Chapter Text
Will watched silently as the group went through the final preparations. Lucas, Mike, and Robin worked together to position the Demo on the roof of the small building using the car; the job was quick, almost mechanical in its efficiency. The clamps Will and Robin had built sank into the creature’s flesh with disturbing ease.
Lucas and Robin then left Mike alone on the roof to keep watch over the creature. While the girl headed toward the electrical meter, Lucas moved to stand beside Will.
“Are you ready?”
Will gave a brief nod, not trusting himself to speak. He wasn’t ready—not in the slightest—but he couldn’t let his friends see just how terrified he was. They were depending on him; he couldn’t fail them now. “Let’s do this,” he whispered.
They were the magic words. “Start it!” Lucas shouted, and moments later electricity began to surge through the cables and toward the Demo.
Will closed his eyes and shut everything else out, focusing only on what surrounded him— on what he could feel. Beneath him, the stones paving the road were unyielding, biting into his flesh the longer he remained seated there. A faint wind brushed against his face and neck, teasing his hair aside, but he barely noticed it. Somewhere nearby, Mike shouted something, his voice muffled, as if coming from underwater.
All of Will’s attention narrowed to the familiar sensation slowly coiling at the base of his neck. An icy shiver crept through him, the unmistakable warning. He knew this feeling too well now— had lived with it for so long that he could summon it even without its physical presence. His hands curled into tight fists as the sensation intensified, spreading, tightening its grip on his senses.
Then, without warning and completely beyond his control, the image forced itself into his mind. He was staring down at a body bound in electrical cables. It was the Demogorgon’s. He was seeing through its eyes, trapped inside its perspective. Pain flared through him, sharp and invasive, yet still bearable— nothing compared to the agony he remembered from that night, when the soldiers had set the creatures on fire.
He focused on Vecna. He thought about the sensation he had felt that night. He thought of the figure made of tentacles and rotting flesh, the cause of the fracture in Hawkins, of Max’s coma, of Eddie’s death, and of so many others. He fixed his image firmly in his mind, so vivid he could almost see it standing right in front of him. He hated that face, hated that voice, but more than anything he hated being inside his head. Yet he had to do it… for them.
And suddenly, there he was. He was no longer at WSQK. He knew that house. The Wheeler’s.
His arm—Vecna’s arm—was wrapped tightly around someone’s throat. Max. His fingers were digging into her neck, crushing the air from her lungs, and he could feel it all as if it were his own hand.
No.
The girl fell to the ground as the hand opened, against the will of its possessor, who violently retracted it. Will knew it was only a matter of time before Henry realized what was happening. He had to act fast. Summoning all the strength he had, trying to remember what he had done that very night with the Demos, he clenched his hands and moved them. A sharp pain shot through his leg, but he stayed on his feet, while Vecna dropped to his knees.
‘Get out!’ Vecna’s voice roared inside his mind, but Will ignored it. He had to speak to Max.
He forced Vecna to turn, pouring every ounce of strength he had into a movement that should have seemed effortless, but was anything but. When his eyes fell on the girl, he realized she wasn’t alone. Cradled in her arms, trembling with terror, was Holly. The two of them stared at him, wide-eyed, caught between fear and confusion.
“Go! Run! Run!” The words left his mouth, but the voice wasn’t his own— it was Vecna’s, twisted and alien, coming from within him.
Max and Holly didn’t hesitate. They scrambled to their feet and bolted from the house. A fleeting, fragile relief washed over Will, but it was gone almost immediately. Vecna wasn’t finished. The struggle continued, like a living weight, demanding every bit of Will’s strength just to hold on.
‘Out… OUT… GO AWAY!’
The words slammed into Will’s skull like battering rams, each pulse vibrating through his chest, his bones, as if the command itself were a solid, living force trying to shove him out of his body. Will fought back, muscles straining, teeth gritted, pushing against the invisible weight that sought to crush him from the inside. He lunged, trying to strike, trying to force Vecna back, but the dark presence pressed harder, relentless, like a storm that refused to break.
Will attacked his head, the only place he believed would kill him outright, but it was a useless move. He felt himself grabbed— not physically, but the pain was such that it might as well have been. A stabbing agony erupted in his head, as if he were being plunged repeatedly with a scorching blade. Will screamed, or at least he thought he did, but his own voice came muffled to his ears.
‘GET OUT! GO AWAY!’
The words slammed into him again, vibrating through his skull, twisting his mind.
Will collapsed to the ground. He wasn’t even sure when he had risen, but the impact felt distant, as if there were millions of invisible layers cushioning him from the floor. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, a gnawing fire that throbbed in his skull and radiated down his limbs. His own voice tore from his throat—screaming—but it sounded strange, as if it belonged to someone else. The pain was deafening, suffocating, leaving no room for anything else.
Voices surrounded him—shouts, maybe his name—but they were distant, like echoes from another life. Every sound was muffled by the weight of his torment, every sensation amplified into unbearable pressure. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. The chaos, the screams, the fire inside his head… it all vanished. Silence descended, thick and heavy, and darkness rolled over him, swallowing him completely.
—
Will’s screams still echoed through the air, like a reverberation impossible to ignore or suppress. The Demogorgon burned on the roof, dead once again because of the volts, and the connection should have been broken. So why was Will still lying there, completely motionless?
Mike was kneeling beside him, the group gathered around them. He could feel their presence, hear them, but his eyes were fixed on his best friend’s motionless body. His face was relaxed now, as if he were asleep— it seemed impossible that only moments before that same face had been twisted in agony.
Everything had spiraled out of control so fast that Mike hadn’t even had a moment to process what was happening. They had heard Will shouting words at someone—telling them to run—and then it had begun. The screams had been endless, echoing in his ears, a sound that clawed at his chest. When Will had fallen to the ground, Joyce had caught him just in time, preventing his head from hitting the floor.
His body had twisted and convulsed, as if fighting some invisible force, and silent tears had streaked down his face. Mike had never seen anything like it. His mother cradling his head, whispering soothing words he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t focus on her voice, couldn’t make sense of anything except that pain. But the connection was broken. So where was Will? Why wasn’t he waking up?
“Mike.” The voice came faint, almost unreal, and for a moment Mike wasn’t sure he’d really heard it— until a hand slammed onto his shoulder, grounding him. “Mike. We have to move him.”
He turned to see Lucas, urgency written across his face. Mike’s chest tightened. He didn’t know how long it had been since Will had stopped screaming, didn’t know how long his friend had been calling him. Robin was nowhere to be seen. Panic bubbled in his stomach and all he could manage was a choked, “Y-Yes. Yes.” before forcing himself to his feet, heart hammering, mind spinning with fear.
“L-Let’s try to get him away. Maybe he’s still… still connected,” Joyce stammered, still crouched on the ground with her son’s head in her lap. Her fingers were buried in his hair, a maternal touch that in that moment seemed to comfort her more than him. “Let’s take him home. To the cabin.”
Mike couldn’t fully process what they were saying; he moved on autopilot. He helped Lucas lift Will, and together they carried him to the car that Robin had already brought close. Robin stayed by the radio—they decided someone had to remain in case anything happened or if Erica or Murray returned—so it was just Joyce, Mike, and Lucas who went.
Lucas gripped the wheel, driving with careful precision, though his face was taut with worry. Joyce sat frozen, still clutching Will’s head to her chest, whispering soft, frantic reassurances he couldn’t hear. Mike’s eyes stayed fixed on the rearview mirror, darting to the road only occasionally, heart hammering in his chest. Every glance at Will was a knife twisting in his gut. He prayed with every fiber of his being to see something—anything—change. To see his eyelids flutter, to hear even a whisper of his voice. But each time he looked, the same sight met him: motionless, silent, impossibly pale. The stillness screamed at him louder than any words could.
The car seemed impossibly slow. Every second stretched and pressed down on him, the weight of helplessness crushing his chest. Mike’s stomach knotted tighter with every mile, and the world outside blurred into a haze. All that existed was the fragile, terrible figure of his best friend lying there, caught somewhere between life and death, and Mike’s mind could not stop racing, could not stop fearing what each heartbeat might bring.
The cabin was dark and silent, just as they had left it. Mike hadn’t been here in so long. He could barely remember what it looked like, even though, some summers ago, he had spent nearly every day there with El. That time seemed so distant, it felt like a fantasy.
They carried Will inside, and Joyce led the way to one of the two bedrooms— the larger one, where she and Hopper probably slept. Will was laid gently on the big bed, and now, in the warm glow of the lamp, Mike was struck by his condition. He was so pale that his skin seemed gray, a shade impossibly far from what a healthy human being should look like. He looked…
“He’s not dead,” Joyce said. “He’s not dead. He’s breathing.”
And she was right. His chest rose and fell, and Mike was sure that if he had placed a hand on it, he would have felt his heart beating. But that wasn’t enough. Because Will still wasn’t waking up.
He reached out a hand. It trembled, but he didn’t stop, and with careful fingers, he brushed Will’s forehead. It was as cold as a block of marble. He had felt that same chill on him once before.
“We have to warm him up,” he said, his own voice sounding distant, almost foreign. “He’s ice-cold. We have to warm him up.”
“It won’t work. He’s not…it’s not the Mind-” Lucas began, but Mike cut him off sharply.
“I know. But he’s ice-cold. We have to warm him up.” This time, his voice betrayed him, trembling so violently that the last two words barely came out.
Lucas said nothing. Guided by the homeowner, he moved to a closet. He pulled out all the heaviest blankets he could find and laid them over Will, one by one, leaving only his head exposed. Deep down, Mike knew Lucas was right— it was useless. This wasn’t the kind of cold that a blanket could chase away. But he had to do something.
They stayed in that room for a while, in silence, staring at Will as if at any moment he might open his eyes. Then Lucas moved. He mumbled something about trying to contact the others and left the cabin. Mike didn’t look at him.
“I’m going to make some tea,” Joyce said, rising from the edge of the bed, the spot she had been occupying until then. “Stay with him.”
As if I need to be told.
Mike only nodded, and as soon as Joyce stepped out of the room, he took her place at the bed. Will was stable. His breathing remained steady, his face unmoving, nothing out of place. He wanted to move closer, to shake him awake, to do something, anything, but fear froze him in place. Will’s stillness was unnerving. He tried to imagine him opening his eyes, a tiny flicker of recognition, but the image slipped away before it even formed.
The lamp cast a warm glow over Will’s face, softening the harsh lines of fear and fatigue that Mike had seen earlier. It was almost cruel, how peaceful he looked now, as if nothing had happened.
“Come back, Will,” he whispered. His hand moved but this time it didn’t go to his forehead. It brushed against his cheek. It was still ice-cold, but he didn’t care. Mike pressed his hand a little closer, as if the warmth of his own skin could reach through the chill and pull Will back. His voice trembled, barely more than a breath. “Come on, Will… come back to us. Please.”
He felt a strange resistance, as if the air itself pushed back against his touch. His chest ached with helplessness, every second stretching endlessly. “Will,” he whispered again, more insistently this time, the words raw and desperate. “We’re here. We’ve got you. Come back.”
His fingers trembled against Will’s cheek, and for a fleeting instant, it was as if the boy’s skin had softened, responding in some imperceptible way. A shiver ran through Mike, a spark of hope igniting deep in his chest, but the boy stayed still.
—
His head throbbed, and he couldn’t move. Will opened his eyes slowly, but his vision was blurred. He didn’t fully remember what had happened. He had been fighting Vecna, then felt a searing pain and then…
Something crawled across his arm. Will forced his eyes open again.
No.
He was no longer at the WSQK. He was no longer with the group. And yet he knew exactly where he was. He had spent so much time there, many years before, hiding from the Demogorgons, long before he even knew what they were. His home in the Upside Down was just as he remembered it. The windows were shattered—almost all of them—and the broken glass littered the floor, mingling with creeping vines and the slime that coated every surface of that warped dimension.
Panic surged through him. He tried to move but immediately realized that the feeling of being unable to wasn’t just a feeling. He was glued to the wall, trapped, held fast by something alive, something made of the same veiny, writhing matter that Vecna himself seemed to be formed from. His chest tightened, and a cold, suffocating terror gripped him.
He tried to reach out, to dig his fingers into that rotten, pulsating flesh, to pull himself free— but the harder he struggled, the tighter the hold became. Each movement only seemed to feed it, as if the walls themselves were alive and punishing him. A scream clawed at his throat, but no sound came out.
“Welcome back, William.”
His head snapped up as a figure emerged from the darkness of his home, bathed in the blue-and-red glow of that twisted world. Vecna advanced toward him.
“Why am I here?”
“I thought I had made myself clear,” Vecna continued, as if Will hadn’t spoken. “You… really thought you could beat me on my own field, in my own game.”
“But I did, didn’t I? They ran. Your leg slowed you down. For someone so powerful… you’re rather weak.” Will’s heart pounded, fear lancing through him like electricity— but beneath it, a small, fierce satisfaction burned. He had done it. He had slowed Vecna down, forced him back, given the others a chance to escape. That thought made the terror slightly sweeter, gave him something to cling to amidst the panic.
A vein tightened around his neck, enough to make him grit his teeth but not enough to completely cut off his airflow.
Vecna laughed, a cold, echoing sound, and kept advancing. “Do you really think I have no other ways to reach them? The little one is nothing without Max. And Max… her body is human. Weak. Defenseless. And you will help me find her.”
Will’s chest heaved as the vein around his neck pulsed, each throb sending a jolt of pain up into his skull. Fear gripped him like ice, sharp and unrelenting, but the spark of defiance refused to die. He dug his fingers into the rotting, veiny mass holding him, trying to pull himself free. Pain shot through his arms but he refused to yield. The more he fought, the tighter the grip pressed— but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he had finally done something, when he had finally mattered.
Vecna drew closer. “You will help me find her,” he repeated, the words crawling into Will’s mind like poisonous fingers.
“Do you think I would ever betray my friends?”
“But you already have, William. Over and over again.” Will’s chest heaved violently, each breath sharp and shallow as if the words themselves had slammed against his ribcage. Panic clawed at his mind, twisting every thought into fear.
No… I didn’t betray them, he thought desperately, trying to push back the invisible weight pressing on him. I helped them. I saved them. But Vecna’s voice slithered into his head again, cold and relentless.
As Vecna drew closer, the shadow of the monster stretching across the shattered floor, Will clung to that thought like a lifeline. I helped them.
“You think you are clever, don’t you? But remember, I am the one who invited you in. You were my vessel. My spy. My builder.”
“Builder?” Will echoed, the word slipping out before he could stop it.
“How do you think the tunnels came to be, William? You built them. Each and every night while you slept.”
The words hit him harder than any blow. Will froze, his breath hitching painfully in his chest. His mind reeled, fragments of memories flashing behind his eyes— nights he couldn’t remember, exhaustion he had never been able to explain, that constant feeling of something moving beneath his skin. “No,” he whispered, horrified. “I- I didn’t…”
Fear twisted into something uglier, heavier. Shame. Mortification. The realization burned through him, leaving him exposed. His stomach churned as the truth sank in: all that time, all those nights, he hadn’t just been a victim. He had been a tool.
He had helped build the monster’s world. And that thought terrified him more than the darkness, more than Vecna himself.
Vecna raised a hand and let his fingers brush lightly against Will’s face. Will flinched instantly, trying to pull back. A jolt of fear shot through him and revulsion twisted in his stomach. He recoiled as far as the grip would allow, desperate to put distance between himself and the monster.
“There is much power within you. But make no mistake, boy.” His hand left his face. “They are my powers and they are stronger than ever before. Now, at last, it is time. Time for my vessels to lead us to a new world. A better world.”
“Too bad your world will never exist.” Will spat, his voice trembling but sharp.
Vecna’s eyes narrowed, and a cold, cruel smile twisted his lips. “You are far too confident, William,” he said, his voice wrapping around Will’s mind like ice. “You think you have won. You think you have escaped. But you belong to me. You always have.”
The veiny mass that held Will pulsed ominously, tightening just enough to make his chest ache. “You were my vessel once,” Vecna continued, stepping closer, shadows stretching over Will’s pinned form. “You were my spy. And soon… you will be again.”
“No. Never.” Will’s voice trembled, but it carried a raw, unyielding defiance.
Vecna raised a hand again, hovering just inches from Will’s face. He didn’t touch him— but the threat in his gaze was enough to make Will’s stomach twist. “The more you resist,” Vecna whispered, voice slick and venomous, “the more pain you will feel.”
Will’s eyes widened. Every nerve in his body screamed but he refused to look away.
Almost immediately, a wave of pain surged through Will’s head, sharp and pulsing, like molten metal being pressed against his skull. Every throb seemed to hammer directly into his brain, a relentless rhythm that made it hard to think, hard to breathe. It wasn’t just pain— it was pressure, a heavy, suffocating weight pressing from the inside out.
“You will learn,” Vecna’s voice hissed inside his mind, a shadowed echo that made the pain pulse faster, “that resistance is useless. Every defiance, every shred of courage… only feeds the suffering.”
Will’s head throbbed violently, each pulse of pain now accompanied by a sickening, crawling sensation deep inside his mind. Something—someone—was burrowing into his memories, twisting through them. He could feel it, could sense Vecna moving like a shadow through the corridors of his thoughts, searching, winning ground inch by inch. Images flashed unbidden—faces of his friends, moments of fear, nights he had hidden from the Demogorgons—each one exposed and vulnerable under Vecna’s touch.
He tried to resist, tried to pull the darkness back, but it was like pushing against a tide that refused to stop. Every thought he clung to was wrenched away, and the constant pressure in his skull intensified, a weight pressing from all directions. Every nerve in his body screamed, every heartbeat echoed like a hammer striking metal, and still it never ceased.
—
The sound of a car caught his attention, pulling his focus away from Will for the first time since he had sat down. Joyce had finally relinquished her spot after nearly two hours.
Mike had spent the night there. He and Joyce had taken turns between the living room and the bedroom, unwilling to leave Will alone but in desperate need of even a few minutes of sleep. They rotated shifts, keeping vigil over him, praying that nothing changed. By now, they weren’t even sure what they were hoping for anymore.
Lucas hadn’t checked in yet, a sign that even there, they hadn’t been lucky.
Through the window at the front of the cabin, Mike saw a car pull up. He didn’t recognize it, but he jumped to his feet when two familiar figures stepped out. Casting one last glance at Will, silently promising him he would return immediately, he ran out of the cabin alongside Joyce.
El and Hopper were there, each standing on opposite sides of the car. Mike didn’t hesitate. He ran to her, relief crashing through him like a wave. Joyce went toward the man, who welcomed her with open arms.
El threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, and he held her back just as fiercely, feeling a weight lift off his chest that he hadn’t even known he was carrying. After everything that had happened in less than twenty-four hours—after the fear, the uncertainty, the terror— this small moment of connection was welcomed.
“Are you okay?” he whispered when they pulled apart. Mike kept his hands on her arms, lingering, not quite ready to let go. El nodded and turned toward the girl who, silently, had positioned herself right behind her.
“Mike. This is Kali. My sister.”
Mike’s eyes widened at this, taking in the new addition carefully. Kali, as El had called her, was very small in stature, but her strong, defined features made her seem older than them. Her shaved head mirrored El’s when they had found her over a year ago in the desert—a distinctive mark of anyone who had been through that world. For a moment, Mike wondered if from now on, every time he saw a shaved head, he would think of this.
“So this is the famous Mike,” Kali said, a smile playing on her lips like someone who knew more than the person she was speaking to.
Mike smiled back, but said nothing, turning to El when she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Her expression had hardened, and he could see worry etching every line of her face, darkening her eyes.
“Where’s Will? Lucas told me what happened.”
Mike swallowed hard, his throat tight. “He’s still in the cabin,” he said, his voice low, almost strangled by the weight of worry. “We didn’t leave him alone. Joyce and I stayed with him all night.”
El’s eyes darkened even more. She glanced briefly at Kali, then back at Mike. “Bring me to him.”
Mike nodded immediately, his pulse quickening. Every second they spent here felt stolen, a dangerous pause from what mattered most. He could feel the lingering fear from the night pressing down on him, a heavy reminder of what had nearly happened—and what could still happen if they delayed.
Guided by him, moving quickly at the front, the group reached the bedroom again, where Will still lay, motionless as he had for hours. El rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside him, and lifted a hand, brushing his forehead—the same gesture Mike had made.
“He’s ice cold,” she whispered.
“He’s been like this since he passed out,” Joyce said, stepping into the room and moving to stand beside the girl. Mike stayed at the doorway, not wanting to interfere. After all, even if not by blood, they were a family—and he doubted there was room for him in that moment.
“He hasn’t passed out. Vecna. It was him. I have to get him out,” El said, her voice firm, edged with both fear and determination.
“How?”
El shook her head for a moment, then, like a sudden jolt, her eyes widened slightly, her eyebrows lifting, a flash of realization crossing her face. “The tub. I can reach him through that.”
“Are you sure, El?” Hopper stepped in, moving forward as if to physically block his daughter. “You pushed yourself so hard in the Upside Down. Maybe you should-”
“I’ll rest while you get the tub ready. Will doesn’t have time. He needs me,” El cut him off. From her expression alone, everyone could tell she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And Mike was relieved.
His gaze drifted instinctively back to Will. His skin looked even grayer than before, his expression unchanged. Mike hated it. The complete lack of movement was worse than anything else. Not knowing what was happening to him, what that bastard was doing to him, was a kind of torture even worse than what he had witnessed the night before.
They had to get him out.