Chapter Text
Will didn't wake up.
No matter how much time passed, how many times Joyce held his hand or Mike spoke to him with a voice broken by exhaustion, Will was still there, breathing, warm, but absent, as if the world had moved on without him and no one had noticed when he was left behind.
Mike had stopped counting the minutes. He just talked to her, because the silence was killing him.
"I know you can hear me," he murmured, his forehead pressed against Will 's . "You always can."
He swallowed.
"You always understand me. You always have the right words..." Her voice cracked slightly. "I know you're still there, Will ."
There was no response.
The same slight, involuntary movement of her eyes beneath closed eyelids. The same limp, inert hand, trapped between his own, as if he no longer knew how to hold her back.
The uncertainty was eating Mike alive. Eighteen months of living with Will day and night had reminded him, with brutal clarity, what a terrible friend he'd been a year ago. That's why it had been such a profound relief to see their relationship make sense again, to see the concept of best friend cease to be just a word and start feeling real once more.
And now it seemed that he was losing it again.
Only a few hours had passed, but the idea of losing Will felt close, tangible, almost inevitable. Mike didn't know what was happening inside his mind, didn't know if he was suffering, if he was trapped, if he was even dreaming. He didn't know if this was a coma, or something worse: the certainty that Will was awake somewhere he couldn't reach.
What he couldn't understand was why the fear was so different this time. It wasn't just panic, or guilt, or the understandable terror of losing his best friend. It was something deeper, more intimate, a constant pressure in his chest that he couldn't name. As if the mere thought of a world without Will wasn't just taking away someone important, but something essential, something that had been sustaining him without him even realizing it.
And that scared him more than anything else .
Joyce watched from the doorway, with that horrible feeling of invading something that didn't belong to her, even if it was her son. Jonathan was rigid, his arms crossed, as if remaining still was the only way to keep from falling apart.
"It's not a normal coma," Max finally said, breaking the silence. "He's trapped."
Everyone stared at her. Max had arrived looking for Will , still reeling from the shock of discovering that it wasn't El who had rescued her, but Will , using something that shouldn't exist, taking advantage of his connection to the hive to enter the minds of the demogorgons and Vecna .
The revelation hadn't even given her room to think about her own health. There was only one clear urgency: to see him. To thank him. To make sure he was alright after the feat he'd accomplished to buy her and Holly time to escape.
And instead, he found it like this.
Still.
Absent.
As if he had paid the full price to save them
" Vecna isn't attacking him from the outside," Max continued. "Most likely, he's got him searching for a way out within his memories."
He swallowed.
—Memories that I don't think are nice.
"Then we have to get him out of there," Lucas said roughly. "Like we got Max out. We have to try everything. Anything that will keep him anchored to this world."
"We already tried," Jonathan replied, frustration seeping into every word. "We've been trying for three hours. It's not working."
Max shook his head slowly.
“I don’t think it works the same way,” she clarified. “When I was trapped, I walked through the same memories hundreds of times looking for a way out. And yet…” she paused, “it had to be the exact moment.”
He looked up.
"We don't have time to wait for Will to go through all his own thoughts. We don't even know if he'll understand what's going on."
"So what?" Jonathan exclaimed, losing patience. "Do we just sit and wait? From what you're saying, Will must be reliving the worst part of his life right now. And I don't think that's exactly a walk in the park for my brother."
"Eleven could look for him," Mike suggested, his voice tense. "Maybe it'll work. Will wasn't a direct victim of Vecna 's curse . His eyes still move. Max herself said it: it's not the same as what she went through."
Joyce looked at Eleven.
—Could you look for it?
"I can go in," Eleven said. "But I don't know if I can get him out by myself."
The phrase landed like a stone.
If what Max had described was true, entering Will 's mind meant delving into memories he never wanted to share. Fears. Secrets. Pain. It wasn't fair.
The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. Mike clenched his fists.
"If he doesn't go in," he said, "he's going to stay there."
“And if he goes in without knowing how to help him,” Max replied, “they could both get trapped. While I was there, Holly guided me through her memories; we won’t have Will with us here, we’ll have to search on our own.”
"I don't think Will wants anyone lurking around in his mind," Jonathan said quietly. "None of us."
"Then I'll go," Joyce said, stepping forward. "I'm his mother. Nothing I see there is going to change how I see him... or how he sees me."
Jonathan looked at her, with something akin to regret.
"Mom," she said. "There are things you can't see without breaking down. And there are things Will would never tell you because you're his mother. You know that. Will would trust me there. I'll go."
Jonathan couldn't let his mother see him like this. Not like this. Not seeing Will reduced to something fragile under Lonnie 's cruel words or actions . He couldn't force her to witness her son sobbing uncontrollably as he awoke from his night terrors, those terrors that never truly left him from the Upside Down.
Nor could he let her see the guilt Will carried for Bob's death, a guilt that Jonathan knew Joyce would make her own in seconds, as she always did with everything.
No.
He could handle it.
He could face whatever was in there, face it head-on without breaking down, even if it was difficult. He would bring Will back , safe and sound.
There were things Joyce was better off not knowing. Not because she didn't have the right to know them, but because the price of knowing them would be too high for her… and Jonathan wasn't willing to pay it.
Mike raised his head.
—I'm going too.
"I'm sorry, Mike," Jonathan interjected, "but I don't think it's a good idea for you to..."
"I think so," Robin said , speaking for the first time.
She'd spoken to Will before. About Tammy . About Vickie . About signs no one else seemed to notice. She'd seen the way Will looked at Mike, and if her sixth sense wasn't failing her, she'd swear that bond wasn't one-sided.
"What could be a stronger anchor," he added, "than your best friend?"
It was decided, Jonathan and Milke were the one to go into Will 's mind and bring him back. Mike would get his best friend back. Jonathan would never lose his brother again.
"Max," Eleven said, her voice firm. "You're going to have to tell us exactly everything you know. Every single detail. Everything could help us get him out of there."
" Robin chimed in again. "Max could come with you. You're going to need someone who's been in there before. A guide."
"No," Lucas said immediately. "Max, no."
She looked at him firmly, without hesitating.
" Will saved me," he said. "I'm not going to leave it at that."
"So Max can go... but I can't?" Joyce retorted, her voice laced with more than just anger. "Can't I go in and help my own son?"
The silence grew tense again.
“It’s not about who has more right to Will,” Max replied urgently. “It’s about getting him out of there now. We still don’t know what’s really going on in his mind. All we have are theories, and every minute counts.”
"Max, it's dangerous," Lucas insisted, taking a step toward her. "You just got out of there. I can't lose you. Not again."
Max held her gaze.
"You're not going to lose me, Lucas," she promised. "But I need to be there for him."
Jonathan took a deep breath before speaking.
"Not everyone can go," he said. "Too many people, too many voices. Will is already lost in his memories; if too many of us go in, we'll only disorient him more, invade his space even more."
Robin looked at Eleven.
—She'll let them in
Then to Mike.
—He is her anchor.
And finally to Max.
Robin finished , gently breaking the silence. "I think they're going with just the right people."
Joyce lowered her gaze. When she raised it again, there was pain in her eyes, but also resignation.
"I'm still her mother," she said softly. "And it hurts that they're making this decision without me."
Jonathan moved a little closer.
“I know,” he replied. “And we’re not taking your place. We just…” He swallowed. “I don’t want you to carry things that Will never wanted you to see.”
Joyce didn't answer. She barely nodded, as if accepting that was another way of losing something.
Nobody argued anymore
When Eleven took Mike, Jonathan, and Max's hands, the world dissolved without drama. There were no lights or explosions. Just a slow fall, like drifting off to sleep unintentionally.
And then they were there.
A suspended, black void, pierced by living, breathing vines. In the center, Will , suspended, trapped, with a vine plunged into his mouth, others encircling his torso, wrists, and legs. It didn't look like physical torture. It looked like possession.
Mike stepped forward.
— Will —she whispered—. We're here.
When he touched it, the world shattered.
Lonnie 's voice , clear as water, mixed with the unfamiliar laughter of a young woman. Everything sounded overlapping, distorted, as if they were listening to it through a stereo playing in the middle of the night.
Will and the vines had disappeared.
Jonathan froze when the car stopped right in front of them. He immediately recognized the young woman in the passenger seat. He'd seen her before. Several times. At his house. While his mother was working extra shifts.
Lonnie and the woman got out of the car and disappeared into the darkness without saying a word, as if the world didn't need any explanations.
"What's this all about?" Mike asked, uneasy.
Holly 's memories . They were vivid, they were... complete. This is different."
"So what are we supposed to do?" Eleven asked, tense.
"Jonathan," Max said, "do you recognize the car? We have to find something that doesn't fit. That's how we progressed through Holly 's memories . Something out of place. One detail incorrect."
Jonathan was already getting into the car.
The stereo clock read 15:32.
— Will left school at 2:30 p.m. —she whispered.
The memory hit them like a sharp blow to the chest. The clock began to tick erratically, the numbers jumping as if time itself were broken. The emptiness around them began to fill with color, and before them appeared the Byers ' house , isolated in the middle of the woods.
A younger version of Jonathan emerged from the house. His knuckles were red, his eyes glassy. He walked quickly, straight to the trunk of the car.
Jonathan took a step back.
"What's going on?" Mike asked quietly.
No one answered.
The younger Jonathan opened the trunk.
Inside, huddled up, was a child. Will Byers , no more than ten years old. Asleep. Unconscious. There was no way of knowing.
Mike moved immediately, trying to touch it, to get it out of there, but his hands passed through the memory like smoke.
Will had been locked in the trunk for almost three hours.
Dark.
Cold.
Shrunken away not only out of fear, but out of habit.
She pulled the Jonathan from her memory out desperately, her hands trembling as she searched for a pulse, holding her breath until she felt it. Only then did she weep, trying to wake him, calling his name.
The real Jonathan took a step back, as if he had suddenly lost his breath.
"I…" he tried to say, but he couldn't finish the sentence.
Mike remained motionless, staring at the child in the arms of the younger version of Jonathan. He felt a tight knot in his chest, a pressure so strong it hurt to breathe. He couldn't stop thinking about how small Will looked . How easy it would have been to lose him right there without anyone noticing for hours.
"God..." Max whispered. "He was just a child."
Max pressed his lips together, his eyes shining, forcing himself not to look for too long.
"This shouldn't be here," he said. "No one should have memories like this."
Jonathan ran a hand over his face, trembling.
"I thought I'd forgotten about it," she murmured. "I thought it was just... something bad that happened and that was it."
He swallowed with difficulty.
—But he kept it. All this time.
Mike clenched his fists. Guilt rose like acid. He thought about all the times Will had been quiet, withdrawn, and he had attributed it to " Will 's personality ," without asking any further questions.
"It's there," Jonathan said then, forcing himself to focus. "The hole in the trunk."
He knelt down, pointing with almost obsessive precision.
—In the original memory it was on the left side. Here it's on the right.
He looked up at them, his eyes reddened.
—That's the way out.
The same hole through which Will had survived his father's confinement. The only source of air. The only explanation Jonathan had found that night to keep from collapsing.
"Let's check it out," Max said, his voice firm despite the trembling in his hands.
He began to tear the fabric of the trunk. As he did so, a white light filtered through the cracks, too bright, almost violent.
Mike took one last look at the boy before the memory faded.
"Hang on, Will," he murmured. "We're almost there."
Max went first, leading the way.
The memory began to collapse behind them, as if it had never wanted to be seen.
The world vibrated and changed without transition.
A school hallway. California, Eleven recognized immediately.
Laughter. Stares that pierced like knives. Will , a teenage boy, taller, thinner, walking quickly, trying to make himself invisible.
They all followed him, still shaken by the previous memory, trying to catch up with him even though they knew he couldn't hear them.
"Weirdo," someone said.
"Why didn't you listen to Sophie ? Too pretty for a faggot like you?" they mocked.
Will lowered his head.
He didn't defend himself. He kept walking as if he hadn't heard anything, as if the words hadn't reached their destination.
Mike gritted his teeth. He pretended the word hadn't hurt him too. As if it didn't explain anything he shouldn't feel.
Will turned down the hall and entered an empty room. The memory shifted abruptly; they knew because his clothes were different. Angela stood before him . Just the two of them.
Eleven frowned. She didn't understand why Will would be alone with her.
"Leave her alone," said the Will of the memory. "If she's with me, it doesn't matter. But don't touch her."
"And why should I listen to you, sissy?" Angela replied , smiling. "It's great fun playing with your little sister."
"You have no idea what she's been through," Will insisted . "She doesn't deserve this."
"And you've been through too much too ," Jonathan thought, with a lump in his throat.
" Aww ," Angela teased . "Is it because of her dead dad, William? Don't worry, we won't make fun of that. There are plenty of other things we can laugh about with your sister."
Eleven shuddered at the mention of Hopper, whom they believed to be dead at that moment.
No one understood yet why that scene was so important. They knew the basics: Will was trying to protect Eleven. But they couldn't see the way out, or the exact wound. Max had a terrible feeling.
"I'm serious, " Will continued . "I won't warn you again. No deal. Don't touch Jane."
"Whatever you want, faggot, " Angela replied . "We'll see how long you last."
She left the room. Will followed her.
And the memory shattered again.
This time there were several people in the room. Eleven recognized Jake , Sophie , Marcus, and Ronan . Mike only recognized Jake and Angela .
Will was cornered against the wall.
Tears streamed down his face and his makeup was smeared: eyeliner irritating his skin, exaggerated blush applied mockingly to his cheeks. Two boys held him by the arms while Angela applied garish pink lipstick, deliberately smudging his lips. He wore a ridiculous school skirt over his trousers and his own sweatshirt.
"You look beautiful crying," someone said.
Laughter filled the bathroom.
Jonathan felt nauseous. He was sure he couldn't vomit inside a memory, but if he could, he would.
"I think you're wrong, Sophie," one of them said. "Will would be a better friend than someone's boyfriend, don't you think, faggot?"
Will tried to speak.
"I don't... I don't like men," he said, desperately.
"Oh, really?" they mocked. "So you don't like the hottest girl in the class. Either you're really dumb... or you're really gay. And since you're not dumb, there's only one option left."
Will begged.
He begged them not to drag him out of the bathroom like that. Not like that. He promised not to say anything. He promised to do anything.
When he confronted Angela , he thought he'd get beaten up. He could handle that. With Lonnie , it wouldn't be anything new.
That wasn't the case.
"Tell us what you are, " Sophie ordered . "Tell us and we'll wash your face. We'll let you go."
Jonathan felt his stomach sink. He thought he understood, he thought he'd sensed it for years, but not like this. Not like this. Not ripped out by force, in front of others.
"Eleven," he said desperately. "We have to get out of here. Now. What's different about this bathroom ? You know the school."
When he turned towards her, he saw her on the ground.
Eleven was crying. Trembling. Devastated.
Mike knelt beside her.
—Eleven, look at me. We need to get out. Now, please.
"I don't know," she sobbed. "I don't see anything different."
"You have to look," Max insisted. "We can't stay here."
They tried to look away, to pretend they weren't seeing. It was impossible. The struggle, the insults, Will 's crying filled every corner.
And then it happened.
—I am… I am gay.
Laughter erupted.
The confession that should never have been uttered. Torn out by blows of shame.
"See, Sophie ? It's not that you're not pretty," they mocked. "You just tried to hook up with a faggot."
"No, no," Angela interjected . "William said it wrong. You're not just gay, are you? Tell us what you really are."
Jonathan squeezed Eleven's shoulders, desperate.
"You're not helping," Max said. "You're upsetting her more."
"I'm a faggot, " Will repeated , crying.
"And you're probably a slut too?" Angela asked .
-Yeah…
—Come on, say it properly.
—I'm a slut.
More laughter. More mockery.
Mike couldn't hear anything anymore. He was searching desperately.
He saw the mirror.
A little more curved than usual.
He hit it angrily. The glass shattered. Nothing happened.
In the background, the sound of the toilet running.
Will 's cough .
A muffled, broken cry, trying not to exist.
"You're clean now, sissy," said the last two boys who were left in the bathroom.
Muffled laughter. Footsteps receding.
And then, silence.
They weren't even able to notice when they were left alone. There was no transition. No warning. Only the memory of Will , stripped of witnesses, abandoned even by those who had destroyed him.
Will stood in front of the broken mirror.
Her reflection appeared fragmented, multiplied into irregular pieces. None complete. None whole. She washed her face desperately, rubbing until her skin reddened, until it hurt. Her makeup was only partially removed. Black traces under her eyes. Poorly smudged pink on her lips.
Her eyes were swollen and red.
Her hair was soaked and plastered to her forehead.
She clumsily pulled off her skirt, as if it were burning her. She let it fall to the floor. Then she took off her sweatshirt, heavy and soaked with dirty water, and threw it into the trash can as if she wanted to get rid of something alive.
He was trembling.
Her lips moved soundlessly at first, until the words finally came out, broken, almost inaudible.
—It's my fault…
It's my fault… For being like this.
Mike stepped forward.
His heart was beating so hard it hurt.
" Will, " she whispered. "Look at me. You didn't deserve this."
Will didn't lift his head.
He didn't answer. He didn't hear him.
She left the bathroom as if nothing had happened. She walked straight, her back tense, her face blank. Like someone who had already learned to keep living after being broken.
Max recognized the place on the other side of the door instantly.
Wheeler 's garage, " he whispered.
Mike swallowed hard.
He felt the blow to his stomach before he understood it.
—That was the way out.
There was no relief.
There was no victory.
Just one last humiliation.
For Will .
And for them, for not noticing which was the exit earlier.
Wheeler garage appeared immediately, intact.
Too untouched.
As if the house wasn't under siege by the military in the real world.
As if it hadn't been wrecked. As if no demogorgon had broken through its walls to take Holly .
It was the clean version of a place that no longer existed.
Nobody spoke.
The silence fell heavy, dense, almost physical.
Mike was the first to buckle. He didn't fall to his knees; he simply lost his strength. He leaned against one of the garage walls, breathing heavily, as if he couldn't get enough air, as if his lungs didn't know what to do with everything they had just seen.
I couldn't delete the image.
The skirt.
The lipstick. The way Will had said the words.
He couldn't understand how he hadn't seen it before.
How he had grown up alongside him, how he had shared secrets, laughter, monsters, without realizing that his best friend had been surviving like this, learning to shrink, to endure, to disappear.
Jonathan remained motionless.
His fists were clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin. His jaw was rigid. His eyes were glassy, fixed on a point that wasn't there.
She hadn't screamed in the memory.
She hadn't intervened.
And that was destroying him more than anything else.
He had sworn to protect Will since they were children.
He had promised that no one would ever hurt him again.
And he had failed.
Again.
Eleven was trembling uncontrollably. Max was beside her, holding her tightly, murmuring things that seemed to lead nowhere. Jane stared blankly, as if she were still looking into the broken mirror, watching Will 's reflection shatter into pieces.
"I…" Eleven began, but her voice broke. "I didn't know."
And in that sentence there was guilt.
There was shame. There was something darker.
Will 's sacrifice .
His silence. His suffering.
None of that had helped at all.
All because she'd thought it was a good idea to fake a different life. Fake friends. Fake popularity. Fake normality in front of Mike. Impress him. Fit in.
Angela 's nose that day at Rink -O -Mania .
The satisfaction lasted a second.
Then he drowned in guilt.
Mike jerked his head up.
"Nobody knew," he said, more harshly than he intended. "And that's the problem."
The words came out before I could stop them. They weren't a direct reproach. They weren't aimed at anyone else.
It was their fault.
Their own.
She ran a hand over her face, as if she could erase the scene from her skin.
"I never called," she continued. "I didn't pay enough attention. I read his letters and thought he was okay... because I wanted to believe it."
Max took a deep breath before speaking.
“Honestly, I don’t think Will would have mentioned it,” she said carefully. “He was always good at pretending everything was fine. He wasn’t living. He was just surviving.”
Jonathan let out a sob that he couldn't hold back.
She ran a hand over her face, took a deep breath, and forced the words out.
"We have to keep moving," he said. " Will went into the house a while ago. Anything could be happening in there."
They didn't have to advance too far.
The scene changed again.
Will left the Wheeler house , his face hardened with rage, his shoulders tense, closely followed by Mike. A younger version of both of them.
Mike recognized him immediately.
The memory.
They hadn't even noticed it was raining.
The sound of rain filled the air. The porch appeared. The door was open. Will had his hand on the doorknob.
Mike's chest sank.
The guilt wasn't just guilt now.
It was something deeper. Something I couldn't name yet.
The memory began to circulate.
— Will , come on. You can't leave. It's raining.
Mike watched the scene with his heart in his throat.
—Listen, I said I was sorry, okay? It's a good campaign. It really is. It's just that we're not in the mood right now.
Jonathan took an involuntary step forward.
—No… —she whispered—. Not like that.
"Yes, Mike, that's the problem," Will replied in the memory. "You guys are never in the mood anymore. You're ruining our party."
—That's not true.
"Oh, really? Where's Dustin right now? See? You don't know, and you don't even care. And obviously, neither does he, and I don't blame him. They're destroying everything, and for what? To swap spit with some stupid girl?"
— He 's not stupid.
And then.
—It's not my fault you don't like girls.
Jonathan closed his eyes tightly.
He felt the blow to his chest as if the phrase had been thrown at him.
"Mike…" she whispered, her voice a mixture of anger and pain. "What did you say to him?"
The real Mike put a hand to his mouth.
He remembered saying it.
He never remembered hearing it like that.
"I'm not trying to be an idiot, okay?" his past self continued. "But we're not kids anymore. I mean, what did you seriously think? That we'd never have girlfriends? That we'd just sit in my basement all day playing games for the rest of our lives?"
Will looked up.
"Yes," he said. "I suppose so. I really thought about it."
The rain was falling heavily.
Will turned around.
—Will ! Will ! Will , come on ! Will , come on !
Mike shouted her name in the memory.
The real Mike felt something tearing inside him.
Now I understood.
It hadn't been just any fight.
It had been the exact moment Will stopped feeling safe, even with him.
And the guilt, that guilt, he was never going to let go.
Mike was the first to react. He looked up abruptly, his pulse racing, his ears ringing. Something wasn't right. The front door of his house was the wrong color. Not dark red. Not the faded shade he remembered. It was paler, almost washed out, as if the memory itself were losing its consistency.
"The door," she said, her voice breaking. "It's an exit."
He didn't wait for anyone to answer.
He ran towards her.
She just wanted to get out of there.
To escape the memory. To stop hearing her own voice saying things she couldn't take back.
He pushed the door.
And the world broke apart again.
There was no smooth transition. There was no preparation.
The sound hit him first.
A sharp thud.
Another one. An object crashing against a wall.
—Will !
Jonathan's voice.
Not the Jonathan who was with them now.
The Jonathan from before. Younger. More desperate.
The scene formed around them with violence.
The Byers ' house .
Night.
Lights out.
Long shadows. The sound of something crawling on the floor.
"Leave him alone!" Jonathan shouted. "Dad, please!"
Mike felt his stomach sink.
Jonathan, in his memory, was locked in a closet. They couldn't see him, but the sound of knuckles pounding on the door was unmistakable. Jonathan could vividly recall his reddened knuckles, pounding on the door again and again. His breathing was ragged. Pure panic.
—Open up! Let me out!
Lonnie 's voice .
Serious. Drunk. Full of contempt.
"Shut up," he spat. "This is none of your business."
One more blow.
Will . Little Will was on the living room floor, curled up, his arms covering his head. Each impact made him shudder all over. He didn't scream, he didn't cry loudly, he just endured it.
As if he had already learned that making noise only made things worse.
"Please!" Jonathan sobbed. "He's just a child!"
Mike felt nauseous.
Jonathan Real took a step forward, trembling.
"No…" she whispered. "I… I heard everything."
Her voice broke.
—I couldn't do anything.
Lonnie roughly grabbed Will 's arm. Will groaned, a small, muffled sound.
"What's wrong with you ? " Lonnie growled . "Why can't you be normal?"
The word fell like a sentence.
Normal.
Same poison.
Different voice. Same damage.
Mike took a step back, his chest burning.
I had thought that his phrase in the rain had been cruel.
I hadn't known it came from so far back.
Jonathan banged on the closet door until his knuckles bled.
"I hate you!" she shouted. "Leave him alone!"
Lonnie turned towards the wardrobe.
"You shut up," he said. "This is your fault too. You're spoiling him."
Another blow.
Will closed his eyes tightly.
She didn't cry.
He just waited for it to end.
Eleven, who had spent so much time at the Byers ' house , was the first to notice.
Something was out of place.
A couple of planks were propped up against the back wall, poorly fitted, as if someone had put them in haste. They didn't belong there. Not there. He walked forward without saying anything and carefully moved them aside.
The memory trembled .
It wasn't a clean change. The walls darkened, the edges of the world began to distort, the sound became jagged, muffled.
And then, without any transition, they were somewhere else.
The same bathroom.
But different.
Will stood in front of the sinks, unharmed. His clothes were intact. There was no blood, no smeared makeup, no visible signs of humiliation. Just Will , rummaging through his backpack with clumsy, nervous movements.
Max released the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"How many more?" she burst out, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "How many more memories do we have to go through? This... this is an invasion. I don't know if we're reaching him. Maybe we should go back."
"No," Eleven replied immediately. "We're close. I can feel it."
She turned towards them, agitated.
—Did you notice? We didn't have to cross the memory. I just opened an exit and… it changed.
Mike took a step towards Will .
This time, when he extended his hand, it did not dissolve into smoke .
It wasn't a full contact, but it was enough. Minimal, real resistance.
"I feel it too," she whispered. "It's here."
The bathroom door burst open.
Will froze.
Panic flashed across his face with terrifying speed. He turned to leave, but the boy who had just entered blocked his path.
—Marcus, please —Will said , his voice barely audible—. Let me go.
"Why would I?" he replied, with a crooked smile. "I've got you right where I want you."
He pushed him against the opposite wall. Will was trapped, rigid, unable to react.
Jonathan, Mike, Max, and Eleven began desperately searching for a way out. Anything. A crack. A mistake. But the door wouldn't budge. The space was exactly as it had been before.
They were trapped.
Forced to watch.
"Do you know how much trouble you cause me, Byers ?" Marcus continued. "I've thought about it a lot... and the problem is always the same."
She leaned towards him.
-You.
Will shook his head, trembling.
-I don't…
"Look at you," she interrupted. "Always so fragile. So... wrong."
Will 's wrists were held above his head. Will tried to break free, but it was useless. Fear paralyzed him completely.
And then they saw it.
The sleeves are rolled up.
The brands.
Irregular lines, old and new, crisscrossing her skin.
The world stopped.
Max felt a void open up in his stomach.
Jonathan stopped breathing.
Mike couldn't understand how his brain could continue functioning after that.
"Did you try to kill yourself?" Marcus mocked. "Maybe you should have succeeded. There's no place for people like you."
Will burst into tears.
Not a loud cry. A silent, defeated one, that seemed to come from much further back than that moment.
"Stop..." he begged. "Please."
But the memory wouldn't stop. Marcus's hands were touching places they shouldn't have, invading roughly, not with affection, not with gentleness, not the way Will should be touched. Not the way he was sure Will would want to be touched someday.
Mike felt something worse than fear.
Shame.
Shame for having needed to see this to understand.
Shame for not protecting. For not asking. For not being braver.
Because now I knew.
He wasn't just trying to save his best friend.
She was trying not to lose the person she had loved without ever daring to name him.
Will 's tears continued to fall uncontrollably, thick and painful, accompanied by sobs that seemed to tear the air from his chest.
Jonathan was completely paralyzed, as if his body no longer responded to his mind's commands. Eleven watched the scene, not fully understanding what was happening, trapped between images she couldn't name. Mike and Max, on the other hand, understood enough to feel devastated.
They couldn't understand how they hadn't seen it.
How nobody saw it.
Nor Joyce.
Not Jonathan. Not Lucas, not Dustin , not Steve.
Will had hidden everything.
For eighteen months he had seemed… fine. Calmer. More at peace. Even strong. Laughing in response to the few quiet moments they managed to have. In recent weeks, even with Holly 's disappearance , he had been resolute, empowered, using his powers to help Max, holding them all up when they needed him most. He didn't seem like the same Will who was now falling apart in front of them.
Nothing made sense.
"Maybe," Mike thought desperately, "this was all a lie by Vecna . A cruel setup to break them. To make them doubt. To punish them."
Because accepting that this had been real…
That it had been happening while they looked the other way… It didn't make sense. It couldn't.
Then, amidst the sound of broken breathing and the echo of memory, Will 's voice brought them back to reality.
—Please stop…just stop
"Stop fighting," said the voice of the memory. "Or she'll be your sister."
And then, the disgusting sound of a forced kiss, devoid of tact or love. With the sole purpose of taking something from Will , something Will owed no one.
Mike fell to his knees.
Everything fell into place.
It wasn't just Lonnie .
It wasn't just school. It wasn't just Vecna .
Will had learned from childhood that love hurt.
That being seen was dangerous. That existence had consequences.
Will stopped resisting.
Jonathan couldn't take it anymore.
He advanced towards him, desperate… and this time he did not vanish .
Her hands closed around Will 's shoulders .
—No—he said. —Enough.
Will 's eyes rolled back.
The world broke apart.
The walls dissolved and were replaced by dark vines. Will 's body was trapped again, lianas encircling his torso, his neck, his mouth, squeezing in an almost possessive, strange way. His eyes were bleeding.
" Will !" Max shouted. "Wake up!"
"We're here," Mike said, his voice choked with emotion. "You're not alone. You never were."
"Sorry," Jonathan whispered. "Sorry for not seeing you sooner."
Eleven struggled with the vines, screaming in frustration, until an intangible figure appeared.
Neighbor .
"We're going to do amazing things together, William," she whispered. "You were always mine."
" You are nothing more than my servant, William," she continued. "Mine alone." Vecna caressed his face in a way that seemed inappropriate.
The memory faded.
The vines gave way.
Will fell into Jonathan's arms.
"Is it you...?" he asked, trembling. "Really?"
"Yes," Jonathan replied. "We're all real. It's over now."
Will burst into tears.
"They shouldn't have seen that," she sobbed. "They had no right."
"None of that changes how we see you," Mike tried.
"Shut up, Mike," Will shouted . "You don't know what you're talking about."
And then Eleven got them out of there. She couldn't stand being in that place anymore.
The awakening was brutal.
Will screamed, trembling, blood still staining his eyes. Everyone was exhausted. Joyce was crying. No one knew what to say.
Will 's voice said , for the first time fully present. "I didn't want them to save me."
That was the first thing he said.
There was no trace of the cheerful, motivated, empowered Will , ready to face Vecna . That had broken him.
" Will …" Max tried, taking a step forward. "We couldn't leave you there."
Will spat , his voice cracking but furious. "They had no fucking right to enter my memories. You knew what was in there, Max. You knew. And you didn't care."
"No," Jonathan interjected immediately, desperate. "We had no choice. I couldn't lose you. Not again."
Joyce was already crying openly.
Mike approached slowly, as if any sudden movement might cause Will to crumble even further. Eleven was no longer in the room; she had gone out in search of Hopper. She needed comfort, rest, something to lift her from the burden of having relived Will 's memories … of having seen them.
" Will ," Mike said, his voice trembling. "Nothing changes. We love you. We're with you. No matter what happened, no matter what you went through. We love you. And that's not going to change."
Will interrupted with a shout. "Shut the hell up! I don't want to hear it. Don't try to take responsibility for this from me."
Ah , Max thought.
That's what it's all about.
"What are you talking about?" Mike asked, taken aback.
"I deserved it," Will said , looking down. "All of it. I... you all saw it. Everything that happened was because of my illness."
" Will , no," Jonathan said immediately. "That's not how it is."
"What illness?" Joyce asked, completely lost.
Robin appeared at the door after hearing the commotion.
" Will needs to rest," she said firmly. "And so do you. You can talk later. Right now, he needs space to process what just happened."
"I'm not going to leave him alone," Mike replied without hesitation.
—But I do want to be alone— Will said , his voice weary.
"Honey..." Joyce tried.
—I said I want to be alone.
Robin hesitated for a second before speaking again.
"Perhaps Will would feel more comfortable with someone who... isn't so emotionally involved. It's not safe for you to be completely alone, Will . "
Will looked at her for a moment, exhausted.
—Fine. Stay then. We won't talk. Just… keep watch.
Robin nodded.
-Good.
Joyce was the last to move. She approached the bed with unsteady steps, as if Will could break at the slightest glance. She reached out, hesitated… and let it fall.
"Honey..." he tried.
Will didn't look up.
—Please —he repeated—. Not now.
Joyce nodded, though the expression on her face said that "later" didn't reassure her at all. She left with her shoulders slumped, defeated, carrying with her a guilt she didn't know what to do with.
The door closed.
Robin stayed.
Not because she had the right.
Not because she understood everything. But because Will hadn't kicked her out.
He sat down in a chair against the wall, maintaining a clear, respectful distance. The silence between them was thick, uncomfortable, and real.
Will sat hunched over on the bed, his arms wrapped around his torso as if he still had to protect something vital. The dried blood under his eyes gave him a strange, almost alien appearance, as if he hadn't quite come back yet.
"I'm not going to sleep," she finally said, her voice dull and empty. "So you don't have to pretend everything's okay."
Robin shook his head slowly.
—I'm not faking it.
Will let out a short, broken, humorless laugh.
—That's what everyone said at some point.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't tension. It was truth .
"Am I broken?" he whispered.
" Robin replied without hesitation. "You're hurt. And there's a huge difference."
Will covered his face with his hands.
For the first time since waking up, she cried for real.
Not with anger.
Not with shouting.
With pure exhaustion.
Robin didn't move. She didn't try to comfort him with empty phrases. She didn't touch him.
He stayed.
On the other side of the door, Mike sat on the floor with his back against the wall. His hands were buried in his hair, breathing as if he were still trying to escape something that had crushed him from the inside.
Jonathan plopped down beside her.
Several minutes passed before anyone spoke.
"I thought I knew him," Mike muttered.
Jonathan closed his eyes.
—I thought I was protecting him.
Mike swallowed hard.
"I told him it wasn't my fault he didn't like girls," she added, her voice breaking. "I told him as if it were a harmless truth."
Jonathan gritted his teeth.
"You spoke to him from a safe place," he said. "And Will has never had one."
Mike rested his forehead on his knees.
"I didn't understand why I was so terrified of losing him," she confessed. "I thought it was just... fear. Habit. Friendship."
His voice trembled.
—And now I know it wasn't just that.
Jonathan did not respond, but he did not move away.
Inside the room, Will 's crying gradually subsided, until it became irregular, tired breathing.
Robin was still there.
And for the first time in a long time, Will wasn't completely alone in what he was feeling.
He wasn't cured.
He wasn't well.
But he was alive .
And that, after everything he had carried, was something.