ground, "let me prove that I want this too."

"Tonight." Billy argues, smirking as he regards the tension in my shoulders at the suggestion. I try to keep my face neutral, but tonight? Keeping this promise to Billy will be impossible — I don't even know where Dustin is — I can't promise anything to Billy when so much is already at stake.

"Tonight?" I repeat, my mind racing for a million excuses, but none of them will tide Billy's frustration. I don't even know if I can promise him the next hour. Dart's face flashes in my mind and I feel my stomach churn with nerves.

Billy senses my growing apprehension and leans forward, "You want to prove it? Be ready to go at eight."

I can hear the challenge in his voice and I know this isn't an argument I'm going to win. It's now or it's never — if I say no, whatever we have it ends here in the Camaro and I'm not ready to accept that yet.

"Fine, but if we do this, it can't just be about fooling around," I say, trying to convince myself that I'm going to be able to meet both Billy and Dustin's expectations, but I know, deep down, that I'm going to have to choose, and I know I'm not going to like the answer either way.

Billy's eyes narrow slightly, like he knows I'm not being completely honest with him or myself. He leans back in his seat, letting out a long frustrated breath, "Don't make me wait around for you."

"I won't," I promise, but I know the truth and I hate myself for promising another thing I can't keep.

My hand lingers on the door handle, but I still hesitate to step out of the car. "Billy?"

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "What?"

"I can't tell you everything," I say quietly, "but one day I'd like to."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything and I think maybe he might understand, but then there's a flicker of an eye roll. "Jesus, Lacy. I'm not going to hold my breath," he grumbles, turning over the key so the Camaro roars back to life, a clear sign that he's done with this conversation.

I bite my lip, then press a kiss to his cheek. He flinches with surprise, but doesn't pull away. "I'll see you at eight," I say, stepping out of the car before he can respond. I feel his gaze on my back, but I don't turn around.

I know I've already made my decision – and it's not Billy Hargrove. As much as I'm drawn to him, as much as I want to believe there's something real between us, I can't keep getting lost in the way he makes me feel. Dustin needs me more. There will be countless other Billy Hargroves, countless other boys that make my heart race and my skin feel like it's on fire, but I only have Dustin – and I can't live without my brother.

I push my front door open, quickly moving through the house looking for Dustin. His room is empty, the spot on his nightstand where he keeps his walkie-talkie is gone. "Shit," I mutter, rubbing my face. I know I can't catch up with them – I don't even know which direction they went or how far they've made it into the woods at this point.

I sit on Dustin's bed, imagining him and Steve somewhere in the woods, surrounded by a pack of those things. My heart hammers, knowing that even if Steve has his bat, it's not going to be enough to keep off more than a few. I glance at Dustin's nightstand again, eyes narrowing on the picture of him and his friends sitting around the kitchen table, playing their first campaign. They're little – like babies and suddenly I'm standing, knowing exactly how I'll find him.

The Sinclair house isn't very far and I'm pounding on their front door in a matter of a few minutes. The door swings open, revealing Erica, with a slight frown on her face. "My mom didn't ask you to come babysit, right?" she asks, furrowing her brows in disappointment.

"What?" I ask, caught off guard. "You love it when I babysit," I say, meeting her gaze.

Erica sighs, shaking her head. "You spent the whole night on the phone last time. Didn't even remember my extra cookie."

"Is Lucas here?" I ask, ignoring her, but I feel a little smile beginning to form. Leave it to Erica Sinclair to put things into perspective. "I'll sneak you two cookies next time," I promise as I slip past her, heading towards Lucas' room without waiting for her to invite me in.

"Lucas," I call, knocking on his door. "It's Lacy, I need your help." Erica watches me with a lifted brow, still unimpressed by my presence.

Lucas' door opens and he tries to fight the surprise on his face. "What are you doing here? I told mom we don't need a babysitter."

"Have you heard from Dustin?" I ask, shooting Erica a quick glare as she laughs behind me.

"No," he says, shaking his head, "why?"

"He hasn't even called on the walkie-talkie?" I ask, stepping into Lucas' room and looking around like Dustin might be somewhere hiding.

"Radio," Lucas sighs, rolling his eyes.

"I don't care!" I snap. "He hasn't called?"

Lucas shakes his head. "I haven't heard from anyone all day."

"Because I turned it off," Erica admits, rolling her eyes.

"You what?" Lucas asks, diving across his bed for the radio on his nightstand, "Why?"

Erica sighs dramatically, waving her hand towards Lucas and myself. "Dustin kept calling, saying it was a code red. Your games are so stupid."

"Erica," Lucas hisses as she steps out of the room. He flips the radio on, pulling the antenna as far as it can go. "Dustin, Dustin, come in."

The line is silent and I swallow, pressing my lips into a firm line. Lucas meets my eyes and for a moment, I think he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "What's this about, Lacy?" he asks, his voice even, gripping the radio like his life depends on it.

"What do you know about Dart?" I ask and Lucas forces out a breath, trying to keep his face neutral as the radio finally crackles to life.

I jump as my brother's voice breaks the tension. "I've been trying to reach you all day!"

"Where are you? What's going on?" Lucas asks, standing straighter, starting to walk around his room and pile things onto his bed: his backpack, a wrist rocket, a crudely put together first aid kit.

"Dart," Dustin says, "Steve and I are at the old junkyard trying to find him. Can you come?"

"Dart? Steve? As in Steve Harrington?" Lucas asks, glancing at me, with a look of confusion. I can tell he's trying to put all the pieces together, to understand how I fit into this equation too. Lucas shakes his head, turning back to the radio, "I thought Dart escaped. I thought you didn't know what happened to him."

"I'll explain," Dustin snaps, the tone in his voice rising, "just get here as soon as possible."

"Lacy and I'll be there soon," Lucas agrees, nodding towards me as he begins cramming belongings into his backpack.

"Lacy?" Dustin asks, but there's a cold silence that follows. "Tell her not to bother."

I flinch, his cold rejection twisting in my chest. Lucas shoots me a quick. Uncertain glance, his hand frozen over his backpack.

"He's just mad," Lucas says quickly, like he's trying to smooth over the sting. "You know how Dustin gets."

I do, but it doesn't help. A familiar ache twists in my chest, sharper now because I know Dustin's more than annoyed with me. I promised I'd be there for him, but here I am, letting him down. Again.

I snatch the radio from Lucas, my hands gripping the buttons with a little more force than necessary. "Tough luck," I hiss into the radio, picturing my brother on the other end. I know he's rolling his eyes, probably contemplating hanging up on me, "I'll see you in ten."

I toss the radio back to Lucas, who slams the antenna down with finality, ending the conversation before Dustin has a chance to argue. He grabs his backpack, shifting the straps to balance out the weight of his gear and with a nod he says, "All right then. Let's go."

As we head out, I can't shake the echoing of Dustin's anger, picturing him somewhere out in the junkyard with only Steve and his baseball bat. My heart beats a little faster as I fumble with the keys to my truck, watching as Lucas heads for his bike.

"Just get in the truck," I yell after him, finally unlocking the door. "It's faster."

"I have to do something first," Lucas says, rubbing his forehead. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll just drive you, Lucas!" I call, but he waves his hand at the idea, feet picking up the pace in the pedals.

I hesitate for a second, watching as Lucas takes off down the driveway. The older sister instinct wants to chase after him, grab him by the collar of his jacket, and make him get into the truck just so I know where he is, that he's safe. But Lucas, much like Dustin, isn't a kid anymore, and seems to have a better grasp on their priorities and understanding of the Upside Down than I do. He's determined to do whatever it is on his own, and I climb into the truck without another word.

"Focus," I mutter to myself, glancing out the windshield as Lucas disappears down the road. If I don't show up at the junkyard now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fix things with Dustin. Even if he's angry with me – even if he doesn't want me there – I need to be. There's no way I'm letting my brother face the rest of this without me.

I press on the gas harder, my truck groaning in protest as the junkyard looms ahead.

A cold shiver runs down my spine as the scattered wreckage of cars and scrap metal comes into view, shrouded in shadows despite the early afternoon light. My heart kicks up again, thudding in my chest like a warning. Killing the engine of my truck, I just sit there, staring at the massive piles of twisted metal, finally spotting my brother and Steve stacking the scraps against an old bus.

Dustin notices me, wiping his hands off on his pants before crossing his arms over his chest. He says something to Steve, who looks at me, with an even-tempered shrug of his shoulders. No turning back now, I think, taking a deep breath as I step out of the truck, steeling myself.

The air feels colder here and the sound of metal scraping against metal sends a shiver down my spine. The wind howls through the piles of junk, carrying with it an eerie whine, almost like a whisper. I shiver, my eyes scanning the wreckage, watching as Steve and Dustin seem to be enforcing the broken down bus in the middle of the clearing. Dustin might not want me here, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I push forward, knowing that whatever's waiting for me inside the junkyard might be far worse than I've imagined.