Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

PERCEPTION

STRANGER THINGS: SEASON 1-5

a kiexo fanfic

✘

maggie powell

steve harrington

billy hargrove

and the rest of the stranger things cast as their characters.

✘

WARNINGS

sexual content 

strong language 

toxic relationships

violence

supernatural/ psychic elements mentions 

mentions of death

Chapter Text

The autumn air in Hawkins always carried this crisp bite—enough chill to wake you up, but not enough to make you shiver. I liked to think it was the town’s way of whispering that winter was on its way, even though the leaves still clung to the trees in their rusty, golden colors.

Hawkins isn’t a big place. People here know everything about everyone—but we all pretend we don’t. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I don’t mind it. There’s a safety in familiarity. A rhythm to the quiet. And I guess I’ve always been the girl who fits into that small-town rhythm: fifteen, curious about everything and nothing at the same time. Dad says I have “eyes too big for this town,” but really, I just like noticing things. Like the way the stars look different depending on how cold the night is, or how my cat, Whiskers, chases his tail like he’s unlocking some cosmic secret every time.

“It’s like he’s discovering a whole new world!” I’ll tell Dad, and he just shakes his head like he can’t tell if I’m joking or serious.

Our house isn’t big—a simple two-story at the edge of town. But it’s home. It’s quiet. Sometimes too quiet. Mom’s been gone for years now, and even though I was young when she passed, the house still feels like it remembers her.

It’s just me and Dad now—Officer Calvin Powell. One of Hopper’s guys. He’s… strict. Loving, but definitely the overprotective type. Always ruffling my hair and saying:

“Stay out of trouble, kiddo.”

Trouble. As if trouble ever wanted anything to do with me.

That Sunday evening, I was at the Wheeler’s house with Nancy—my best friend since forever. We were sprawled across her bed with open textbooks, though the studying part had mostly dissolved into laughing at inside jokes.

I stared hopelessly at the algebra problems in front of me and groaned dramatically.
“How does algebra even work in real life? Like, am I going to be at the grocery store going, ‘Excuse me, how many apples equal x?’”

Nancy laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless, Mags.” She glanced at the clock. "Hey, the boys are still downstairs playing that weird game. Dungeons & something?"

Downstairs, I could hear shouting—Mike’s frantic voice, Lucas’s dramatic protests, Dustin’s laughter.

The boys were deep into their game.

“Dungeons & Dragons,” I said knowingly. “They’re screaming about wizards and demons. It actually sounds pretty fun.”

And honestly? The idea of a magical world beyond Hawkins? Yeah. That sounded exciting.

We were halfway through pretending to study when Mrs. Wheeler called up the stairs:

“Maggie! Your father phoned. He wants you home before it gets too dark!”

I rolled my eyes and stood, grabbing my bag.
“See? Sheltered life. I should come with a ‘Handle with Care’ label.”

Nancy gave me a sympathetic smile. She knows how Dad is.

I hugged her and teased:
“See you tomorrow. And don’t let Steve Harrington ruin your GPA.”

Nancy blushed bright red.
“Shut up!”

I left laughing.

Biking home beneath the flickering streetlights, I hummed a song from the radio. The sky was wide and dark and full of stars—the real kind, not the invisible ones people say are “out there somewhere.”

That’s when it happened.

It wasn’t a dream. Not even close. I was wide awake, still pedaling toward home when the air suddenly shifted—colder than November had any right to be. My breath came out in a white cloud, like I’d biked straight into winter.

And then I saw it.

Wet asphalt glistening beneath a lonely streetlamp. A bicycle lying on its side, tires spinning in the air like it was still trying to escape. I heard heavy breathing—ragged, panicked—and it wasn’t mine.

Something moved through the trees.

No, not moved. Loped. Its legs were too long, too bent, wrong in every possible way. And the face—God, the face wasn’t a face at all. It opened like a flower made of knives and teeth.

I screamed, or I think I did. My own voice sounded miles away.

The vision snapped shut as fast as it came. I was back in the middle of the street, shaking, clutching my cross necklace so hard it dug into my palm. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break out.

I didn’t know what I’d seen. I didn’t know what it meant.
All I knew was that I was terrified.

I hopped back onto my bike and pedaled faster, wind whipping past my ears as if something might still be behind me.

I didn’t stop until I reached home.

I burst through the front door so hard the little stained-glass window in it rattled. Whiskers shot out from under the couch like I’d stepped on his tail, and I slammed the deadbolt behind me with shaking fingers.

“Mags?” Dad’s voice came from the kitchen, low and surprised. “That you?”

I couldn’t answer yet. My lungs burned. The cross necklace had left a perfect red imprint in my palm.

He appeared in the doorway wearing his undershirt and uniform pants, the top button still undone from where he’d started changing after his shift. The worry lines around his eyes deepened the second he saw my face.

“Jesus, kiddo, you’re white as a sheet.” He crossed the room in two strides and cupped my cheeks like he used to when I was little and had nightmares about monsters under the bed. “What happened? Did somebody—did a car—?”

I shook my head too fast. “No. No one. I just… I got scared.” The words felt flimsy the moment they left my mouth. *I got scared* didn’t cover it. *I saw something that shouldn’t exist* was closer, but I couldn’t say that. Not to Dad.

He studied me for a long second, the way only cops can—like he was trying to decide if I was lying or just shaken up. Then he pulled me into one of his bear hugs. He smelled like coffee and the station’s terrible soap.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered into my hair. “Come on. Cocoa. Now.”

I let him steer me into the kitchen even though I was fifteen and technically too old for being tucked under his arm like a toddler. The familiar smell of the room—cinnamon, lemon polish, the faint gun-oil scent that never quite left his hands—started to thaw the ice inside my chest.

He sat me on a stool and clattered around with the milk and the Hershey’s syrup. I watched his back, the way his shoulders were still tense, like he was waiting for me to tell him the real story.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“Do you… do you ever get feelings? Like… bad feelings about something and you don’t know why?”

He paused with the spoon halfway to the pot. “All the time,” he said quietly. “Comes with the badge.”

“No, I mean—” I swallowed. “Like something’s watching you. Something that doesn’t belong here.”

The spoon stilled. When he turned around his face was careful, too careful. “Maggie.”

“I know, I know. ‘No nonsense.’ I’m not making it up, I swear.”

He set the cocoa in front of me and rested both hands on the counter, leaning in. “Listen to me. This town’s got enough real things to be afraid of—drunk drivers, break-ins, kids sneaking beers behind the quarry. We don’t need to borrow trouble from… from anywhere else.” His voice dropped. “You hear me?”

I nodded, throat tight.

“Good girl.” He ruffled my hair like everything was settled. “Now drink up and head to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

I sipped the cocoa. It was too hot and too sweet, exactly the way he always made it when I was upset. My hands stopped shaking.

But the thing was still there, behind my eyes. Petals and teeth. Wet road. A bicycle wheel spinning itself to a stop.

Later, in bed with the lights off because Dad had already checked twice, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the house settle. Somewhere far away an owl called. Wind rattled the gutters.

The air in my room got colder.

I pulled the quilt up to my chin and didn’t sleep.

Not even a little.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed like tired bees, and the air smelled like floor wax and too much Aqua Net. I was hugging my books to my chest, trying to keep up with Nancy and Barb while pretending I wasn’t still hearing that wet, ragged breathing from last night every time the hallway got too quiet.

Barb was mid-rant about her chemistry quiz when Nancy suddenly stopped in front of her locker. Her cheeks went the color of the strawberry lip gloss she’d started wearing last month.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, clutching a tiny folded square of notebook paper like it was the Declaration of Independence. “He gave me a note.”

Barb adjusted her glasses and gave Nancy the most unimpressed look in the history of unimpressed looks. “A note. Like we’re in sixth grade.”

I leaned in, curiosity buzzing louder than the lights. “What does it say, what does it say?”

Nancy unfolded it with trembling fingers. In Steve’s messy boy-scrawl it read:

Meet me by the gym after 7th period? – S ♡

I squealed. “Nancy Wheeler, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington just drew a heart next to his initial! This is historic!”

Barb rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they’d get stuck. “It’s probably about homework.”

Nancy bit her lip, trying (and failing) to hide her smile. “It’s not homework. He winked at me in trig.”

“He winks at vending machines,” Barb muttered.

I elbowed her gently. “Barb, let the girl have her moment.”

Nancy looked at me with those big hopeful eyes. “Do you think I should go?”

“Obviously,” I said at the exact same time Barb said, “Absolutely not.”

We both stared at each other. I laughed first. “Okay, counteroffer: you go, but we tail you from a safe distance like the world’s worst spy movie. If he tries anything creepy, I’ll throw my algebra book at his head.”

Barb snorted. “You’d miss and hit Tommy H.”

“Worth it,” I grinned.

Nancy clutched the note to her chest again. “You guys are the best. Seriously. I’d be a total wreck without you.”

I bumped her shoulder with mine. “You’re gonna be fine. And if he’s a jerk, we’ll just tell my dad. Last week he made a jaywalker cry.”

Barb finally cracked a smile. “I’d pay to see Steve Harrington cry.”

The bell rang, shrill and awful. We scattered toward our separate classes, but not before I caught Nancy sneaking one more look at that little folded square of paper, her face glowing like Christmas morning.

As I walked to English, I felt this fizzy little spark in my chest. Nancy was stepping out of her perfect-good-girl box, and I was… well, I was happy to cheer from the sidelines. That’s what best friends do, right? We hold the flashlight while the other person jumps off the cliff.

✘

My room smells like vanilla and the cinnamon candle I forgot to blow out earlier. The fairy lights are still on, a soft gold net of gold over Whiskers curled on my pillow like nothing in the world was wrong, the stacks of library books, the cat-print comforter, the polaroids of me and Nancy tacked above my desk. I’m burrowed under two blankets, flashlight balanced on my knee, totally lost in a story about a girl who finds handprints on the inside of her bedroom mirror.

Then the floorboards creak, heavy and deliberate. Dad’s footsteps. Not the usual shuffle of him coming to tell me lights-out; this is fast, purposeful.

I click the flashlight off and sit up just as my door cracks open.

He’s already in uniform, badge glinting under the fairy lights, radio clipped to his belt. His face looks… wrong. Tired and tight, like he’s holding something behind his teeth.

“Daddy?” My voice comes out smaller than I meant it to.

He tries to smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, pumpkin. Go back to sleep, okay?”

I clutch the ghost-story book to my chest like a shield. “Is something wrong?”

“Just some neighborhood trouble,” he says, too quick. He steps in, rests a big hand on my shoulder, squeezes once. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

But I feel it in the way his fingers tremble, just a little. I know that tremor; it’s the same one he had the night Mom got really sick.

He leans down, presses a kiss to the top of my head like I’m still eight years old. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back before breakfast.”

Then he’s gone, footsteps retreating, the jangle of keys, the front door clicking shut.

I’m out of bed before I can talk myself out of it. Bare feet on cold hardwood, I pad to the window and pull the curtain aside.

Red and blue lights strobe across the cul-de-sac. Dad’s cruiser idles behind Hopper’s beat-up Blazer. Hopper himself is leaning out the driver-side window, saying something I can’t hear. Dad nods once, sharp, then slides into his car.

They pull away together, tires hissing on wet leaves, lights painting the neighbors’ houses like silent fireworks.

A cold wind slips through the cracked window and crawls straight down my spine. I didn’t leave that window open.

I hug my arms around myself, staring at the empty street long after the glow of their taillights disappears.

Last night I’d seen a monster chase someone down Mirkwood.

Tonight the police were racing toward Mirkwood.

And for the first time in my whole sheltered life, Hawkins doesn’t feel safe anymore.

Chapter Text

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I saw red-blue police lights spinning across my ceiling like some awful disco and the breathing started again, wet and hungry, right outside the window. I’d jerk awake clutching my cross necklace so hard the chain cut into my neck. By the time the sun finally came up, I was already dressed, spooning soggy Cheerios into my mouth while Dad shuffled in the back door still wearing yesterday’s uniform.

He looked like he’d been dragged through the woods backward. There was mud on his boots and a scratch on his cheek he wouldn’t talk about.

“Morning, pumpkin,” he mumbled, kissing my forehead on his way to the coffee pot.

“Did you find him?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Dad’s shoulders stiffened. “We’re still looking.” He tried another one of those plastic smiles. “You just worry about school, okay?”

I wanted to push, but the way his hand shook when he lifted the mug stopped me. So I just nodded and grabbed my backpack.

Nancy was waiting at the corner like always, but she looked as wrecked as I felt. Dark circles, hair in a messy ponytail instead of her perfect one.

“Will’s still gone,” she whispered as soon as I reached her. “Mike didn’t come home until, like, four a.m. Mom is freaking out.”

My stomach dropped. “Mike was out looking?”

“With Dustin and Lucas. They think something… bad happened.”

We walked the rest of the way to school in silence, the kind that feels heavy instead of peaceful.

The hallway smelled like cafeteria tater tots and despair. Barb was drilling Nancy with chemistry flash cards when Steve Harrington appeared out of nowhere, snatched the cards, and grinned like the world wasn’t falling apart ten miles away.

“Hey!” Barb yelped.

Steve Harrington spun the stack like a deck of playing cards, that lazy grin already in place. “Molar mass? Sounds boring. You girls like you should be studying something way more interesting tonight.”

Tommy H. barked a laugh behind him, Carol draped over his shoulder. “Yeah, like how fast King Steve can get Nancy Wheeler out of that sweater.”

I felt my cheeks burn for Nancy, but she just rolled her eyes, half-flattered, half-mortified.

Steve ignored them and looked straight at Nancy. “Small get-together at my place tonight. Parents are in Chicago. Just a few people. You in?”

Nancy hesitated, glancing at me and Barb. Barb’s lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line I knew way too well.

I opened my mouth to say something painfully polite that would only make Tommy laugh harder, but then I saw him.

Jonathan Byers, alone by the bulletin board, taping up another MISSING poster. Will’s school picture stared out from the center, bowl cut and shy smile. Jonathan’s hands were shaking.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

“Hold on, guys,” I mumbled, already walking away.

Steve was still talking, but his voice faded behind me as I reached Jonathan.

“Hey… Jonathan.”

He startled, then tried to give me a brave smile that wobbled at the edges. “Oh. Hey, Maggie.”

I touched one of the posters gently, like it might bruise. “I’m really sorry about Will. My dad’s out there right now with Hopper. They’re not gonna stop looking, okay?”

Jonathan nodded too fast. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His eyes were red. I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t know if that was weird, so I just stood there feeling useless.

Behind me I heard footsteps. Nancy appeared at my elbow, voice soft. “I’m sorry too, Jonathan. If there’s anything we can do…”

Jonathan managed half a shrug. “Just… keep an eye out, I guess.”

The bell screamed overhead, shrill and awful. Lockers slammed. The river of students surged around us.

Nancy squeezed my arm. “We should go.”

I looked back once as we walked away. Jonathan was already taping up another poster, alone again.

And the guilt sat in my stomach like spoiled milk: hot and sour and impossible to ignore.

If I tell, they’ll think I’m crazy.

Barb caught up to us, arms crossed tight. “So are we actually going to Prince Charming’s party, or are we gonna be sane human beings?”

Nancy bit her lip, eyes flicking toward Steve waiting by the water fountain, spinning Barb’s stolen flash cards on one finger.

I sighed. “We’re going.”

Barb groaned.

Chapter Text

Dad was gone again before dinner, radio crackling about “expanding the search grid.” I left a plate of meatloaf in the microwave with a note that said I was at Nancy’s studying. A tiny white lie. He’d lose his mind if he knew I was going to King Steve’s empty mansion.

Barb’s mom’s volkswagen smelled like stale cigarettes and the strawberry air freshener that never quite won the fight. Barb picked me up first, then Nancy, who slid into the front seat already fidgeting with her hair.

Three blocks from Steve’s house, Nancy suddenly grabbed the dash. “Pull over here.”

Barb braked harder than necessary. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want the neighbors seeing the car,” Nancy muttered, already digging in her bag for the outfit she’d hidden.

I sat in the back, knees pulled to my chest, watching them argue through the rear-view mirror.

“He just wants to get in your pants, Nancy,” Barb said, voice flat.

Nancy rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

Barb looked at me like I was supposed to back her up. I opened my mouth, closed it again. Because Barb wasn’t wrong. Steve wasn’t evil or anything—he’d once helped me carry groceries when my bike chain snapped—but he wasn’t who I pictured when I thought about the kind of guy Nancy deserved. And lately she laughed louder, wore tighter sweaters, stayed out later. I couldn’t tell if Steve was changing her or if she was just… leaving the old version of herself behind and taking me with her.

Nancy wriggled into a different top right there in the front seat. I glanced down at my own corduroy skirt and the cat sweater Mom knitted me three Christmases ago. I looked like a librarian who got lost on the way to a slumber party.

We walked the last three blocks listening to the bass thump grow louder. When Steve opened the door, his smile went straight to Nancy like the rest of us were furniture.

Steve’s house was ridiculous, huge, all glass and perfect furniture that looked like nobody ever sat on it. 

The “small get-together” was exactly five people and a lot of beer. Tommy and Carol were already loud and wet from the second we stepped onto the patio. Steve kept trying tricks—flipping bottle caps into cups, telling stories everyone had heard a hundred times—eyes flicking to Nancy every time to see if she was impressed.

I tried to make it fun. “Look, if we clink these together hard enough maybe they’ll turn into root beer.”

Barb laughed once, then stared at the dark trees past the fence. “Something feels wrong tonight, Mags.”

I was about to answer when Nancy came stumbling back out, giggling, Steve’s arm slung around her shoulders.

Then came the shotgun thing. Nancy actually did it, coughing and laughing while beer foam ran down her chin. Steve whooped like she’d won the Olympics. When they turned to Barb, I saw her whole face shut down.

Barb fumbled the tab, sliced her thumb. Blood welled bright and sudden.

“I’ve got it,” I said quickly, steering her inside before anyone could make fun of her.

Steve’s bathroom was too clean, like a hotel. I wet paper towels while Barb leaned against the counter, pale.

“You okay?” I asked.

She stared at the cut. “I just want to go home.”

She looked so small in the mirror. So scared.

I stepped out for barely thirty seconds—curiosity pulling me toward Steve’s room. Steve Harrington’s bedroom was basically a museum exhibit of rich-boy mystery. Trophies, Farrah Fawcett hairspray, a stack of Playboys he definitely thought were hidden. I drifted to the window.

Down by the pool everyone was splashing, laughing. Then something moved in the bushes beyond the fence.

“Maggie?” Barb called, voice thin.

When I turned back she was already heading for the door.

By the time I got downstairs, Nancy was following Steve up to his room. Barb stood at the bottom of the stairs calling after her, soft and hurt.

“Nance, come on. Let’s just go.”

Nancy looked down at us, cheeks flushed, hair messy. “You guys can go, if you want. I’ll get a ride later.”

I felt it like a slap. Barb’s eyes filled, but she blinked it away fast.

We ended up on the edge of the pool, shoes off, legs dangling in the cold water. Barb talked about fourth grade, about the fort we built in my backyard, about how everything used to feel safe. I nodded along.

Her cut had started bleeding again. A single drop slid off her finger and bloomed scarlet in the underwater lights.

“I’ll get napkins,” I said, hopping up.

When I got into the kitchen, it happened again.

The air around me went cold—colder than outside, colder than the water.
The kitchen lights above my head flickered once, twice, then dimmed.

I blinked and I was back at the pool’s edge.

Except I wasn’t alone.

Something wrapped around my ankles. Strong. Icy. Wrong.
I was yanked down—water swallowing me whole—but when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the pool anymore.

I was somewhere else.

Somewhere I recognized from the other night.

Dark. Silent. Endless. A place where the sky didn’t exist and the air tasted like metal.

I screamed for help.
I screamed for Nancy.

Nothing answered.

I blinked again—and reality slammed back in.

I staggered, gripping the counter, heart clawing its way up my throat. I snatched the paper towels and ran outside.

When I came back out Barb was gone. Glasses folded neatly on the tile. One sneaker on its side like she’d just stepped out of it.

“Barb?”

Nothing.

I checked the pool—clear water, nobody on the bottom. I ran the perimeter yelling her name until my throat tasted like copper.

The pool lights flickered. The yard stretched farther than it should have, black trees leaning in like they were listening.

I bolted inside. “Nancy! Steve! Barb’s gone!”

No answer. Music still pounded. I took the stairs two at a time and shoved open Steve’s bedroom door without knocking.

Steve was shirtless, on top of Nancy, her sweater off. They both froze.

I didn’t even feel embarrassed—just cold, sharp terror.

“Barb’s gone,” I said again, voice cracking like thin ice.

They thought I was drunk or joking until they saw my face. Then we all ran back out, calling her name until our throats were raw.

Nothing.

Just the wind, and somewhere far away, a dog barking like it had seen a ghost.

We searched the house, the yard, the street. Her car still sat three blocks away, doors locked.

Steve drove us home in the BMW, heat blasting, nobody speaking. Nancy stared out the window with wet eyes. I sat in the back again, knees to my chest, watching streetlights slide over the glass like police flashers.

When he pulled up to my house I didn’t say thank you. I just got out and walked inside without looking back.

Dad’s cruiser wasn’t in the driveway.

I locked the door behind me, every light in the house blazing, and sat on the stairs with the phone in my lap. I called Barb’s house. No answer. I called Nancy. Her mom said she was already asleep.

Two people missing now.

Chapter Text

I felt like everything was happening because of me—like I had something to do with the disappearance of Will Byers and Barbara Holland. The visions I’d been having felt too real, too vivid, like memories instead of dreams. They were eating me alive from the inside out. I had no one to tell, no one who would understand, but I kept hoping that today… maybe Barb would show up at school. Maybe all of this was just some strange, twisted nightmare.

So that morning, I woke up and I prayed. I prayed Barb was alive. That she was safe. That Will Byers would come home. That nothing bad—nothing like what I’d seen—had happened to them.

I slid into the seat beside Nancy in chemistry. She smelled like the same strawberry shampoo, but everything felt different.

“Have you heard anything?” she whispered the second I sat down. “About Barb?”

I swallowed hard.
This was Nancy—my best friend, the person I trusted more than anyone. If I didn’t tell her, who would I tell? So I did. I told her everything. 

“Nance…” I whispered, leaning closer so no one else would hear. “I need to tell you something. And you can’t laugh. Or think I’m crazy.”

Her eyes softened. “Mags, what is it?”

“I’ve been seeing things.” My voice wavered. “Not like dreams… more like—like flashes. Visions.”

Nancy blinked. “Visions?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “I see Barb’s. And Will. I don’t know where he is, but I feel something pulling me to him. It all feels real, Nancy. Too real.”

She frowned, confusion replacing concern. “Maggie… you were just scared that night. You’re stressed. Anyone would be.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I feel it. Something’s wrong. Something happened to them. I know it.”

Nancy lowered her voice, glancing around. “You sound like you’re having nightmares. That’s all.”

“It’s not a nightmare!” I whispered harshly. 

“You’re not listening. I’m telling you something is wrong with me, or with this town, or—”

“Maggie…” She reached out like she was soothing a child. “You’re scaring yourself for no reason. You don’t have visions. You’re just overwhelmed.”

I stared at her, stunned. “So you think I’m making it up?”

She just stared at me, brows pulled together. Then she shook her head.

“I think you’re emotional,” she said gently. “And maybe a little… confused. People imagine things when they’re stressed.”

Hearing that felt like a punch. She didn’t believe me. She didn’t even try to. She brushed off the way my voice broke, the way my hands shook, like I was being dramatic or… losing it.

Then—just like that—she changed the subject.

“Do you think I made a mistake sleeping with Steve?” she whispered, eyes darting around the room.

I blinked at her, completely blindsided. My best friend had just lost her virginity, my other friend was missing, and I was having visions that made me question my sanity.
The whole world felt like it was collapsing, and Nancy was talking about Steve.

Barb was gone and Nancy had been upstairs letting Steve Harrington take her sweater off.

I kept seeing Barb’s glasses folded on the pool tile. The single red drop in the water.

Nancy finally noticed my face. She could tell I was angry. I ignored her question, biting back the first thousand harsh words that came to mind. How could she even ask me that right now? How could she act like this was about her?

“Maggie, please,” she said, voice cracking. “I know you’re upset—”

“Upset?” I laughed, and it came out sharp. “Barb is missing, Nancy. Missing. And you were—”

I couldn’t even say it. I just gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, like Steve’s bedroom was floating somewhere above the school.

Nancy’s face went scarlet. “I didn’t know she was going to disappear! I feel awful, okay? I barely slept—”

“Good,” I snapped, then immediately hated myself for it.

The teacher interrupted us, telling us to stop talking and pay attention, but I couldn’t. My head was full of Barb—the visions, the fear, the guilt.

“That’s not fair,” Nancy whispered, her eyes shimmering.

“None of this is fair, Nancy. Barb’s mom called my house at six a.m. asking if I’d heard from her. She still thinks Barb slept over.”

Nancy reached for my arm. I moved back.

“I’m going to the police station after school,” I said. “To tell them exactly what happened. All of it. Even the part where we were drinking and you decided hooking up was more important than your best friend.”

“Mags—”

“Don’t.” My voice cracked on the word. “Just… don’t.”

✘

At lunch I didn’t even look for our usual table. I found Jonathan instead, sitting alone in the courtyard with a sandwich he wasn’t eating.

“Hey,” I said, dropping onto the bench across from him. “Mind if I hide here?”

He gave me the tiniest half-smile. “Misery loves company?”

“Something like that.”

We didn’t talk much. We didn’t have to. It felt good just to sit with someone who wasn’t pretending everything was fine.

When the bell rang we walked back inside together. That’s when I saw Nancy at the popular table, laughing at something Tommy said, Steve’s arm slung casually across the back of her chair like nothing had happened.

My stomach twisted so hard I almost threw up my peanut-butter sandwich right there in the hallway.

✘

Jonathan was walking towards his car. I was halfway to him when Steve and his pack of hyenas cut us off.

Tommy smirked. “Well, well, Creepy Byers and Little Miss Perfect. Cute couple.”

I stepped forward. “Back off, Tommy.”

Steve ignored me, eyes on Jonathan. “Got something you wanna share with the class, Byers?”

Before I could blink, Steve had me by the elbow—firm, not rough, but enough to move me aside like I weighed nothing—and Tommy ripped Jonathan’s camera bag off his shoulder.

“Give it back!” I yelled, lunging.

Steve’s grip tightened. “Relax, Maggie.”

Tommy dumped the bag. Photos spilled across the pavement like confetti.

That’s when I realized: Jonathan had been there that night. Hiding in the trees with his camera.

Nancy came running up, breathless. “What’s going on?”

Steve picked up one picture and held it high. It was Nancy in his bedroom window, sweater halfway over her head, laughing.

The courtyard went dead quiet.

Carol snatched another photo and squealed. “Oh my God, is that Barb by the pool?”

My knees almost buckled. There she was—Barb sitting near the pool, blood on her hand, looking straight down into the water like she was begging someone to see her.

Jonathan had seen everything.

And he hadn’t said a word.

Steve’s face twisted—something ugly flickering behind the cocky grin—and he lifted the camera high.

“Don’t—” Jonathan started.

Steve let it fall. It hit the ground with a sickening crack. Pieces scattered.

I dropped to my knees without thinking, gathering the broken camera and the torn photos. My fingers shook so hard I could barely hold them.

Nancy’s voice cracked behind me. “Steve, stop it!”

But he was already walking away, Tommy and Carol laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d seen all year.

Jonathan crouched beside me, silent, face white.

I looked up at Nancy. She was crying, arms wrapped around herself. I didn’t have anything gentle left for her.

I stood up, clutching the ruined pictures to my chest, and walked away with Jonathan.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning the whole town heard the news: they’d pulled a body from the quarry. Will Byers. Drowned. Case closed.

But I still couldn’t help it—something in me twisted wrong. Will wasn’t dead. I could feel it. Like a pulse under my skin, faint but constant, insisting he was still out there somewhere.

Joyce screamed so loud on the police scanner that Dad had to turn it off.

I was in the car when Hopper carried Joyce out of the morgue. She was kicking and clawing and calling him a liar. I’d never seen my dad look so old.

Dad was dropping me off at the Wheelers’.

I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

The house felt too big and too quiet. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Barb’s face in that photograph, like she was still waiting for me to come back with the napkins.

Nancy answered the door in an oversized sweater, eyes red and puffy. She looked like she hadn’t slept either.

For a second we just stared at each other on the porch, wind whipping dead leaves around our ankles.

Then she stepped aside without a word and I followed her upstairs.

We sat on the floor of her bedroom like we were ten again, knees almost touching. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t angry anymore. It was scared.

I pulled the photograph out of my jacket pocket—the one I’d stayed up half the night piecing together with Scotch tape. Barb near the pool, blood on her hand, pool lights glowing.

Nancy’s breath hitched when I handed it to her.

“Nance…” I whispered. “She’s my only friend. Besides you. Besides Dad. I—” My voice broke. “I didn’t have anyone else to tell.”

Nancy wiped her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, small and fragile. “I should’ve listened. I was… I was scared. And I made it about me. I’m sorry, Mags.”

I nodded. I knew that feeling too well—fear swallowing logic whole.

“And after class yesterday,” she continued, “I went back to Steve’s. To look for Barb.”
 Her eyes filled again.
“She wasn’t there. But… Maggie, I saw something. Something like what you described. In the trees. In the shadows. It looked—wrong.”

Then she suggested something I hadn’t expected:
“Jonathan was there that night. He might’ve seen something. Something that can help us find Barb.”

She left for the Byers’ house. I couldn’t sit still, so I walked back to school.

The chemicals smelled sharp and familiar. I filled a tray with water, laid the taped-together photo in it, and waited.

The colors started to bleed. Then something else bled through.

A shape. Tall. Long arms. No face. Just a mouth that opened like a flower made of teeth.

Exactly like what I’d seen in my vision.

It was standing right behind Barb in the picture, half-hidden by the diving board shadow.

My hands shook so hard the water sloshed over the edge.

I didn’t hear the door open behind me.

“Maggie?”

Nancy’s voice. Jonathan right beside her, carrying a grocery bag full of who-knows-what.

I couldn’t speak. I just lifted the dripping photo with trembling fingers.

Nancy made a small, wounded sound. Jonathan’s face went pale.

“That’s what Mom saw,” he said quietly. “In the wall. And the lights.”

Nancy stepped closer, eyes wide. “I saw it too. Behind Steve’s house…”

I looked between them—Nancy with her fierce, determined chin and Jonathan with that quiet steadiness—and something clicked.

These two belonged together in the end-of-the-world kind of way.

I swallowed hard.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

Nancy met my eyes.

“We find her,” she said.

Jonathan nodded once.

“And if that thing is still there?” I whispered.

Jonathan swallowed. “Then we catch it. On film. On anything. We need proof.”

Nancy straightened. “And we need weapons.”

I blinked. “Weapons?”

She gave me a tight, fierce smile.
 “Yeah. If we’re going looking for monsters, we’re not going unprepared.”

Jonathan looked between us, surprised but impressed. “Then we move fast. Before it takes someone else.”

A tremor crawled up my spine.

Because somewhere—close, too close—I could feel it again.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

The funeral for Will Byers was on a Tuesday, gray and cold enough that the ground refused to take the casket nicely. Everyone wore black like it was a uniform. I stood between Dad and Nancy, clutching a single white carnation so hard the stem snapped.

Joyce didn’t cry. She just stared at the hole in the ground like she was waiting for it to give her son back. Jonathan looked hollowed-out. 

Dad kept a hand on my shoulder the whole time, thumb rubbing the same small circle he used to do when I had nightmares after Mom died. I wanted to lean into it, but I couldn’t. Because the casket was wrong. Too small. Too final.

The pastor droned on, voice dipped in sadness and static. The wind tugged at the tent, snapping the corners like impatient fingers. People sniffled. Someone coughed. A baby cried in the back.

My breath hitched. I blinked hard, clutching the broken carnation like it could anchor me to reality.

Nancy noticed first. “Mags?” she whispered, brushing her arm against mine. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly, even though my pulse was thudding in my throat.
I wasn’t okay.
Nothing about this was okay.

When the pastor finally said, “May he rest in eternal peace,” the entire crowd seemed to exhale at once. The wind blew harder, scattering dead leaves across the grass. One spiraled up, brushing against Joyce’s cheek. She didn’t flinch.

People started stepping forward to drop flowers onto the casket. Karen Wheeler. Mr. Clarke. A whole line of neighbors.

Nancy took a shaky breath and placed a white rose inside.

My turn.

I stepped forward and stared at the casket, waiting for a vision, for the darkness to spill out. But all I saw was polished wood and a brass plaque.

I placed the carnation on top.

The moment it left my fingers, a cold shock shot through my arm—like icy water rushing up my veins. The world flickered again. Once. Twice. Like a film reel skipping frames.

Then I heard it.

A whisper.
So soft I almost mistook it for wind sliding through the grass.

Maggie…

I jerked back, heart slamming, eyes darting to Nancy—who looked at me with worry twisting her mouth—then to Jonathan, who seemed frozen mid-breath, staring at the casket with a strange expression.

As if he’d heard something too.

Before I could ask, the pastor called for everyone to bow their heads. Dad squeezed my shoulder gently, grounding me, but the chill under my skin wouldn’t fade.

When the service ended, people broke into small groups, whispering condolences or pulling their coats tighter against the cold.

Joyce didn’t move.

Nancy exhaled shakily beside me.
“Do you think she knows?” she whispered.
“Knows what?” I croaked.

Nancy’s eyes flicked toward the cemetery road where Joyce and Jonathan disappeared.
“That he’s… still out there?”

I swallowed hard.
“Yes.”

We stood there until Dad cleared his throat softly and told me it was time to go.

But as we walked toward the car, the whisper echoed again—
faint, distant, like it was slipping through a crack between worlds.

✘

Jonathan, Nancy, and I planned to go into the woods tonight.

Dad would murder me if he knew I was sneaking out.

I had a flashlight, a kitchen knife I stole from the drawer, and a heart that wouldn’t stop jack-hammering against my ribs. Nobody spoke at first. The road hummed beneath the tires.

I pressed my fingers to the taped-together photo in my pocket. I kept seeing it — that… thing lurking in the shadows behind Barb. My skin crawled every time.

Nancy finally broke the silence.

“We’re not telling Steve,” she said, voice firm but trembling. “He’ll think we’re insane.”

I snorted quietly. “Steve already thinks everyone is insane except himself.”

Jonathan allowed a tiny huff of amusement, which felt like a miracle given the circumstances.

We turned onto Mirkwood Road — the trees pressed close on either side like they wanted to snuff out the headlights.

Jonathan slowed the car. “This is where Will disappeared.”

Nancy shivered. I leaned forward, my hand resting on the back of her seat.

“What… exactly are we looking for?”

Jonathan squeezed the wheel. “Tracks. Breaks in the brush. Anything.”

Jonathan killed the engine near the clearing.

We stepped out — leaves crunching under our boots — silence loud in our ears.

The trees were tall and skeletal, branches clacking like bones overhead. My breath puffed white in the air.

“It feels wrong here,” Nancy murmured.

Jonathan nodded. “Mom said she heard Will. Through the walls.”

“Through the walls?” I echoed.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Like he was somewhere close… but not here.”

A flutter of fear crawled up my spine, settling behind my ribcage.

I whispered, “Like he was trapped in a place we couldn’t see.”

Nancy swung the light toward the ground. “Look.”

We hurried over.

A deer lay in the leaves, barely alive, blood matting its neck. It struggled for breath, eyes wide and terrified.

“Oh my God,” Nancy whispered, stepping closer.

Snap.

Something jerked the deer so violently it disappeared into the shadows as if ripped out of the world.

I stumbled backwards with a yelp. Nancy gasped. Jonathan swore under his breath.

We stood frozen.

There were footprints — not shoe prints — something deeper. Wider. Three-toed.
 Like a bird.
A gigantic, monstrous bird.

Except no bird leaves indentations like that unless the earth is fleeing from it.

“That’s… not human.” I whispered 

Nancy stopped at a huge, rotting oak, its trunk split open like something had punched through from the other side. The air around it felt… thin. Like if you pressed your hand against it, your fingers might slip through into somewhere else.

Jonathan and I followed a trail of slimy residue leading away from the clearing. It glistened like oil in the flashlight beam.

Then—

“Nancy?” Jonathan called.
 Silence.
 No crunching leaves.
 No breathing.
 Nothing.

Panic exploded in my chest. I felt it—the cold rush, the world tilting. The vision slammed into me so hard my knees buckled.

Jonathan grabbed my arm, steadying me. “Maggie? What’s wrong?”

And then I saw it.

A tall, flower-faced monster crouched over the deer, tearing into it.
Its head snapped up—
its petal-like jaws dripping—
its faceless gaze finding me.

It lunged.

I gasped and snapped back into reality, chest heaving, vision swimming.

Nancy.
She was inside that other place.

I spun toward Jonathan, gripping his shirt. “Nancy’s in danger—she’s in there!”

“Nancy!” he shouted into the trees.

And then, faintly—

“Jonathan?!”

Her voice.
Thin. Echoing. Wrong.

Jonathan bolted toward the oak. I followed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape.

“Follow my voice, Nance!” Jonathan yelled.

I dove into the hollow of the tree. The air inside was cold and thin, like breathing metal. I crawled, my palms sliding through sticky residue. The world twisted, colors bending, the smell of rot thick in my throat.

This was it.
The place from my visions.
The place I’d seen Barb.
The place Will was trapped.

“Nancy!” I screamed.

She burst from behind a tree—hair wild, eyes huge with terror—and sprinted toward us.

Jonathan grabbed my arm, yanking me out first. I tumbled onto the forest floor. Then he reached in again and pulled Nancy through right as something behind her snarled, the sound slicing through the air like broken glass.

Nancy collapsed into the leaves, gasping. Jonathan dropped to his knees beside her.

We reached the car in an eternity that lasted maybe ten seconds.

Jonathan unlocked the door. Nancy scrambled in first. I slid in beside her. Jonathan started the car so fast the engine squealed.

Nancy reached back and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were icy.

“We’re not crazy,” she whispered.

Chapter Text

I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Barb. I saw Will. I kept wondering if they were alive, if they were safe, if they were calling out to me again. So many questions — zero answers. 

Before meeting Nancy and Jonathan, I needed to get myself together, which meant… church.

Dad was in the kitchen making breakfast, humming like he wasn’t part of the world’s biggest supernatural cover-up.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m… busy today.”
 Lying. Again. Great. “Church first. Then a movie with Nancy.”

He smiled. “Good. You kids should relax.”

Relax? In this Hawkins?
I almost laughed.

At church, I prayed to Mother Mary longer than usual, probably making her uncomfortable. Then I went to confession.

The second I sat down, everything poured out.

“I’m seeing things. Like— really terrifying things. People disappearing. Creatures. Dead stuff. Alive stuff. Stuff that should be dead but is somehow alive—”

“Slow down, my child,” the priest said gently.

“Right. Sorry. Basically… I think something terrible is happening in Hawkins. And I don’t know why I can see it. Or why it feels like it’s watching me back.”

He told me to pray. Repent. Trust in God.

But none of it helped. None of it touched the panic building in my chest. I was falling apart more every day. 

Leaving the church, I headed to the hunting store to meet Nancy and Jonathan.

Nancy looked exhausted — same as me. “No sleep?” I asked. She shook her head. “I’m trying to figure out how to catch this thing.” 

She explained her theory about the deer last night — how the monster hunts like a predator, solitary, drawn by blood. She wanted to test it. 

While Jonathan paid for the supplies, I stared out the window. Something was coming for Hawkins. Something was already here. And everything about this place felt wrong. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Nancy said, grabbing one bag while Jonathan picked up another. I carried the third. 

Honestly, I had no idea what half of this stuff was supposed to do, but I trusted them. 

“I don’t even know what half this stuff is,” I admitted, looking down at the metal contraptions.

“Bear traps,” Jonathan said.

“Oh good,” I said. “Because bears are clearly the problem.”

“You know,” Nancy said suddenly, “last week I was shopping for a new top. Something I thought Steve might like.” 

“It took us all weekend,” I added softly, remembering the normal moments before everything went to hell. 

“Now you’re shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers,” Jonathan said. 

“Yeah… it’s weird.” 

“What’s weirder — me or the bear trap?” he teased.

I was about to laugh when a car horn blared behind us. Reed. “Hey, Nance,” Reed called. “Can’t wait to see your movie.”

She stormed off toward the theater, practically shaking. Jonathan and I hurried after her. When I saw the marquee, my stomach dropped. 

Someone had written in big, ugly letters:

Starring Nancy the Slut Wheeler

My heart broke for her. She blinked hard, refusing to cry in front of everyone. Classic Nancy — strong even when she shouldn’t have to be. 

She turned into an alley, and of course Carol, Tommy, and Steve were there. Because who else would do something this cruel? 

“Aw, hello princess,” Carol sneered. 

“Uh-oh, she looks upset,” Tommy mocked. 

“Nancy—” I began, but she slapped Steve so hard the sound echoed.

Everyone gasped. Me included.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nancy snapped. 

Jonathan reached us just then. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Tommy said. 

They definitely thought something was going on between Jonathan and Nancy.
But I’d been with them practically 24/7.
There was no room for scandal — unless someone was cheating while picking out bullets and bear traps.

“You came by last night,” Nancy said to Steve.

My eyebrows shot up.
“Wait— what?”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t like that,” Nancy insisted.

What happened last night? 

What time? 

What was she talking about?

“You just let him into your room to… study?” Steve snapped.

My eyes widened. So Jonathan *had* stayed over after dropping me home. That made sense — but cheating? No. No way. 

Jonathan glanced at me, and I looked away, not sure where to stand in all this. 

Steve stepped closer, pressing Nancy, demanding she “finish the sentence.” 

I pushed him back, but he was too solid to budge. “Leave her alone.” 

“Go to hell, Nancy,” Steve spat, turning away.

We started walking away, but Steve kept running his mouth.

“You know what, Byers? I’m actually impressed. I always thought you were a queer, but I guess you’re just a screw-up like your father.”

I stepped forward. “You seriously need to shut—”

Jonathan moved first.

His fist connected with Steve’s face. Hard.

I slapped my hand over my mouth.

Steve lunged back at him, and suddenly they were full-on brawling.
Punches. Grunting.
A whole male pride contest.

My eyes flew open. Steve deserved it, absolutely, but violence always scared me.

Then I heard it — sirens. 

The cop car skidded up. My dad stepped out with Officer Callahan.

Just kill me now.

Jonathan swung again and accidentally punched Callahan. My dad grabbed him fast, yanked him back, and cuffed him. Steve and his friends ran. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” Dad told me, voice flat, disappointed.

I didn’t go into the station with Jonathan and Nancy.
 Dad drove me home in silence, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

I stared out the window, wishing I could disappear into the woods.

Honestly… I wish he had yelled.
The quiet was worse.

Chapter Text

Dad didn’t speak the whole ride home. That was worse than yelling. Yelling I could fight. Silence just sat between us like a third passenger, heavy and judgmental, wearing the same disappointed mustache Dad had been perfecting since I was six.

When we pulled into the driveway, he finally spoke.

“Maggie… I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Creatures, Dad. Creatures have gotten into me lately.

But I just nodded like a well-behaved, non-demon-sensing child.

“I need you to stay home tonight,” he said. “No sneaking out. No drama. No… police involvement.”

“Was that last part really necessary?” I muttered.

He gave me the look. The “I am your father and also the sheriff and also a human migraine right now” look.

“Go inside, Maggie. We’ll talk when I get back from the station.”

“Dad—”

“Now.”

I went. Obviously. Because even with monsters in the woods, Officer Calvin Powell still had the scariest monster voice in Hawkins.

Inside, the house felt too big and too small at the same time. Whiskers took one look at my face and bolted under the couch like I was contagious. Smart cat.

The lights flickered.

Not the house lights.

The streetlights.

A slow pulse.
Once.
Twice.
Like something was tapping on the universe again.

“Yeah, okay,” I whispered. “So staying home? Probably not happening.”

Ten minutes later the front door opened again. Dad walked in alone, took one look at my face, and sighed the sigh of a man who’d aged ten years in one afternoon.

“Sit,” he said, pointing at the couch.

I sat.

He took off his hat, ran a hand through what was left of his hair, and just… looked at me. Like he was trying to decide which daughter he’d brought home from the hospital fifteen years ago and where this current model had gone wrong.

“Start talking.”

So I did. Not the real version. I couldn’t. Not yet. I gave him the sanitized, teenager-friendly cut: Steve was being a jerk, Nancy slapped him, Jonathan defended her, cops showed up, total misunderstanding, blah blah blah.

Dad listened with the same face he wore when he knew suspects were lying but didn’t have the evidence yet.

When I finished he rubbed his temples. “You know what I saw today, Maggie? I saw my little girl in an alley where somebody spray-painted filth about her best friend on a movie theater. I saw that same little girl standing next to a boy getting his face rearranged. And I saw that little girl look me dead in the eye and lie about why she was there.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Whatever this is, whatever you kids are mixed up in… it stops. Tonight. You’re not leaving this house unless it’s for school or church. You understand me?”

I nodded. My throat felt lined with sand.

He stood up, kissed the top of my head like I was still five, and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m making grilled cheese. Extra cheese. You’re eating whether you want to or not.”

Comfort food: the Powell family’s version of an intervention.

I lasted exactly four bites before I fake-coughed my way out of the rest and escaped to my room.

Grounded. Officially. With actual parental supervision and everything.

Perfect.

I flopped face-first onto my bed and screamed into my pillow until Whiskers abandoned me for the second time that day.

✘

Jonathan called as soon as Dad got into the shower. Nancy was at his place, and they were already planning something insane.

“We found someone,” Jonathan said. “Someone who can help us find Will.”

“Who?” I whispered, ducking into my bedroom and shutting the door.

“El.”

“El?” I echoed. “Who is El? An L? Like a letter?”

“Like… a girl,” Jonathan said. “She has powers.”

I blinked slowly.

“Like my kind of powers?” I asked.

“She doesn’t have visions,” he said. “She can move things with her mind.”

I flopped back on my bed. “Oh, good. So we’ve upgraded from demons to telekinesis. Perfect.”

“We need you,” he added.

“I’m grounded until I’m thirty. My dad literally just threatened to nail my window shut.”

Then Nancy’s voice, soft and calm. “Please, Mags. For Barb.”

And that was all it took.

“I’ll be ready in ten,” I said, hanging up.

I climbed out my window like I’d been training for it my whole life. My foot slipped once, and I whispered, “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and whichever saint handles teenagers sneaking out—help me.”

But I made it.

Jonathan picked me up down the street. Nancy sat in the passenger seat, hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

In the backseat, Dustin and Lucas sat on either side of me like two anxious bookends.

“Hi,” they both muttered at the same time.

“Hi,” I echoed awkwardly, giving a little wave because… what else do you do when you’re sandwiched between middle-schoolers on a monster hunt?

We were following Hopper’s van in a shaky little convoy headed straight for Hawkins Middle School.

Dustin and Lucas filled me in on how they found El, how she saved Mike from falling off a cliff — normal preteen stuff, apparently — and finally, how she was going to help us find Will.

Dustin leaned toward me, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, so — El’s got powers. Like, actual powers. She can move stuff with her mind. It’s awesome.”

Lucas nodded, serious. “She flipped a van, dude. A whole van.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Okay… that’s terrifying. And also awesome. Terrifyingly awesome.”

Nancy glanced at me in the rearview mirror, worry flashing across her face. I just shrugged. Too late to pretend I wasn’t part of this circus now.

Then came the science lesson.

Dustin dug around in his backpack and pulled out a scribbled-on sheet of paper. He held it up between us like a professor presenting his thesis. “Okay, so this is the acrobat,” he explained, pointing to a stick figure walking on a tightrope. “That’s Will and Barbara and that monster.” He pointed to a weird blob-shape that looked like it was having a bad day.

“And this—” he said dramatically, flipping the paper, “is the flea. The flea can walk on the rope, but the flea can also walk under the rope. Or around it.”

“That’s the Upside Down,” Lucas added.

“Which is where Will is hiding,” Dustin finished with a little flourish.

“It’s like an alternate dimension,” Lucas said. “Same place, different rules. Mr. Clarke says you can only get there through a rip in time and space, which leads back to Hawkins Lab.”

I blinked at the paper, then at them. “Okay… that was actually a pretty solid explanation.”

Dustin beamed. “Thank you, I know.”

“So,” I summarized, “we’re trying to reach Will — who’s in the dark evil version of Hawkins — by building a giant psychic bathtub in your old middle school?”

“Yep,” they both replied.

I sighed. “Cool. Totally normal.”

Jonathan pulled into the school parking lot behind Hopper. The building looked even creepier at night — like it already knew what we were about to do and disapproved.

We all split up immediately, a scrappy little mass of determination and chaos.

Jonathan and Hopper headed inside to grab the bags of salt.

Joyce helped El prep in the science room, whispering to her like she was her own daughter.

Nancy and Mike went to get the hoses.

And Dustin, Lucas, and I jogged into the gym with the kiddie pool bouncing between us.

“Careful!” Lucas hissed. “If this thing rips, we’re dead.”

I laughed under my breath as we set the pool down.

“Let’s make a bathtub,” I said, hands on my hips like someone who absolutely did not know how to build a sensory deprivation tank.

The boys grinned at me, excited, terrified, ready.

Chapter Text

“More salt!” Hopper yelled.

“This is so weird,” I said, dumping another bag in. “I feel like we’re cooking El instead of helping her.”

“Please don’t say cooking,” Nancy whispered.

The gym doors creaked open and in walked the tiniest, most terrifying person I’d ever seen.

Eleven.

She was wearing one of Nancy’s old pink dresses (the one with the little white collar that Nancy swore made her look like a “deranged strawberry”). Paired with Joyce’s makeshift blindfold, she looked like a haunted doll that had raided a 1983 JCPenney catalog.

She stared at me with huge brown eyes. Quiet. Nervous. Kind of… spooky.

“Hi,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

“This is El,” Nancy said. “She’s helping us find Will and Barb.”

“She knows about the monster. And the place you saw. The… other side.” Jonathan said.

El tilted her head at me. “You… see?”

Oh.
She talked.
Barely. But she did.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Sometimes. It’s like… glimpsing through a crack.”

El’s eyes widened like she understood that too well.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She blinked at me. “Friends don’t lie.”

I froze.

“That’s very true,” I said. “But what does that have to do with—”

She gently touched my hand.

My vision exploded.

Will.
Curled up in a dark, dripping room.
Crying.
Humming something.
Trying so hard not to fall apart.

And then—

The monster.
Close.
Sniffing the air.
Searching.

I gasped and stumbled back, hand flying to my mouth.

Nancy grabbed my arm. “Mags? What happened?”

I swallowed. “He’s alive.” My voice shook. “But that thing is so close.”

El stepped into the water. The lights flickered violently. Hopper steadied her shoulders.

She floated.

Like — actually floated.

The gym went dead silent.

“Barbara?” Eleven whispered.

The lights above us flickered—once, twice—like they were reacting to her voice.

Nancy stepped forward, her own voice shaking. “Is Barb okay?”

Eleven’s face crumpled.
“Gone… gone,” she cried.

I gasped, slapping both hands over my mouth to stop the stutter building in my throat—but it pushed out anyway, along with a single tear slipping down my cheek. Nancy immediately pulled me into her arms, hugging me tight. I held onto her like she was the only solid thing left in the room.

Joyce knelt beside the kiddie pool, her voice gentle but urgent.
“It’s okay, honey,” she whispered to El, grabbing her hand.

“Castle Byers,” she breathed. She’d found Will.

Seconds later, Eleven shot up from the water, choking a little, terrified. Joyce wrapped her arms around her instantly, holding her close.

They were going to find Will.

I stayed back with Nancy. We were both shaking, both crying. Barb was gone—really gone—and there was nothing we could do to change that. The reality of it hit like a punch to the chest.

Nancy kept wiping at her face, but more tears kept spilling out. I knew she blamed herself—she didn’t have to say it. It was written all over her.

All I could do was squeeze her hand and whisper,
“It’s not your fault. It’s not. We’re gonna make this right.”

Jonathan walked over, worry written across his face. I muttered something about needing the bathroom and slipped away before anyone could stop me.

Inside the quiet hallway, I finally let myself breathe. Everything was crashing down—Barb, Will, the monster, the visions I kept having. I didn’t know what was happening to me, or why any of this was connected, but I knew one thing for sure:

I couldn’t lose anyone else I loved.

Chapter Text

The plan was insane.  

I mean, obviously. Every plan we’d had since November had been insane. But this one felt like the grand finale of insane—like someone looked at all our previous bad ideas, nodded approvingly, and said, “Yes, but what if we added fire?”

Hopper and Joyce were going into the Upside Down to get Will.  

Nancy, Jonathan, and I were staying topside to… what? Roast marshmallows and wait for the Demogorgon to knock?

No.  

We were going to lure it.  

With blood.  

And Christmas lights.  

And a bear trap that Jonathan kept calling “old reliable” like it was a golden retriever and not a medieval torture device.

I stood in the middle of the Byers’ living room, staring at the walls covered in blinking lights like we’d robbed a department store Santa.

“This is either going to work,” I said, “or we’re about to become the world’s worst Christmas special.”

Nancy snorted despite herself. “Demogorgon on 34th Street?”

“Exactly. Rated R for graphic petal-face violence.”

Jonathan was hammering nails into a baseball bat like he’d been possessed by the spirit of every angry dad in Indiana. Each swing made me flinch.

I raised an eyebrow. “You know, most people just put tinsel on a bat.”

He didn’t even look up. “Tinsel doesn’t kill monsters.”

“Fair point.”

We spread out through the house, every nerve buzzing. I sprinkled gasoline like I was decorating for Halloween.

Nancy lit a match.

“Nance,” I whispered, “maybe we wait until the monster shows up before burning the house down?”

She blew out the match. “Right.”

Nancy yanked open a kitchen drawer and pulled out two knives like she’d been waiting her whole life for the excuse.

Jonathan hesitated only long enough to look mildly terrified before taking one.

“What are you doing?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“We need to draw it out,” Nancy said, jaw tight. “It’s attracted to blood.”

“Cool,” I said. “Awesome. Wonderful plan. I’ll just… sit over here and not bleed.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “We’re not asking you to—”

“Oh, good,” I cut in. “Because as much as I’d love to contribute, I’m not slicing my palm open and then having my dad accuse me of joining an emo death cult after I ran away from home.”

Jonathan blinked. “Yeah, no, don’t do that.”

“Thank you,” I said, pointing at him like he’d finally contributed something meaningful.

They braced themselves.

I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut. “Tell me when you’re done. I don’t do… open-wound activities.”

A sharp inhale.
A hiss.
Another hiss.

Blood hit the carpet with a soft patter.

“Okay,” Jonathan said tightly. “Done.”

I opened one eye, then the other. Nancy’s hand was shaking slightly, blood pooling in her palm. Jonathan looked pale but determined.

“Great,” I muttered, popping open the first-aid kit. “Let’s treat the ‘monster bait’ wounds before one of you faints and I have to drag you around like a sack of potatoes.”

I took Nancy’s hand first. She winced as I cleaned the cut. “You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured.

“I know,” I said. “But you also didn’t have to become Hawkins’ angriest vampire, yet here we are.”

She snorted—barely—but it was something.

Then Jonathan held out his hand.

“Be gentle,” he said.

“I literally just watched you stab yourself,” I replied, wrapping the gauze. “I think you’ll survive my medical expertise.”

He smiled weakly.

Once their hands were wrapped, I closed the kit and stood.

“Okay,” I said, heart pounding. “Let’s find this thing.”

There was a knock on the door so loud I nearly yeeted myself into the ceiling.

All three of us froze.

I crept toward the door like someone approaching a bomb, pressed my ear to it, and heard:

“Jonathan? You there, man? It’s Steve. Listen— I just wanna talk!”

Of course it was Steve Harrington.

I cracked the door open just enough to glare at him. “Steve, go home. Like— now. Immediately.”

He blinked at me. “What… why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” I shot back.

He opened his mouth, took a breath like he was about to launch into a dramatic apology monologue, and said, “Look, I messed up, okay? I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier and I—”

“Okay, great speech, goodbye!” I said and tried to shut the door in his face.

Steve, being Steve, did not take the hint. He pushed the door open with that dumb jock strength and stepped inside—just in time to see Nancy and Jonathan in the living room surrounded by weapons, blood, and general chaos.

“Nancy?” His voice cracked. “What are you doing here? And— wait— is that blood?”

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Steve. You need to leave. Right now.”

“What is going on? Why is there blood? Why is Jonathan bleeding? Why are you bleeding? Why do you—do you have a gun?”

Jonathan grabbed Steve’s shoulder. “Dude, get out. Please.”

“I’m not leaving you guys with–”

Nancy lifted the gun. “Steve. Out.”

“Whoa—okay—stop!” I said, stepping between them.

I already felt a migraine growing. The last thing we needed was Steve Harrington making it worse.

Then—
The lights flickered.
Hard.

The air shifted, cold and electric.

Steve froze. “What was that?”

Jonathan shoved the baseball bat with nails into Steve’s hands.

Steve stared at it like it was a baby he didn’t ask for. “What—why are you—what is happening?”

None of us answered his questions.

We all turned toward the hallway at the same time.

Something was here.

And Steve Harrington was officially part of the disaster.

I whispered to Jonathan, “If we die, I’m blaming your mom’s decorating choices.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. “Deal.”

I started to hope—stupidly—that maybe the monster was full. Maybe it ate a deer and took a nap. Maybe—

The Demogorgon crawled inside through the ceiling.

It was worse up close. Taller. Slimier. The flower-face opened and closed like it was tasting the air.

We all froze.

Then Nancy fired the gun.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The monster roared and charged.

Jonathan yanked us away.

All of us were crammed into Will’s room, waiting for the monster. I had Jonathan’s spare lighter in one fist and, without noticing, Steve Harrington’s hand in the other.

Our fingers were laced so tight my knuckles were white.  

We both looked down at the exact same second.  

We both yanked away like we’d been electrocuted.

I flicked the lighter open, the tiny flame shaking right along with my hands. My heart was racing… but I honestly couldn’t tell if it was because of the monster or because Steve’s stupid warm hand had been touching mine.

The silence stretched until it had teeth.

Nothing growled. Nothing scratched. Nothing bled through the walls.

Jonathan slowly opened the bedroom door. We stepped into the hallway, tense and silent. “It’s gone.”

We crept out into the hallway like we expected the house itself to bite us. The Christmas lights were dark. The air smelled like gasoline and fear.

Behind me, Steve muttered, “This is crazy…” under his breath for the tenth time, and I swear my brain twitched.

“Steve, you need to leave. It’s coming back,” I told him, pushing him toward the front door.

He actually listened. He stumbled outside and sprinted to his car like he was in a horror movie, fumbling with his keys while I stood on the porch, dragging a hand through my hair.

Then the lights inside flickered.

“Shit…” I whispered.

I spun around and ran back inside—just in time to see the monster lunging at Nancy. I moved toward her, but—

I saw red.

Not metaphorically. Actually red.

Everything slowed.

I felt it—the cold rush, the world tilting sideways.

And then I wasn’t in the Byers’ living room anymore.

I was somewhere else.

The Upside Down version of the house. Vines everywhere. Spores in the air.

And Will was there. Curled up in the corner, whispering my name.

Maggie… help…

I reached for him.

And something grabbed me from behind.

I screamed and snapped back into reality just as the Demogorgon’s claw swiped where my head had been a second ago.

Jonathan tackled me out of the way.

And then—of course—Steve was suddenly back in the house, nail bat raised. “Come on, you ugly son of a—”

Steve Harrington swung the bat hard. Honestly? Impressive.

The bear trap snapped shut on its leg with a sound like a car crash.

The thing shrieked, thrashing, blood—black and thick—spraying everywhere.

Steve yelled something that was definitely not English and swung the nail bat like he was trying out for the majors.

Nails connected. The monster screeched louder.

I scrambled for the lighter, hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it twice.

The monster’s scream shook the whole house as fire wrapped around its body.

We stumbled back, coughing, eyes burning from the smoke. Jonathan rushed in with the fire extinguisher, blasting foam across the room.

The monster thrashed. Roared.

Collapsed.

And then—poof.

Gone.

Like it had never been there.

We stood there panting, covered in blood and ash and monster goo.

Steve looked down at the bat in his hands like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“Did we just… win?” he asked.

Nancy started laughing. Or crying. Hard to tell.

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, staring at the smoking bear trap.

Jonathan crouched beside me. “You okay?”

I laughed. It came out shaky and wet. “No.”

Then the lights flickered again.

Joyce and Hopper.

They were in here.

Chapter Text

All of us ended up at the hospital.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too cold. I was slumped in a chair, half asleep and halfway convinced this was all still some fever dream. But they’d found Will. Alive. Breathing. Here.

Nancy sat between Steve and me, nudging my shoulder gently to wake me.
“Maggie,” she whispered, voice hoarse, “he’s awake.”

Jonathan and the boys walked into Will’s room. Nancy followed him, eyes shining with something between hope and exhaustion.

I stayed behind.

Steve did too.

His hair was still a mess from the fight, and there was a smear of monster goo on his cheek he hadn’t even noticed.

I hugged my knees to my chest and leaned my head against the cool wall.

“My dad’s gonna kill me,” I muttered.

Steve didn’t look at me, but he huffed out a tiny laugh.
“Yeah, well… if it helps, mine might actually do it this time.”

I smiled, small and tired. It didn’t help much.

I stared down at my hands. They were shaking again. I kept rubbing them together like I could wipe off the memory of touching the Upside Down.

I still couldn’t shake the feeling—the wrongness crawling under my skin.

Something wasn’t over.

Steve must’ve noticed, because he glanced at me, eyebrows tightening.
“You okay? Like… really okay?”

“No,” I admitted quietly.

For once, he didn’t make a joke. He just sat there, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor, glancing at the doors every time someone walked by. The whole waiting room felt stuck in that weird, heavy quiet hospitals always have—like the air itself was holding its breath.

My stomach twisted.

Because the second Will woke up…
I felt that same buzz behind my ribs again. That flicker.

Like the Upside Down wasn’t done with me.

Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Your dad on his way?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Probably deciding if he wants to yell or give me the silent treatment.”

Steve gave me a sideways glance.
“For what it’s worth… you handled all that way better than I did.”

I snorted. “That’s a very low bar.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. We were both too drained, too shaken to pretend to be normal.

A nurse walked by, giving us a suspicious look—two teenagers covered in bruises, soot, and dried blood. I tucked my hands into my sleeves, suddenly self-conscious.

Then the hallway lights flickered.

Just once.

But I felt it.

That pull.
That cold breath on the back of my neck.

“Maggie?” Steve whispered, noticing the way I froze.

“I…”
 I swallowed hard.
“I think something’s wrong.”

Before he could ask what I meant, I saw my dad’s silhouette at the end of the hall.

He looked furious.

My heart sank.

Steve stood with me as I rose slowly to my feet, my legs aching. For a second, I wished I could stay here—monster blood, hospital stench and all—because whatever waited with my father felt heavier.

✘

It was Christmas.

I came downstairs in my reindeer socks and the oversized Hawkins PD sweatshirt I’d stolen from Dad’s laundry years ago. He was already in the kitchen, wearing the ridiculous Santa hat I’d bought him last year as a joke. The one with the jingle bell on the end that he swore he hated.

“Morning,” I said softly.

He grunted. Classic Powell male communication.

I slid onto a stool at the counter. The silent treatment had been in effect. He’d only spoken to me in single syllables since the hospital. *Sit. Eat. Bed. Church.* That was about the extent of it.

But today the jingle bell on his hat jingled when he turned around with a plate of slightly charred cinnamon rolls.

“Merry Christmas, Mags.”

The words were gruff, but the plate slid across the counter like a peace treaty.

I took one. Crispy edges, gooey center, extra icing because he remembered. Perfect.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out for the thousandth time. “I know I scared you. I know I lied. I know I—”

He held up a hand. “Eat your roll, kiddo.”

I obeyed.

We chewed in silence for a minute. The radio was playing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” like nothing bad had ever happened in this town.

Dad finally sighed, the big kind that starts in his boots.

“I read the report,” he said quietly. “All of it. Hopper didn’t want me to, but I’m still a cop, Maggie.”

I froze, icing halfway to my mouth.

I set the roll down. “I didn’t want to lie. I just—”

He looked at me then and I saw the fear he’d been carrying since November. Not anger. Fear.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. “That’s what I see when I close my eyes. Not the lies. You, gone.”

The jingle bell jingled again as he pulled the hat off and set it on the counter like surrendering.

I slid off the stool and walked around the island. He opened his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his shirt.

“I’m here,” I mumbled into his chest. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

He held me so tight my ribs creaked.

After a minute he cleared his throat. “Got you something.”

He reached behind the coffee maker and pulled out a small, badly wrapped box.

I tore it open.

Inside was a new cross necklace. It was gold, stronger chain than the one I’d broken the night everything went to hell. Tucked beside it, a tiny silver charm in the shape of a flashlight.

“Because you’re always looking for the light,” he said gruffly. “Even when I told you to stop.”

I laughed. It came out wet.

He fastened the necklace around my neck, fingers clumsy like they’d been the first time he did this when I was seven.

“Love you, pumpkin.”

“Love you more.”

We stood there hugging in the kitchen while the cinnamon rolls cooled and the snow fell soft and quiet outside the window.

Later, we opened the rest of the presents. He got a new tackle box and I got the entire Anne of Green Gables series in hardcover because he’d noticed the spines on my old paperbacks were falling apart.

Then the lights on the tree flickered.

Just once.

But enough to make my blood run cold.

Chapter Text

Dad couldn’t make it to church today.  

So it was just me, sitting in the back pew like a good little Catholic girl while Father McBride droned on about temptation and the wages of sin.  

Ironic, considering the wages of sin were currently living rent-free in my brain and serving me full-color nightmares every night.

I had no idea how to tell anyone that.

I wasn’t sure God understood it either.
Some messed-up part of me was starting to think maybe the devil had gotten to me and this was all just hell’s extended tour package.

The nightmares were worse, too.
I’d wake up sweating, shaking, convinced something was crawling across my ceiling.

Nancy said I’d gotten “bitchier.”
Steve said, “yeah, like… meaner?”
He got a pillow thrown at his face for that one.

We spent less time together anyway. Anytime I saw them, they were glued to each other’s faces. I’d sit there third-wheeling while they made out like a pair of underpaid background actors in a bad teen soap.

I was sixteen now — not like it mattered. Boys weren’t exactly on my mind. But somehow I still started getting attention at school. Reed asked me out. We went to a movie. He kissed like a dying fish. And when he tried to finger me, I nearly kicked him in the ribs.

Trauma will do that.

I kept my eyes on the crucifix, waiting for the familiar calm that used to settle over me in this building.  

Nothing.  

Just static.  

And the low, constant hum that had been living behind my eyes for a year—like the Upside Down had left a radio on in my skull and forgot to pay the electric bill.

Communion tasted like ash.  

I walked out the second Mass ended.

And that’s when I saw him.

Leaning against a blue Camaro that looked like it had been born angry, cigarette dangling from his lips like he was personally offended by the concept of lung health.  

Long hair, leather jacket, denim so tight it should’ve come with a warning label.  

He was the kind of attractive that made you annoyed at biology for existing.

He was definitely new — because trust me, Hawkins is the kind of place where even the mailman knows if you get a haircut.

He caught me staring. Of course he did.  

I rolled my eyes so hard I probably saw my own brain.

“You can’t smoke here,” I said, walking past him like I owned the church parking lot.

He took a slow drag, blew the smoke in the opposite direction (polite, I guess), and smirked.  

“Pretty sure God’s got bigger problems than secondhand smoke, princess.”

Princess.  

Great.  

I already hated him.

I stopped anyway. Because apparently I’m an idiot.

“It’s a church,” I said. “There are rules. One of them is ‘don’t look like you’re auditioning for the cover of Bad Decisions Monthly’ on holy ground.”

His grin got wider. Sharp. Dangerous.  

“You always this fun on Sundays, or do I bring it out in you?”

I opened my mouth to eviscerate him and—  

Nothing came out.  

Because he was looking at me like he could see straight through the good-girl armor and right into the part of me that was currently screaming 24/7.

He tilted his head. “Cat got your tongue, church girl?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then?” He flicked ash onto the asphalt. “Mary Magdalene?”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Original.”

He laughed—low, rough, real.  

“I’m Billy.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were gonna.”

“Was not.”

He pushed off the car, took two slow steps toward me until the toes of his boots touched the toes of my stupid Mary Janes.  

He smelled like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum and something warm I couldn’t name.

“You always this mouthy with strangers, or do I get the deluxe package?”

My heart did something traitorous.  

I blamed the incense still in my lungs.

“I’m not mouthy,” I said. “I’m accurate.”

He looked down at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at me.  

He held the cigarette out to me. “Ever tried it?”

“No.”

“You want to?”

“No.”

I should’ve walked away.  

Should’ve grabbed my bike, pedaled home, and prayed for forgiveness for even talking to him.

Instead I took it anyway.

Billy’s grin turned wolfish.  

Our fingers brushed.  

His were warm. Calloused.  

Mine were shaking, but I’d die before I let him see that.

I lifted it to my lips and immediately coughed like I was dying.

Billy laughed, not mean, just delighted.  

“Easy, killer. It’s not a race.”

I glared through watering eyes. “You try breathing fire for the first time, pretty boy.”

He smiled — big this time, teeth and everything. It shouldn’t have been that cute.

“Pretty boy?” He leaned in, voice dropping. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you like me.”

I took another, smaller drag. Managed not to die.  

The nicotine hit like a slap. Everything got a little softer around the edges.

We stood there in silence for a minute, sharing smoke and the weird electricity crackling between us.

He studied me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t decided to solve yet.  

“So what’s a girl like you doing looking like the world’s ending on a Sunday morning?”

I exhaled slowly. “Maybe the world is ending.”

He didn’t laugh this time.  

Just looked at me.  

Really looked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe it is.”

Something twisted in my chest—recognition, maybe.  

Like he’d seen the same shadows I had.

I dropped the cigarette, crushed it under my shoe.  

“I gotta go.”

I started toward my bike.

“Hey,” he called. “You never told me your name.”

I swung a leg over the seat, looked back at him.  

Sun caught in his hair, turned it gold and reckless.

“Maybe next time,” I said.

He smirked. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

I kicked off, tires crunching gravel.  

“Bye, church smoker.”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging down my body and back up—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing me.

“See you around, angel.”

Heat shot up my neck. Ugh. Disgusting.
…Okay, not disgusting.
But annoying.

I didn’t look back.  

But I felt his eyes on me the whole way down the street.

And for the first time in a year, the static in my head went quiet.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to be dangerous.

Chapter Text

It had been one week since then, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about that last interaction.

That Billy guy.

There was something about him that refused to leave my brain alone—like a song you didn’t even like but somehow knew all the words to anyway.

Sunday morning came too fast.

Church with Dad was usually predictable down to the minute: same pew, same hymns, same polite nods to the same people who smelled faintly of mothballs and peppermint. I expected it to be exactly that.

It wasn’t.

As we slid into our usual seat, I felt it before I saw it—that prickly, annoying sensation of being watched. I glanced up.

And there he was.

Billy.

Sitting across the aisle like he owned the place.

He noticed me immediately. Of course he did. His head turned just enough, lips curling into that lazy, infuriating smirk like he’d been waiting for me to look first. I frowned back instinctively, eyebrows knitting together.

Honestly, what was his problem?

Next to him sat an older man—tall, stiff, sharp-looking. Definitely his dad. On the other side were two redheads: a woman with a tight, polite smile and a younger girl who looked bored out of her mind, swinging her legs slightly and staring at the ceiling.

Dad must’ve felt me staring because he squeezed my hand gently, a silent focus. I snapped my eyes forward, cheeks warming.

I tried to concentrate through the sermon, but every time I shifted, I swore I could feel his eyes flick back to me. Once, when I dared to glance over, I caught him already looking—this time raising an eyebrow like he’d caught me doing something illegal.

I mouthed, What are you looking at?

He shrugged, completely unbothered.

I nearly dropped the hymnal.

After communion ended, Dad stopped to talk with a few people—handshakes, quiet laughs, the usual how’s work, how’s school, God bless. I hovered beside him, pretending to read a pamphlet while absolutely not reading a single word.

That’s when footsteps stopped in front of us.

Billy stood there with his family, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like this was his natural habitat. Up close, he was even more irritatingly confident.

The older man stepped forward first, offering Dad a firm handshake. “Neil Hargrove,” he said. “We’re new in town.”

Dad straightened immediately, cop-mode activating. “Calvin Powell. Hawkins PD. Welcome.”

Neil gestured to the group beside him. “This is my wife Susan, her daughter Max, and my son Billy.”

Susan smiled warmly. Max gave a tiny wave, eyes flicking between me and Billy like she already knew something I didn’t.

Billy’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t say a word. Just kept looking at me like he was mentally cataloging every inch of the dress I’d thrown on this morning. His gaze lingered on my legs when I shifted my weight, then dragged slowly back up.

It made my stomach do something stupid.

“This is my daughter, Maggie,” Dad said, resting a hand on my shoulder.

Billy’s lips twitched. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “We’ve met.”

Dad’s brows pulled together. “You have?”

“Briefly,” Billy replied, eyes never leaving mine. “She’s hard to forget.”

I choked on absolutely nothing.

“I—” I started, then stopped, because what was I even going to say? Hi, nice to see you again, please stop looking at me like that in a church?

Dad cleared his throat. “Maggie’s very involved here,” he said pointedly. “Youth group. Choir. Volunteering.”

Billy nodded like he was taking notes. “Church girl,” he murmured.

I glared at him. “You’re literally standing in a church.”

Max snorted before she could stop herself.

Susan shot her a look. “Max.”

“What?” Max said innocently. 

Dad chuckled, oblivious. “Well, we’re glad to have you. Maggie here could use some new faces around. Gets tired of hanging out with her old man.”

I shot Dad a look that screamed traitor.

Neil nodded approvingly. “Family should stick together. Billy knows that.”

Billy finally spoke, voice low and rough. “Yeah. Family’s real important.”

But his eyes never left mine, and the way he said it felt like a promise and a threat all rolled into one.

Susan beamed. “We’d love to have you over for dinner sometime, Calvin. Pot roast on Wednesdays.”

Dad, the traitor, lit up. “We’ll take you up on that.”

Dad finally wrapped up the conversation, thank God, and we started toward the exit. Billy leaned in just enough to brush my arm with his—barely contact, but it felt like a static shock straight between my legs.

“See you around, Maggie,” he said, voice all innocent for the adults, but his eyes promised something filthy.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. Just gave him a tight smile and practically dragged Dad out the door.

Max glanced back at me, eyes curious—then at Billy—then back at me again, like she was filing it away for later.

Once we were in the parking lot, Dad chuckled. “Nice family. Billy seems like a good kid.”

I made a strangled noise.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” I muttered, climbing into the car.

✘

Back at home, Dad started almost immediately.

He didn’t even take his jacket off first.

“Maggie,” he said, standing in the kitchen with one hand braced on the counter like he was holding himself upright. “Have you talked to Father McBride about your nightmares yet?”

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I said. Too fast.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temples. “You can’t keep waking up screaming and pretending everything’s fine.”

“I’m not pretending,” I snapped, then instantly felt guilty. “I just— I don’t know how to explain it.”

Because how was I supposed to?

How was I supposed to say I see things that feel realer than this kitchen, than this house, than church?

I stared down at the wood grain of the table. If I told Father McBride, I already knew how it would go. He’d tilt his head and lower his voice. He’d talk about darkness and temptation and things that cling. He’d use words like unclean and afflicted.

I’d seen the pamphlets he kept in his office. “Spiritual affliction.” “Signs of oppression.” One conversation and I’d be packed off to some convent in Indiana, praying the devil out of me.

Dad’s voice hardened. “He’s trained to help with this kind of thing.”

“No,” I said quietly. “He’s trained to make it worse.”

That made him angry.

I could hear it in the way the cabinets rattled when he shut one too hard, in the way his jaw set like he was grinding down something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he said. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But you’re not listening.”

Silence filled the kitchen, thick and brittle. The clock ticked too loudly. Somewhere outside, a car passed.

Dad turned away first. “Go to your room,” he said, exhausted more than furious. “We’ll talk later.”

Later never meant later.

I didn’t argue. I just left him there—standing under the harsh kitchen light, shoulders slumped like the weight of everything was pressing down at once.

In my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, heart racing.

I needed Nancy.

I needed someone who wouldn’t tell me I was broken or sinful or imagining things.

I grabbed the phone on my nightstand, fingers shaking as I dialed Nancy’s number from memory.

“Mags?” she said breathlessly.

In the background: Steve’s voice, low and teasing. “Is that Maggie? Tell her I say hi—ow, stop hitting me with the pillow!”

My chest tightened.

“Oh,” I said. “You’re… busy.”

Nancy laughed, a soft, giddy sound I barely recognized. “We’re just hanging out. What’s up?”

Steve said something I couldn’t hear, and she giggled again.

That hurt more than I expected.

“I—” I swallowed. “It’s nothing. Don’t bother.”

“Maggie, wait—”

“I’ll call you later,” I said quickly. “Have fun.”

I hung up before she could stop me.

The room felt too quiet afterward. Too empty.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the phone in my hand like it had betrayed me. Nancy was allowed to be happy—I knew that. I wanted her to be. But right then, it felt like she was slipping into a world I couldn’t follow her into.

I lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Church. Dad. Nightmares. Billy’s eyes on me like he knew something I didn’t.

Or worse—like he did

Chapter Text

Steve and Nancy had picked me up for school, as usual. I still wasn’t sure if they genuinely enjoyed my company or if they just enjoyed having a witness whenever they decided to shove their tongues down each other’s throats.

Steve pulled into the parking lot, and Nancy and I were reading over his essays.

I snorted. Loudly. “Maybe Nancy should tutor you, Steve.”

“That’s not funny,” Steve groaned. “It’s bad, isn’t it? Be honest.”

“Yes,” I answered.

“No,” Nancy insisted at the same time. “It just needs… some reorganizing.”

“So it’s bad,” I repeated, patting Steve’s shoulder before getting out of the car. “Good luck in college.”

I waited outside while they bickered over comma splices or whatever.

School felt different without Barbara. I missed her. Every week, Nancy and I—sometimes Steve, and sometimes just me—would visit her parents. Keeping them company during dinners. Pretend everything was normal. It was… sad. They didn’t know the truth, and walking around with that secret felt like carrying something rotten in my pocket.

It also sucked that I had maybe two friends: Nancy and Jonathan. I would count Steve, but he was more like… I don’t know. A companion animal. No—acquaintance. Yes. Acquaintance.

The autumn air was sharp and chilly as I stood waiting, hugging my arms close. A few minutes passed—then I heard it.

That stupid engine.

I looked up and saw the Camaro rolling into the lot like it owned the pavement.

Oh. God.

It was him.

Billy Hargrove.

Nancy and Steve finally stepped out just in time to see the Camaro park, and I swear the air shifted like some dramatic entrance in a movie.

Billy climbed out slowly, deliberately. Tight jeans. Tight shirt. Every movement was lazy and confident, like he knew exactly what kind of reaction he caused and enjoyed it.

Girls stared openly. Guys scowled. Whispers rippled.

His eyes found mine immediately.

Locked.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his mouth.

Of course Nancy and Steve noticed.

A redheaded girl climbed out of the passenger side after him—Max. His sister. She looked bored already, like she’d decided Hawkins wasn’t worth her time.

I felt Carol and Tina’s eyes burn into me the second Billy looked away, like his attention alone had marked me guilty of something. I sighed loudly, mostly for my own sanity.

“Do you know him?” Steve asked, squinting like some concerned suburban dad.

I didn’t even answer. I didn’t have to. My face betrayed me.

Nancy and Steve exchanged a look that screamed judgment.

“I don’t think you should be hanging around a guy like that,” Steve said.

“He looks like bad news,” Nancy added. “Since when are you into bad boys?”

“I’m not into him,” I snapped. “Why would I be into him?”

Steve muttered under his breath, “Doesn’t explain the look on your face…”

I elbowed him.

Then I looked back.

He was still staring.

Leaning against the hood of his car like a model in a cigarette ad. Head tilted. Smirk still there. Like he was trying to read my thoughts and was enjoying all of them.

I narrowed my eyes.

He raised an eyebrow.

I looked away.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, almost excited. “He’s looking at you again.”

“Tell him to stop!” I hissed.

“You tell him to stop,” Steve snapped. “I’m not getting into a fight before first period.”

“He’d kill you,” I said.

Steve blinked. “…Yeah. Exactly.”

Nancy leaned closer. “Why is he staring so much?”

“I don’t know!” I whisper-yelled. “Maybe he thinks I’m someone else!”

“Sure,” Steve said. “Someone else he wants to eat.”

I glared. “Steve—”

“No, he’s right,” Nancy said thoughtfully. 

“He’s definitely looking at you like you’re… I don’t know… dessert?”

“Could we not describe me as food?” I begged.

Nancy shrugged. “Just saying.”

I exhaled again, loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m not into him.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Steve said.

“I’m cold!”

“You’re sweating.”

“I have bad circulation!”

Steve nodded flatly. “Yeah. That’s it.”

✘

We met up with Jonathan after first period. 

Tina was handing out bright-orange flyers for her Halloween party, practically shoving them into everyone’s chest.

“You guys are coming,” Nancy said confidently, like she owned all our schedules.

I shot her a look. “I’m still grounded.”

She waved it off. “You’ll figure it out.”

Jonathan gave me a look that said good luck with that, just as the the hallway began to swell with bodies.

“I’ve gotta turn something in,” I said, holding up my notebook. “I’ll catch up.”

Nancy nodded absently, already leaning toward Jonathan, deep in a conversation that had nothing to do with flyers or parties.

I turned a corner—

And immediately regretted being alive.

Because I ran straight into him.

Billy Hargrove didn’t even look surprised.

It was like he’d expected me to be there. Like he’d placed himself in that hallway on purpose.

I tried to pivot around him but he stepped right into my path like he’d been waiting for me.

His eyes flicked down to the Halloween flyer in my hand.

“You going?” he asked, voice lazy, like he already knew the answer.

“Do I look like the type of girl that enjoys parties?” I shot back.

He shrugged, gaze dragging over me slowly enough to make heat crawl up my neck. “You look like the type of girl who pretends she doesn’t.”

Someone walked by and wolf-whistled. Billy didn’t even glance away from me.  

It was unnerving. Like being stared down by a very attractive tornado.

I tried to step around him. He shifted—just enough to block the hallway without actually touching me.  

“You didn’t look like you hated church.”

My stomach flipped.

“You were staring,” I shot back.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “So were you.”

“You’re little sister seems sweet.” I countered.

His smirk faltered for half a second.  

“Stepsister. She’s a pain in my ass.”

“Is that so?”

“She bites.”

“Runs in the family, I guess.”

His laugh was startled out of him—short, rough, real.  

I hated how much I liked it.

“You never told me your name,” he added.

“You already know it.” I said.

His eyebrow lifted. “I wanna hear it from you.”

He leaned in a fraction closer.  

“Come on. Give me something to call you that isn’t ‘the girl who almost coughed up a lung on my cigarette.’”

I could feel the heat radiating off him. Could see the tiny scar through his left eyebrow. Could count the freckles across his nose if I wanted to waste brain cells.

“Maggie,” I said finally, barely above a whisper.

“Maggie,” he repeated, tasting it. “Fits the whole repressed-Catholic vibe you’ve got going.”

I blinked. “No it doesn’t!”

“It does.” His eyes narrowed a little, like he was studying me. “Cute. Sweet. Innocent.”

“I am not innocent,” I said too quickly.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, amused. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” I argued… a little too defensively.

He grinned like he had just won something. “So you are going to the party.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.”

I shoved past him, cheeks burning so hot I felt radioactive.

“See you Friday,” he called after me.

“I’m not going!” I yelled over my shoulder.

His voice followed me down the hall, infuriatingly smug:

“You will.”

Chapter Text

The second Steve’s BMW rolled to a stop at the red light and the interrogation began.

Nancy twisted around in the passenger seat like she was auditioning for the Spanish Inquisition.  

“So… everyone is saying Billy Hargrove has a thing for you.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Specifically, they’re saying he ‘cornered the cop’s daughter like a wolf corners a very judgmental lamb.’ Direct quote from Tommy.”

I groaned and sank lower in the backseat. “I’m literally right here.”

Nancy ignored me. “Well? Did he corner you?”

“No. We talked. In a hallway. Like normal humans. You people act like he dragged me into a janitor’s closet and proposed.”

Steve snorted. “Give it time.”

I kicked the back of his seat. “Eyes on the road, Harrington.”

The light turned green. Steve didn’t move until the car behind us honked.  

“Okay, seriously,” he said, accelerating, “what is going on? Because the entire school thinks you two are one slow song away from making out in the parking lot.”

“Nothing is going on,” I said for the seventeenth time that day. “Can we drop it?”

Nancy gave me a look. “Mags, you don’t have to lie to us.”

“I’m not lying,” I said. “We go to the same church. I saw him there. He offered me a cigarette once, I took one drag, coughed like I was dying, and left. That’s it. That’s the whole scandal.”

Silence.

Then Steve let out a low whistle. “You smoked?”

Nancy’s jaw actually dropped. “You smoked?”

“Yes, Nancy, I smoked. One time. Half a lung. It tasted like Satan’s armpit and I instantly regretted every life choice that led me to that moment.”

Steve glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, eyes wide. “Okay, wait—Billy Hargrove got you to smoke? You?? Miss ‘God says no’?”

Nancy turned fully around now, knees on the seat. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it was mortifying! I looked like a freshman trying whiskey for the first time. He laughed at me for a solid minute.”

Steve grinned. “I’m framing this moment.”

Nancy ignored him, still staring at me. “So… that’s really it? One cigarette?”

“Yes. I’m not interested in Billy. I’m not stupid.”

“He’s dangerous,” Nancy said.

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve corrected.

“He’s—”

“—not my type,” I finished. “End of story.”

Nancy reached back and squeezed my knee. “Okay. We believe you.”

Steve muttered under his breath, “Still don’t trust Captain Denim over there.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling a little.  

“Join the club.”

✘

The three of us stood on the curb staring at the red-and-white FOR SALE sign stabbed into the Hollands’ front lawn like a tombstone.

Nancy made a tiny, wounded sound.  

Steve just said, “Shit,” very quietly.

Barbara’s mom opened the door before we even knocked, eyes red-rimmed but smiling like it hurt.  

“You kids came,” she said, pulling Nancy into a hug, then me. She smelled like the same lavender soap Barb used to steal. “Come in, come in. We got KFC.”

We sat around the same dining-room table where Barb and I used to do homework, spreading napkins like nothing had changed.  

Except everything had.

The chicken was dry. The mashed potatoes tasted like cardboard. Nobody spoke until Mrs. Holland set her fork down.

“We’re selling the house,” she announced, too bright. “Everything has to go toward finding her.”

Mr. Holland nodded. “We hired a private investigator. Real one. Murray Bauman. Used to be a big-shot reporter in Chicago.”

Nancy’s voice cracked. “A private investigator?”

“He’s going to do what the Hawkins police couldn’t,” Mr. Holland said, shooting me a look that felt like a slap. “Actually look for our daughter.”

Mrs. Holland reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were ice-cold.  

“He says there’s still a chance, Maggie. That she’s out there somewhere. Run away, or… or taken. But alive.”

I stared at her hand on mine. My skin crawled with the lie sitting between us like an extra plate.

Nancy’s eyes flicked to me—wide, pleading, don’t say anything.

I swallowed the size of a basketball. “That’s… that’s good,” I managed.

Mrs. Holland squeezed tighter. “You girls were her best friends. You’d tell us if you knew anything, wouldn’t you?”

The room went very quiet.

I could feel Steve staring at the side of my face like he was praying I wouldn’t crack.

“Yes, ma’am,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Nancy suddenly stood. “Excuse me, I—I need the bathroom.”

She practically ran.

Mrs. Holland let go of my hand to dab her eyes with a napkin that had little chickens printed on it.  

Irony really is a bitch.

Mr. Holland cleared his throat. “Murray says the police gave up too easy. That they buried evidence. That something strange is going on at that lab.”

Steve shifted beside me. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“No.” Mr. Holland cut him off, voice hard. “I’ve seen the files he pulled. Redacted pages. Missing persons reports that just… disappear. Our tax dollars paid for a cover-up, son.”

I felt the mashed potatoes trying to stage a prison break up my throat.

Mrs. Holland smiled at me again, watery and desperate. “We’re going to bring her home, Maggie. For real this time. You’ll see.”

I nodded. Couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth I was going to scream the truth so loud the windows would shatter.

Steve nudged my foot under the table. A tiny, steady pressure that said breathe.

I stared at my plate and counted the seconds until we could leave.

When we finally stood up to go, Mrs. Holland hugged me so hard my ribs creaked.

I closed my eyes and felt the tears I’d been swallowing for a year finally burn their way out.

In the car, nobody spoke until we were three blocks away.

Then Nancy let out a sound like a sob and a scream had a baby.

Steve pulled over, killed the engine, and we just sat there in the dark.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Nancy whispered. “They’re selling their house, Steve. For nothing.”

I stared at my lap. “I’m going to hell.”

Steve reached back and squeezed my knee. “We all are, Mags. Economy seating.”

Nancy wiped her face angrily. “We have to tell them.”

“We can’t,” Steve said, voice rough. “You know what happens if we do. Hopper said—”

“Screw Hopper!” Nancy snapped. “They deserve to know she’s not coming back!”

I laughed. It came out broken. “Yeah, because ‘Hey, your daughter was eaten by an interdimensional monster in Steve Harrington’s pool’ is such a comforting bedtime story.”

Silence.

Steve started the car again.  

“We’re fixing this,” he said quietly. “Somehow. We’re fixing it.”

I leaned my forehead against the cold window and watched the FOR SALE sign disappear in the rear-view mirror.

Barb would’ve hated every second of this.

She would’ve hated the lies most of all.

Chapter Text

I was home on Halloween night. Dad was at work—he didn’t trust me out anymore after last year, and honestly, I didn’t blame him. Frequent nightmares had me on edge, and that scared him just as much as it scared me. I wasn’t really planning to go to the party anyway; I liked handing out candy to the kids, the simple joys of the night.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Billy. He was… interesting. Dangerous in a way I couldn’t put my finger on, and that only made him more compelling.

I raided my closet and settled on a simple white dress, paired with a halo I’d gotten from church a few years ago. 

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my hair, studying the reflection of someone who was trying to be brave tonight. I was going to Tina’s stupid party, and I prayed Dad wouldn’t drive by in his cruiser and spot me sneaking out.

Step by step, I walked toward the street, the crisp autumn air tugging at my dress. The night felt alive, full of possibility… and something else.

Tina’s house was already pulsing—music leaking through the windows, silhouettes grinding on the lawn, someone howling at the moon like an actual werewolf.

I hesitated at the edge of the driveway.

I could still turn around.  

Go home. Eat candy. Pretend I was the girl in the mirror.

I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and walked straight into the mouth of hell wearing a halo and a lie.

I noticed Steve’s car parked outside, which meant he and Nancy were still here. But the moment I walked through those doors, regret hit me like a dodgeball to the face. A girl dressed as a way-too-sexy black cat was already crying on the floor, makeup smeared, mascara running down her cheeks. The rest of the crowd looked like they were three beers in and fully committed to chaos.

And then I saw him.

Billy. Standing next to Tommy H., cigarette dangling from his lips like he’d invented rebellion itself, eyes locked on me. He ignored whatever nonsense Tommy was jabbering about and just… stared. My stomach did a little flip.

He started walking toward me, slow and deliberate, and I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool, striding in the other direction. I had to find Nancy and Steve. 

Except someone grabbed my wrist. Hard. Strong. And familiar.

“Where do you think you’re going, angel?” Billy’s voice was low, teasing, like he was daring me to answer.

I snorted, tugging my wrist free—but not too hard. “I’m, uh… going to see if anyone here has a functioning brain.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Funny. I was thinking you might need a bodyguard instead.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying to step past him, but he leaned just a little closer, and I caught the faint smell of his cologne, a mix of leather, smoke, and something that was distinctly Billy. Too intoxicating.

I rolled my eyes again, louder this time. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I need—a tall, brooding, leather-clad guy shadowing my every move while I dodge drunk clowns and accidental flammable decorations.”

Billy laughed, low and throaty, and I swear it made my ears warm. He tilted his head, studying me like I was some complicated puzzle he didn’t mind solving. “You’re cute when you’re sarcastic,” he said.

I tried to scoot past him, but he matched my pace with ease.

“You know,” he continued, ignoring the party chaos around us, “I think you look a lot better than the rest of this circus. That halo suits you… angelic but dangerous.”

I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I jabbed him lightly in the shoulder. “The only danger here is you spilling your drink on yourself again.”

He leaned in just slightly, close enough that I could feel his heat without touching. “You’re into a little danger, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes—again. Third time tonight. “Absolutely not. I’m all about safe walks, hand sanitizer, and avoiding guys with cigarettes.”

He chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear—accidentally? Intentionally? I didn’t know, and my heart decided not to care.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, mostly to cover the fact that my stomach was doing somersaults.

“And you like it,” he said, voice teasing.

Before I could answer, I spotted Nancy and Steve across the room. I tugged my wrist from Billy’s grasp—not aggressively, just enough to get his attention.

I walked towards them, but something felt… off. Nancy noticed me and practically flung herself into my arms.

“You came!” she exclaimed, way too happy, and nearly knocked the wind out of me.

I caught a whiff of the punch on her breath and glanced at Steve questioningly. “Is she… drunk?”

Before he could answer, Nancy waved a dismissive hand, slurring, “Nooo, I’m nott!”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Come on, Mags! Let’s dance!” Nancy grabbed my arm before I could protest, dragging me into the swaying, chaotic crowd.

I shot Steve a desperate look. “You should take her home.”

“I know, I know, I’m working on it,” he hissed, running a frantic hand through his hair and accidentally destroying three inches of volume. “She keeps disappearing!”

Nancy spun me in a circle, nearly taking out a guy dressed as a carrot. “You’re an angel! I’m… I’m a slutty Risky Business! We’re perfect!”

I tried to laugh, but the music was loud, the lights were flashing, and every time I glanced over my shoulder, Billy was watching. His dark eyes followed my every move like he had a front-row seat just for me. I quickly looked away, pretending to be completely absorbed in the chaotic, slightly embarrassing gyrations of my best friend.

“I’m gonna get us drinks,” Nancy yelled over the music, shoving her way through the crowd. I opened my mouth to protest but she was already gone.

I could tell Steve was tense, hands tight at his sides. Neither of us had seen Nancy this drunk before.

Nancy reappeared triumphantly holding two dripping red cups. She shoved one at me. “Drink!”

I stared at it like it might bite me. “Nance, I don’t—”

“One sip! For me! For America!”

I stared at it, not used to drinking alcohol. My throat closed in protest. But… tonight felt weirdly different. I sighed, brought it to my lips, and took the tiniest sip known to man. Bitter, gross, terrible.

I handed Steve my cup. “Here, you finish mine.”

I escaped to the kitchen for some water, hoping to escape the chaos, when I felt a familiar presence behind me.

Billy.

“Don’t tell me you’re running away already,” he murmured, leaning casually against the counter. The faint smell of smoke and leather hit me again, and my knees threatened mutiny.

“I… need water,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You know,” he said, voice low and amused, “you’re the only person in this entire house not trying to get wasted. It’s adorable.”

I found a cup, filled it from the sink, and took a defiant sip. “Some of us like having brain cells, thanks.”

He plucked the cup from my fingers, took a drink from the exact spot my lips had been, and handed it back.

I stared at him.

“You look good, Maggie.” he said, low and teasing. 

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth creeping up my cheeks betrayed me.

Billy didn’t move, just watched me try to process the fact that he’d basically stolen my water and made it weirdly intimate.

I clutched the cup like a shield. “You can’t just… do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, all fake innocence. 

I took another sip in same spot, because apparently I was committed now and tried to look anywhere except his face. My eyes landed on the pack of Marlboros sticking out of his leather jacket pocket.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Want another lesson, angel?” he asked, tapping the pack with one finger.

My stomach flipped. “I still have scars on my lungs from the first one.”

“Liar. You barely inhaled.” He pulled the pack out, slid a cigarette between his fingers, and held it out—not pushing, just offering. 

I stared at the cigarette like it might bite me.

“I’m dressed like an angel,” I muttered. “Pretty sure smoking violates the dress code.”

He leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed mine. “Good girls go to heaven, Maggie. Bad girls go wherever they want.”

My face went nuclear. “You did not just quote that at me.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He smirked. “Come on.”

Chapter Text

I didn’t even notice Jonathan had shown up until I walked past him on my way out the door and spotted his car in the driveway. He didn’t look up, and thank God—because the last thing I needed was Jonathan catching me outside with Billy freaking Hargrove like we were doing something suspicious.

Part of me was relieved. Part of me felt… caught.

Then something in the air shifted.
The night dipped colder, like someone turned the temperature knob all the way down. A strange, prickling dread crawled up my spine.

I froze.

The party noise faded. Suddenly it was silent—empty. I looked around and everyone was gone, leaving me standing alone in the driveway. My breathing quickened. Lightning flashed across the sky, ripping apart the clouds.

Then it appeared.
A massive black shadow—towering, impossible, wrong. Its long, spidery limbs stretched across the sky like it was blotting out the stars.

My eyes widened. My body refused to move.

“Maggie?”

I blinked, the world snapping back into place. Billy’s hand was on my shoulder. He looked… almost worried. Definitely confused.

I gently removed his hand. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. We walked toward his car quietly.

We stopped beside the Camaro. The cold night air bit at my skin, my heart hammering like it was trying to file a noise complaint.

He lit the cigarette with a flick of his Zippo, and took the first drag himself—just to show me how it’s done, I guess.

He exhaled slow, smoke curling around his face in the street light.

“Your turn,” he said softly, holding it out.

I took it with shaky fingers. Our hands brushed.

He stepped behind me, not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him. “Relax your shoulders,” he murmured near my ear. “In slow… hold it… now let it out.”

I did exactly what he said.

Miraculously, I didn’t cough.

The smoke left my lips in a thin, shaky stream.

He let out a low whistle. “Look at that. My little angel’s a natural.”

I turned my head just enough to glare at him—and realized his face was inches from mine.

“Was that so hard?” he whispered.

“You’re literally breathing down my neck.”

“Technically I’m breathing down your halo.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. A tiny, embarrassed sound that made his eyes go soft.

He took the cigarette back, fingers brushing mine again, and took another slow drag while studying me like I was the most interesting thing at the party.

Then he handed it back again. Now we were standing chest to chest. My pulse tripped over itself.

I placed it between my lips, inhaled slowly like he taught me, held it, exhaled—cool and steady.

Billy leaned in—closer—one hand cupping my jaw gentle-fierce, pulling the smoke straight from my lips into his.

His lips brushed mine—not quite a kiss, but God, the tease of it sent heat pooling low, my halo tilting like it knew I was damned.

For a second I thought he was about to kiss me—my heart absolutely believed he was—but he pulled away at the last second, taking the cigarette from my fingers.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he said.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“They’re cold.”

Billy smirked like he had predicted my answer hours ago. He shrugged out of his leather jacket in one smooth move, then draped it around me before I could even form a protest.

It swallowed me whole. Warm. Heavy. And smelling like him.

“There,” he said smugly. “Now you can’t use that excuse.”

He was shirtless standing under the streetlamp like a fever dream. I was staring, couldn’t stop, eyes tracing every ridge and valley of his bare torso glistening with party sweat.

I wanted to touch him, trace those ridges with my fingertips, feel the heat and hard muscle jump under my palms.

He caught me staring—blue eyes snapping to mine with that wicked smirk curling slow, like he’d been waiting for the green light all night.

“Like what you see, angel?” His voice dropped low

I pulled the jacket tighter, glaring at him. “I hate you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, grin softening, “I can tell.”

Before I could think of a comeback, the front door opened. Steve walked out, looking stressed, disappointed, and—surprise—absolutely done with the night. His eyes flicked between Billy and me.

“Maggie?” he said, like I’d been caught committing a crime.

I stepped away from Billy instantly. “Where’s Nance?”

Steve hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “She’s with Jonathan… let’s go.”

He reached for my arm, gently but urgently, guiding me toward his car.

I didn’t protest.
I didn’t look back.
And I didn’t say goodbye to Billy.

Something had definitely happened between Nancy and Steve.

And something had definitely happened between Billy and me.

Chapter Text

Steve was driving me home, and the silence was so loud it felt like it was honking in my face. I stared out the window, watching Halloween decorations blur by, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s going on between you and Nancy?” I finally asked.

Steve exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for twenty minutes. “She… uh… she got drunk. Really drunk. And she kinda told me she doesn’t… love me.”

My heart broke a little for him.

“Did you know?” he asked suddenly. His voice cracked. That hurt more than the question.

I swallowed. I wasn’t about to tell him I always suspected she had more chemistry with Jonathan. That felt like kicking a puppy. A very hair-gelled, sad puppy. 

“No,” I said softly. “I really didn’t.”

He nodded, defeated, tapping the steering wheel lightly.

A beat passed.

“What’s going on between you and Billy?”

I stared straight out the windshield, pretending I didn’t hear him. Maybe if I didn’t move, he would think I’d died.

“Maggie,” he said, giving me a side-eye. “You know you deserve better than that.”

I snorted. “Better? Like who?”

“Like Jason Carver.” he shot back instantly.

I laughed so hard I nearly choked. “Yeah, okay. Maybe if I get possessed first.”

Jason Carver once asked me if I was ‘saved’ while staring directly at my boobs. Hard pass.

Steve cracked a smile despite his misery. “Just saying. You could do better.”

“Better than Billy Hargrove?” I scoffed. “You know how many girls in that party would run me over with their cars for talking to him?”

“You’re not helping,” he muttered.

The car rolled to a stop in front of my house. Steve looked at me with these big sad puppy eyes, the kind that made you want to wrap him in a blanket burrito and feed him soup.

“Goodnight, Steve,” I said gently, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait—” he called.

I paused, turning around. He got out of the car, walked around to my side, and before I could protest, he wrapped his arms around me in this sudden, warm, desperate hug.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For… just being here.”

I froze. My hands hovered awkwardly like I’d never hugged a human before. 

After two full seconds of awkwardness, I slowly, painfully raised my hands and patted his back like he was a large dog who needed reassurance.

“There, there,” I whispered.

He snorted, pulling back. “You’re terrible at hugs.”

“I’m doing my best,” I grumbled. 

I saw him glance at the leather jacket draped around my shoulders.

Billy’s jacket.

Steve’s expression soured instantly.

I mouthed, don’t start, and he shook his head, walking back into his car.

✘

Dark clouds twisted above me, swirling unnaturally fast, like someone was stirring the storm with giant invisible hands. But then I realized—
It wasn’t invisible hands.
It was me.

My arms were lifted toward the sky, fingers trembling, and the clouds obeyed. They moved when I moved, bending, curling, spiraling at my command.

The clouds tightened into a shape—long limbs, a massive torso, a head that wasn’t a head. A monster made from pure shadow. A spider made from the storm.

And I was the one summoning it.

“No,” I whispered in the dream, but my voice didn’t match the movement of my lips. My body wasn’t mine. It was like watching myself from behind my own eyes.

Then everything snapped—bright and sharp.
A flash.

And suddenly, I was seeing through something else.
Someone else.

Eyes. Burning red.

A body that wasn’t a body at all. Half man, half… ruin. Charred flesh. Torn skin. Veins glowing with something black and alive. His limbs were wrong, bent, twisted.

He stared directly at me, right through me, as if he recognized me.
As if he’d been waiting.

I tried to scream—but the sound froze in my throat.

His voice filled my mind like smoke:

“I see you.”

I jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in sweat, heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to bruise them. My room felt cold—too cold—like the nightmare had slipped through the cracks of the real world and followed me.

The door burst open and Dad rushed in. He sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me into his chest without hesitation, like he’d practiced this countless times. Because he had.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking my hair, voice steady even though I could feel the fear radiating off him. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

I held onto him tightly, sobbing into his shirt like I was eight years old again, not a girl who pretended she could handle monsters.

The nightmare clung to me—those red eyes, that twisted body, that voice.
That feeling that it wasn’t just a dream.

Dad didn’t let go until my breathing slowed.
He kissed the top of my head.

“You’re safe,” he whispered.

But as my tears soaked into his shoulder, I stared over his arm…
Out the window.

The clouds outside were moving.

Slow… swirling… almost like they were waiting for me to move my hand again.

This nightmare didn’t feel like the others.
The others made sense—well, as much sense as nightmares about the Demogorgon could make. But this one… this one was wrong.

It began with the sky.

Chapter Text

The whole morning felt off, like the world was slightly tilted to one side and no one else noticed.

I met up with Nancy before lunch. She looked exhausted. Classic “emotional hangover.”

“I haven’t spoken to Steve all day,” she admitted, chewing her lip. “He keeps avoiding me.”

“Yeah, well…” I sighed. “You were really drunk last night.“

Nancy’s face turned red. “Oh my God.”

“And you weren’t acting like yourself,” I added gently. “Did you talk to him about what you said?”

She blinked. “What did I say?”

I hesitated. Nancy and I had been through hell together—Barb, the Demogorgon, the lies, the trauma. She trusted me more than anyone. And I wasn’t about to sugarcoat something this important.

“You told him you didn’t love him,” I said softly.

Nancy’s face fell. She looked away, swallowing. “I… I don’t remember.”

“Well… maybe you should talk to him,” I said, nudging her shoulder lightly, offering a small smile.

She bit her lip harder, brows pulling in. “I don’t know what to say to him. What if I hurt him more?”

“Nance,” I said gently, “he deserves the truth. Even if it’s messy.”

Nancy nodded slowly. Then I took a quiet breath before asking:

“Do you love him?” 

Nancy’s eyes flicked up to mine, wide and conflicted.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “I care about him. I really do. Steve is—he’s good. He’s safe. He makes me laugh. He’s been there for me through everything.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“But sometimes I feel like I’m playing a part,” she admitted, voice trembling a little. “Like I’m pretending to be the girl he wants instead of the girl I actually am.”

I stepped closer, bumping her shoulder gently. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Or with him.”

Nancy exhaled shakily. “I just… I don’t want to be the villain in his story.”

“You’re not,” I said. “You’re allowed to figure out what you feel. That doesn’t make you the bad guy.”

She nodded weakly, leaning into me for a second. “You’re right. You’re always right.”

We walked into the gymnasium together just as the boys were playing basketball. The squeak of sneakers echoed, the smell of sweat hit instantly, and the boys were yelling plays like they were auditioning for the NBA.

Nancy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Steve!”

I stayed beside her, trying to be supportive, but then my eyes landed on Billy.

Sweat slid down his chest in slow motion. I hated my eyeballs for noticing.

I was staring so obviously that Nancy actually stopped mid-step.

She turned slowly, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

I snapped out of my trance. “What? I was just looking at the—uh—scoreboard.”

Nancy looked at the scoreboard.

It was turned off.

“Yeah. Okay,” she said flatly.

Before I could explain why I was acting like a malfunctioning toaster, Nancy marched toward Steve, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him outside to talk. Good. They needed that.

Which left me alone.

With Billy.

He strutted over like he was walking in slow motion even though he absolutely was not. His grin was already forming; he knew he had me cornered and he hadn’t even cornered me yet.

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Or ten,” I muttered.

Before I could overthink the situation, he stepped back and gestured with his chin. “Come here.”

“Uh—no?”

But he didn’t listen. He moved in closer, guiding me backward with that stupid confident smirk until my back hit the wall behind the bleachers.

Great. I was officially cornered behind the bleachers like some cliché girl in a teen movie. The practice roared on in the background—balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking—and here I was, trapped by Billy Hargrove’s chest and stupid hair.

“You avoiding me?” he asked softly.

“No,” I lied immediately.

He smirked wider. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an amazing liar.”

Then he lowered his voice even more. “Did you think about me last night?”

My heart nearly exploded. Maybe it actually exploded. I might’ve needed a doctor.

“No,” I said too quickly.

He leaned in, lips curving. “Then why’d you leave in my jacket?”

I froze.

“I— I forgot to give it back,” I said, which sounded pathetic even to me.

Billy leaned one arm against the wall beside my head. “You forgot? Or you just liked having something that smells like me?”

“I—” My brain short-circuited. “People forget things all the time.”

“Mm-hm.” He tilted his head with an infuriatingly knowing smile. “Did you sleep in it?”

I shoved him away, cheeks burning. “Go play your stupid game.”

He winked. “Only if you promise to watch.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.”

Chapter Text

Coach blew the whistle. Practice ended. The gym emptied out in a wave of sweaty boys and slamming lockers. I lingered on the bottom bleacher like a complete idiot, pretending to tie shoes that were already tied.

Earlier, Steve walked into the gym. His expression said everything: That “talk” with Nancy didn’t go well. At all.

He didn’t even look at me long enough to offer a ride home. No head tilt. No “you coming?” Nothing. Just heartbreak and hair gel.

He spotted me, gave a tight nod that said “I’m alive but barely,” then disappeared into the locker room without a word.

Great. Walking it is.

I was halfway to the exit when a hand clamped around my wrist—hot, rough, impossible to ignore.

Billy tugged me back under the shadow of the bleachers, still shirtless, skin gleaming like he’d been dipped in sin and left to dry.

“You’re still here,” he murmured, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist where my heartbeat was trying to stage a prison break. “Means you want something.”

“I want a ride home.”

His grin was slow, sharp, all teeth. “I can do that.”

I stepped outside. The late afternoon air was warm, soft, calm.

A few minutes later, Billy pushed the door open with his shoulder and tossed his bag into his Camaro.

He opened the passenger door for me—gentlemanly, almost—and then ruined it by sliding his hand across the small of my back as I ducked in, fingers splaying wide, claiming.

The second his door slammed shut the car felt half the size.

He cranked the engine and Metallica exploded through the speakers—Ride the Lightning, of course. He caught me mouthing the words and his eyebrows shot up.

“Didn’t peg you for a metal girl, church mouse.”

“What do you expect me to listen to?” I asked. “Hymns?”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

I shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Didn’t know you had good taste.”

“I always had good taste.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking over me, “I’m starting to notice.”

My cheeks burned.

Windows down, cold wind whipping my hair across my face. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift—except every time he shifted, his knuckles grazed my bare knee. Once. Twice. Third time his fingers stayed, curling just under the hem of my skirt, thumb stroking slow circles.

I should’ve slapped his hand away.

I didn’t.

“You know,” he said suddenly, eyes on the road but every other part of him focused on me. “I don’t want Harrington driving you anymore.”

My head snapped toward him. “What? Why?”

“He’s distracted,” Billy said. “Not good for you.”

“That’s… not your decision.”

He smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to let me handle it.”

“Handle what?”

“You.”

I blinked. “Billy—”

“So,” he said casually—too casually. “You busy Sunday?”

“Sunday?” I repeated. “I have church.”

“After you do your little communion thing. You’re mine.”

I snorted. “Pretty sure God doesn’t schedule around your libido, Hargrove.”

He downshifted hard, engine snarling, and turned onto my street way too fast. “Doesn’t have to. I’m asking nice.” His hand slid an inch higher, callouses dragging over sensitive skin. “Say yes, Maggie.”

My mouth went dry. “This is you asking nice?”

“This is me giving you the chance to pretend you have a choice.” His voice dropped, velvet and venom. “We both know you’re gonna be in this car Sunday night wearing something pretty and sitting a lot closer than you are right now.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach—anger, want, terror, all mixed up.

I tried for bravado. “And if I say no?”

He pulled up in front of my house, killed the engine, and turned to face me fully.

“Then I’ll just keep showing up,” he said softly. “Every Mass. Every Sunday. Leaning against my car, smoking, waiting for you to stop pretending you don’t think about my mouth on you every time you close your eyes.”

Jesus Christ.

I fumbled for the door handle. He caught my chin before I could escape, thumb pressing against my bottom lip—not quite inside my mouth, but close enough that I felt the threat of it.

“Say yes, angel.”

My voice came out shaky. “Yes.”

His smile was slow and victorious and terrifying. “Good girl.”

I didn’t move. So he closed the distance himself.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not quite. His mouth hovered a whisper away, warm breath mixing with mine, the tip of his nose nudging mine. Teasing. Punishing. Making me lean in the last millimeter before he gave me anything.

“Billy—”

“Shh.” His free hand slid into my hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt my head exactly where he wanted it. 

My whole body lit up like a live wire. I could feel his heartbeat through the tiny space between us—fast, hungry.

Headlights swept across the driveway.

Billy jerked back—not guilty, but annoyed—and my dad’s police cruiser pulled in behind us.

Perfect. Kill me now.

Dad stepped out like he’d been waiting his whole life to catch me doing something scandalous.

“Margaret Powell, get your ass in the house right now!”

I jerked back so hard my head smacked the window. Billy didn’t flinch, just laughed under his breath, low and filthy.

I wanted to melt into the car floor.

Billy sat back, smirk returning like he found the whole thing entertaining. “This oughta be good.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Billy said. “This is the best show I’ve had all week.”

Dad marched to the passenger side, knocking on the window. Billy lowered it as slowly and disrespectfully as possible, resting his arm on the door like he owned the house and the neighborhood and me.

“Officer,” Billy said sweetly. Fake sweet. Toxic sweet. “Just bringing your daughter home safe.”

Dad glared. “I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

Billy smiled wider. “Yeah. I’m getting that vibe.”

“Dad,” I hissed, mortified. “Stop—”

“No,” Dad snapped. “Guys like him only want one thing.”

Billy’s smirk sharpened. “Two things, actually.”

I elbowed him so hard he grunted.

Dad looked like he was about to pass out. “Get inside. Now.”

I scrambled out of the car, desperate to escape both men.

At the porch I made the mistake of looking back.

He cranked the stereo until the bass rattled my ribs from twenty feet away, revved the engine once—filthy, promising—and mouthed a single word I had no trouble reading.

Sunday.

Then he was gone, taillights bleeding red down the street.

Dad grabbed my arm and marched me inside like I was twelve and caught shoplifting.

The second the door slammed he started in.

“That boy is trouble in tight jeans, Maggie. Trouble with a capital T and a side of herpes—”

“Dad!”

“Guys like that only want one thing and once they get it they’re gone faster than you can say ‘teenage pregnancy’—”

I slammed my door so hard the walls rattled.

Dad groaned. “We’re not done talking!”

I paced my room, face hot, heart pounding.

Then the room folded in half.

I got a headache.
Not the normal kind. Not even the bad kind.
This one stabbed behind my eyes like something was clawing its way out.

I squeezed them shut—just for a second—and when I opened them…

I wasn’t in my room anymore.

I was in the Upside Down.

Cold air. Floating ash. Silence so thick it felt alive.

I looked down and saw Will.
Tiny, terrified Will.
He stared up at me like I was the thing hunting him.

“Go away.” His voice trembled

I froze. My stomach dropped.

I took a step toward him. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. No sound. Just cold air that tasted like rot.

“Go away!” Will repeated, louder, more desperate. He backed up like I was the monster.

And then I understood.

He wasn’t yelling at something behind me.

He was yelling at me.

I took a step toward him anyway—instinct, panic, something—and his eyes went wide with pure terror.

A mass of black shadow slid into view like smoke with teeth. The same creature from my nightmare.

Before I could react, it plunged into Will’s body—swallowed him whole—and then—

I snapped back into my bedroom with a violent jerk.

I gasped, gripping my sheets. My body shook so hard it rattled the mattress. My limbs felt numb, like I’d been pulled back through layers of ice.

Whiskers jumped onto my bed immediately, meowing with concern. He pressed his small, warm body against my side, purring softly—like he was trying to ground me, anchor me back in reality.

I stayed like that for hours.

The sun went down. The house creaked. Dad knocked once, gruff and worried.

“Mags? You coming down for dinner or you still mad at me?”

I couldn’t answer.

He waited a long time, then sighed and shuffled away.

I wanted to scream that I wasn’t mad, that something terrified Will, that I thought I was becoming the thing we’d spent a year trying to forget.

But my body wouldn’t obey.

At some point the paralysis loosened enough that tears could leak out the corners of my eyes.

I didn’t sleep again that night.

I just lay there, paralyzed in every way that mattered, while Will screamed over and over inside my skull.

Go away.  

Go away.  

Go away.

Chapter Text

I spotted him halfway down the hall and immediately executed the world’s clumsiest one-eighty.  

Too late.

I’d been avoiding him all morning—ducking around corners, pretending to look fascinated by bulletin boards, basically living like a fugitive in my own school. I was still mortified from yesterday, and the vision was also eating me alive.

“Running from me, angel?”  

His voice slid down the hallway like smoke, curling around my ankles and yanking me to a stop.

I kept walking. Faster.

Boots thudded behind me. Then a hand clamped around my upper arm and suddenly I was being steered into an empty science classroom.

The door clicked shut. The lock snicked.

He leaned back against it, arms folded, blocking the only exit. Sunlight through the blinds striped his face in gold and shadow, making him look like a very expensive warning label.

“Hi,” he said, all lazy amusement. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I have a very busy schedule of existential dread and poor decisions,” I muttered, hugging my books to my chest like a shield. 

“With Harrington?” he cut in, voice sharpening. “Saw you talking to him earlier. Real close.”

“That was about his college essay!”

“Still close.”

“That’s how conversations work—”

He stepped forward, crowding my space. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

I blinked. “I’m not your girlfriend, Billy.”

“I don’t share.”

Before I could fire back he cupped my jaw with one rough hand, thumb pressing into my cheek hard enough to dimple the skin.

“Tell me he’s nothing,” he said, voice low. “Say it.”

“He’s nothing,” I snapped, because I was tired and terrified and Billy’s hand on my face was the first thing that had felt real all day.

His mouth crashed into mine like punishment and reward at the same time.

Hot, messy, no pretense of gentleness. Teeth first, scraping my lower lip until I opened for him on a gasp, and then his tongue was inside, claiming every inch like he was starving and I was the first thing he’d tasted in years. He tasted like spearmint and smoke and something darker I didn’t have a name for.

I should have kneed him in the balls.

Instead my books hit the floor with a thud and my hands ended up in his hair, pulling just as hard as he was pulling mine.

He walked me backward until my spine hit the chalkboard. Chalk dust puffed around us like smoke. His thigh shoved between mine, denim rasping against my tights, and I felt exactly how much he wasn’t bluffing.

I made a helpless sound. He swallowed it.

He used the grip in my hair to yank my head back, exposing my throat. His teeth closed over the spot just below my jaw, not quite a bite, just the promise of one, and I felt it between my legs like he’d touched me there instead.

“Tell me again Harrington’s nothing,” he growled into my skin, voice shredded.

“He’s nothing,” I panted, and I meant it this time, because right then there was no Steve, no Will, no Upside Down; there was only Billy’s mouth and the way he kissed like he wanted to leave bruises shaped like his name.

He dragged his lips back to mine, slower now, deliberate. Licked into my mouth once, twice, filthy and thorough, then pulled back just far enough that I chased him without thinking.

He let me.

Then he bit my bottom lip hard enough to sting and soothed it with his tongue until I was shaking.

When he finally broke away we were both wrecked. My lips felt swollen, used. His pupils were blown wide, blue almost gone.

He didn’t let go of my hair.

He used it to tip my face up so I had to look at him.

I stared at him, lips swollen, brain short-circuited.

Billy licked his bottom lip, tasting me there, and smirked.

“Better run, angel,” he said, voice velvet-rough. “Bell’s about to ring.”

I shoved past him, snatched my books off the floor, and bolted.

He let me go, but I felt his eyes on me the whole way.

I didn’t stop until I was in the girls’ bathroom, locked in a stall, forehead pressed to the cold metal door.

✘

I’d stayed back late at school.
Not because I wanted to — because I couldn’t think straight.

Every class was a blur. Every chalk squeak, every pencil scratch sounded like echoes from the Upside Down. I tried to find Jonathan, but he was nowhere. And Nancy? Not a single sign of her either.

Suspicious. And worrying.

The final bell had already rung by the time I wandered into the hallway, lost in my own head. The boys were spilling out of the gym from basketball practice, sweaty and noisy and absolutely reeking of teenage boy.

Steve spotted me instantly and nearly skidded across the floor trying to get to me.

“Maggie!” he called, waving one arm like he was drowning.

He stopped in front of me, panting.
And smelling…

I subtly leaned back. “Ew. What is that?”

“It’s called hard work and athletics,” he said defensively.

“It’s called deodorant, Steve.”

He groaned. “Whatever. Listen—have you heard from Nancy?”

I shook my head. “No. Not since yesterday.”

He deflated. His voice dropped. “I think… we broke up.”

My chest tightened. “Steve…”

“I mean, she didn’t say it,” he continued, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “But she looked at me like she was choosing between me and a dentist appointment she really didn’t want to go to.”

“That’s… specific,” I said.

“Well, she hates the dentist.”

“Everyone hates the dentist.”

“No. Nancy hates it like—like it’s personal.”

I laughed despite everything. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny.”

He sighed, eyes soft. “I just… I don’t know what to do. Do you think she’s okay?”

I nodded. “I think she’s confused. Overwhelmed. She needs space, Steve. She’s still dealing with… everything.”

His face crumpled a little. “I miss her.”

I touched his arm gently. “I know.”

Steve’s eyes flicked down to my gesture…

And that’s when I felt it.

Billy was leaning against the far wall, towel slung around his neck, staring at us like he was mentally calculating how many bones he could break before anyone noticed.

Steve noticed where I was looking and turned around.

“Uh…” Steve said slowly. “What’s his problem?”

“I—uh—don’t know,” I lied badly.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because he’s looking at me like he wants to fight me in the parking lot.”

“He always looks like that.”

I swallowed again and stepped back from Steve, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Well,” I said awkwardly, “if I hear from Nancy, I’ll let you know.”

Steve nodded, offering me a sad smile. “Thanks, Mags. Really.”

He walked off, shoulders hunched, sneakers squeaking, until he disappeared around the corner toward the locker room.

Leaving me alone in the hallway.

Or… not alone.

Billy pushed off the wall and started toward me, every step heavy with that storm-cloud energy. I braced myself — for a comment, a smirk, a jealous remark, something.

Instead he didn’t even glance at me.

He walked right past me.

I blinked, confused.

Then my stomach dropped as I watched him follow Steve straight into the locker room — toward the showers.

Chapter Text

I biked to the Byers’ house as fast as my legs could move. I didn’t even bother calling—if I missed my curfew, Dad would assume I was sneaking out with Billy or worse.

When I turned onto the Byers’ street, I saw Hopper’s Ford parked out front.

My heart dropped.

Hopper + Joyce usually meant one thing:
Will.
Something had happened to Will.

I skidded into the driveway, jumped off my bike, and noticed the front door was cracked open.

“Hello? Mrs. Byers?” I called, stepping inside cautiously.

Joyce appeared first—hair frazzled, eyes wild with that mix of fear and determination she always carried these days. Hopper hovered behind her like a protective wall.

“Maggie?” Joyce whispered, surprised. “Honey, Jonathan’s not here. He might be at the Wheelers’—”

“I’m actually here for Will,” I blurted out.

Both of them froze.

Joyce’s brows knitted together. “For Will?”

“Yes.” My voice shook. “I… I saw something. Something bad. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Hopper’s arms crossed. His face hardened. “What exactly did you ‘see’?”

I swallowed. “Something in my dream. Or vision. It—it felt real.”

Joyce didn’t hesitate. She grabbed my arm—firm, urgent—and pulled me down the hall. Hopper followed close behind.

She knocked on Will’s door. “Hey, knock knock,” she said gently. “We have a visitor.”

My stomach twisted.

Will turned his head slowly toward us, eyes tired and haunted.

“Hi, Will,” I whispered, voice shaking.

Chills crawled up my spine.
Something in him… recognized something in me.

Joyce handed me a crumpled drawing. The shadow monster. Exactly what I saw in my vision.

I swallowed. “I… saw this too.”

Will’s eyes widened. He stared at me—really stared—like he could see straight through my skin.

“You saw it,” he whispered.

Joyce and Hopper turned sharply to him.

Will’s voice trembled. “I can feel it inside of me... like it’s watching everything I do.”

Hopper crouched beside him. “Does it talk to you?”

“No,” Will answered quickly.

Then Hopper looked at me. “Does it talk to you?”

I shook my head. “No. I just… see it. Like I’m there. But I’m not.”

Will’s hands balled into fists. “I know things about it now,” he said. “Things I don’t want to know.”

I chewed my nails nervously. The tension in the air felt electric, heavy, like something was pressing on all of us.

Will’s eyes flickered toward me again, filled with fear—and something else. Recognition. Connection.

“It’s in my head,” Will whispered. “I see what it sees. It’s spreading. Growing. Killing.”

His voice cracked.

“It’s hurting everything.”

He broke down, sobbing into Joyce’s arm. She wrapped him tightly, whispering to him, her voice trembling.

My heart ached.
Will didn’t deserve this.
His family didn’t deserve this.

Joyce brushed tears from her face. “What if you didn’t have to use words, baby? What if you just… showed us?”

We moved quickly.

Markers. Paper. Crayons. Anything we could grab.

Will sat at his desk and began sketching wildly—lines, shapes, shadows—his hand moving so fast it blurred. Joyce, Hopper, and I crouched close, watching his small hands race against something only he could feel.

I leaned near Joyce. “What is he drawing?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Hopper frowned. “We’ll figure it out.”

Will dropped another finished page to the floor. Then another. Then another.

It made no sense.

Not until one sheet slipped toward me upside down. I picked it up, rotated it, and saw that a long curve on this page matched a line on another page.

“Wait—” I whispered. “It connects.”

Joyce’s head snapped toward me. “What?”

“These pages—they’re pieces. Like a puzzle.”

Hopper slid the furniture aside. Joyce began piecing the drawings together. I scrambled around Will’s room collecting the papers, laying them out on the floor.

I looked at the thing we’d built, a living, growing web of crayon and terror.

Hopper scratched his head, looking from the drawing to me.
“Does this mean anything to you?”

I blinked at the monstrous swirl of shapes. “I have no idea what I’m looking at. I’m… not an art major.”

Joyce kneeled, tracing a line with her finger. “Maybe it’s a maze. Or a road. Or… something that moves.”

Hopper crossed his arms. “You think it’s a storm?”

Joyce shook her head. “No. The storm Will drew earlier was red. This is all blue. And—” she tapped a brown smudge, “—has… weird dirt color.”

“I thought that was peanut butter,” I whispered.

Joyce gave me a look. “It’s not peanut butter, honey.”

“Oh.”

Hopper grunted. He paced around the edges, then stopped. “Vines.”

Joyce stood up abruptly. “Vines?”

He nodded. “This stuff right here. Looks just like the vines in the Upside Down. Spreads like a disease.”

My stomach tightened.

And as much as I wanted to stay and unravel the horror mural on the floor, the sun was dipping behind the trees. Which meant—

“I should get home before my dad thinks I’ve been kidnapped,” I mumbled.

Hopper grabbed his jacket and hat. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“You want to bike home alone in the dark while some shadow monster is drawing blue spaghetti in children’s bedrooms?”

“…not particularly.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He motioned me out the door.

I slid in Hopper’s truck, clutching my backpack. Hopper started the engine with a sigh that carried the weight of someone who’d seen too many weird things in this town.

“So,” I said gently, “how did you figure out those were vines so fast?”

“Because it’s always vines,” he said flatly. “When in doubt, vines.”

“Did you date a gardener?”

Hopper groaned. “You are your father’s daughter.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

I grinned. “Was too.”

A few seconds of silence passed before curiosity clawed its way back up my throat.
“So do you think Will’s visions are going to get worse? And what about mine? And what if the vines start showing up here? And what if—”

“Kid, you ask more questions than a rookie on his first day.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“Correct.”

He cracked the smallest smile. “You’ve got your father worrying enough. Maybe try not riding your bike all over town chasing monsters.”

“I wasn’t chasing monsters,” I protested. “I was checking on Will.”

“Same thing.”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my dad.”

We pulled up in front of my house. Dad’s cruiser was in the driveway—he was home early. Fantastic.

Hopper killed the engine but didn’t unlock the doors yet.

“School,” he said, pointing a finger at me like a loaded weapon. “That’s your job. Homework. Normal teenage garbage. Boys who don’t look like they were spawned in a motorcycle gang.”

I choked on air. “Subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be subtle. I’m trying to keep you breathing.”

“Okay,” I said quietly. “But… if something happens to Will, or to any of my friends—”

“It won’t be on you,” he cut in. “You hear me? That’s not your burden.”

I nodded.

He reached over and ruffled my hair like I was eight. “Now get out of my truck before your dad comes out here swinging a frying pan.”

I laughed, hopped out, then leaned back through the window. “Hey, Hop?”

“Yeah?”

“If the vines turn out to be, like, evil zucchini or something, I get to say I told you so.”

He shook his head, already pulling away. “Go do your algebra, smartass.”

The Blazer rumbled off into the dusk.

I stood on the sidewalk a long moment, watching the taillights disappear, feeling the cold spot behind my ribs pulse once—like it had heard every word.

Then I went inside to face Dad’s inevitable interrogation.

At least Hopper hadn’t mentioned the faint hickey blooming on my neck.

Chapter Text

Saturday afternoon, Dad dropped me off at the curb with all the enthusiasm of a man delivering his daughter to a maximum-security prison.

“Study,” he reminded me, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at me. “Not gossip. Not boys. Not whatever teenage witchcraft you two get up to when you think adults aren’t looking.”

“Scout’s honor,” I said, already halfway out of the car.

“You were never a scout.”

I slammed the door before he could change his mind and revoke my social privileges until graduation.

I’d convinced Dad to drop me off at Nancy’s house to “study.” Which was… half true. We did have a quiz coming up but also, I hadn’t heard from Nancy in two entire days — basically a century in Hawkins friendship time.

I’d barely taken three steps when a bike came screaming up the driveway like was escaping from a nuclear blast. Dustin Henderson skidded to a halt so hard his back tire fishtailed, nearly taking out Mrs. Wheeler’s prized azaleas.

He was red-faced, curls plastered to his forehead, teeth bared in pure gremlin panic.

“Maggie!” he wheezed. “Emergency! Code red! Possible Code Dart!”

I rang the doorbell approximately seventeen times in a row. “Define Code Dart.”

“Dart ate my cat and is now the size of a Buick.”

I froze mid-ring. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Would I joke about feline homicide?”

“Dustin—”

“But it’s fine!” he rushed out. “Totally fine. I, uh… captured him. Contained him. He’s in a perfectly secure location.”

I squinted. “Where’s that?”

“My basement.”

The door finally swung open. Ted Wheeler stood there in his usual expression stuck somewhere between mild irritation and mild indigestion.

“Hi, Mr. Wheeler,” I said politely. “Is Nancy home?”

“No.”

Before I could ask anything else, Dustin shoved in front of me like a very aggressive garden gnome.

“Your line has been busy for two straight hours, Mr. Wheeler. Do you realize this?”

Ted blinked slowly. “Oh, I do realize.”

“Is Mike home?”

“No.”

Dustin threw his hands up. “No? Well, where the hell is he?”

Mr. Wheeler turned around and yelled, “Karen! Where is our son?!”

From somewhere inside the house, Mrs. Wheeler called back, “Will’s!”

Mr. Wheeler faced us again, shrugging. “Our children don’t live here anymore. You’re welcome to try the Byers residence. Or Narnia. Same difference.”

He shut the door in our faces.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

We headed down the sidewalk together.

Dustin glanced at me sideways. “So… are you still getting visions?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Worse ones.”

He frowned deeply — like he was trying to solve a math problem with emotional trauma attached.
“Worse how?”

“I saw Will. In the Upside Down. And a shadow monster. And I think… it saw me too.”

Dustin stopped walking.

“If it’s seeing you, it means you’re connected somehow.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I know.”

Dustin nudged my shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. You’re like… our secret psychic weapon.”

“I don’t want to be a psychic weapon.”

“Yeah, well,” Dustin sighed dramatically, “nobody wants to fight eldritch horrors, yet here we are.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

Suddenly, a car turned onto the street — Steve’s BMW — rolling up the driveway like a wounded soldier returning from emotional war.

Dustin groaned. “Oh great. Hair Boy.”

Steve parked, got out… and he was holding flowers.

He was muttering to himself, practicing what I can only assume was his grand romantic apology speech.

“Steve,” I called, stepping directly into his path before he could march up to the door.

He jolped, nearly dropping the roses. “Mags! Jesus, warn a guy!”

I pointed at the bouquet. “Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?”

He blinked. “No?”

“Good,” Dustin said, snatching them straight out of Steve’s hands.

“Hey!” Steve protested. “Give those back!”

“Nancy’s not home.”

He looked devastated. “Where is she?”

We all walked toward his car together.

“Maggie…” Steve tried again. “Where’s Nancy?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said gently. “She’s not here.”

Dustin opened the passenger door and started rearranging Steve’s cassette tapes like a tiny, judgmental DJ. “We have bigger problems than your love life, Harrington.”

Steve leaned against the hood, dragging a hand through his famous hair. “Bigger than Nancy thinking I’m a bullshit boyfriend? I doubt that.”

Dustin popped his head up. “Bigger as in my new pet grew legs, a tail, and an appetite for cats.”

Steve blinked. “I’m sorry, your what now?”

I took a breath. “Well… kind of. Dustin has a monster.”

Steve froze. “A monster?!”

“An evolving monster,” Dustin corrected proudly. “Named Dart.”

“He named it,” I whispered.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two are going to get me committed.”

“Only if you keep bringing apology flowers to an empty house,” I said. “Give them to your mom or something. Or Mrs. Click. She’ll probably name her next cat after you.”

Steve stared at the roses like they’d personally betrayed him. “I just wanted to say sorry for being a douche.”

“Too late, buddy.” Dustin said.

Steve looked at me, desperate. “You coming with us to deal with whatever fresh hell this is, Mags?”

I sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Dustin chirped.

Steve groaned but opened the driver’s door. “If anything tries to eat my face, I’m sacrificing both of you.”

Chapter Text

Dustin and Steve had basically kidnapped me.

Not that I minded.
Dad already thought I was safely studying at Nancy’s, and I just had to make it back in time for church tomorrow.

“It’s just some little lizard, okay?” Steve insisted, mostly to himself.

Dustin shot him a deadly glare. “He ate my cat, Steve.”

I winced. “Yeah… that’s not lizard behavior.”

“I know!” Dustin snapped. “Thank you, Maggie, the only sane person here.”

Steve popped the trunk of the BMW, pulled out the bat, and gave it a practice swing that would’ve made Babe Ruth jealous.

I raised an eyebrow. “Planning to play baseball with the slug monster?”

“Planning to survive,” he corrected. “Also planning to look badass doing it.

We were trudging across the Henderson yard like a very depressed, very armed marching band.

Steve was still trying to downplay the whole thing.  

Steve winced. “Dude, I’m sorry about Mews. But maybe she ran away?”

“She weighed fourteen pounds and thought doors were a myth. She didn’t run anywhere.”

I reached over and squeezed Dustin’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Dustin. Whiskers has been acting weird too, like he knows something’s coming. Either he’s psychic or he’s finally snapped from old age.”

“Even the pets are unionizing against us.” Steve muttered. 

We reached the storm-cellar doors behind the house. 

Dustin yanked them open “Down there.”

Steve grabbed the bat tighter. “Great.”

He pointed the bat at me. “You stay behind me, got it? And if anything with more teeth than a shark comes at you, scream like a banshee.”

I saluted. “Roger that, King Steve. Also, I have a date tomorrow night, so if we could all not die before seven p.m., that’d be super.”

Steve stopped dead on the basement stairs. “You’re going out with Hargrove?”

“Yup.”

Steve looked personally betrayed. “Maggie. He’s a jerk. A capital-J, mullet-wearing, probably-kicks-puppies jerk.”

“He’s… complicated,” I said weakly.

“He’s a walking red flag with daddy issues,” Steve countered.

Dustin nodded solemnly. “He once told Max that feelings were for ‘pussies and people who floss.’ Direct quote.”

I groaned. “Can we focus on the monster baby instead of my terrible taste in boys?”

Steve and I clomped down into the damp, concrete gloom. Dustin stayed topside on “lookout,” which we all knew meant he was scared and wanted plausible deniability.

The air was damp and smelled like old potatoes and betrayal. I stuck close to Steve, because silence in a creepy cellar is how horror movies start.

I poked him. “So… earlier. You said you were gonna apologize to Nancy?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I was a dick. I kept pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. I don’t know, Mags. I thought if I just… kept being King Steve, she’d stay.”

His voice cracked on the last part.

I bumped him again, softer. “You’re figuring it out. That counts.”

“You think she’ll ever talk to me again?”

“I think she’s hurting too. Give her time.”

He gave me a sad half-smile. “You deserve better than Hargrove, y’know.”

I was about to reply when Steve nudged something slimy with the bat. It squelched.

“Gross,” I said.

“Understatement.” He lifted the bat. A long, translucent, gooey… thing dangled from the end like a deflated balloon. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“Congratulations,” I deadpanned. “Dart hit puberty.”

Steve flung the shed skin away like it had personally insulted his mother. Then he spotted the flashlight beam across the far wall and froze.

There was a hole. A big, jagged, dripping hole that definitely hadn’t been there last week.

“Dustin!” Steve yelled up the stairs. “Get down here! Your lizard went full Shawshank!”

Dustin’s head appeared at the top. “No way. No freaking way.”

While Dustin thundered down, Steve and I stared at the tunnel like it might start reciting poetry.

Steve exhaled. “So… that happened.”

Chapter Text

The car slowed as we turned onto my street. Steve cleared his throat, suddenly awkward in that soft way he got when he didn’t know where to put his feelings.

“So,” he said. “Uh. Good luck tomorrow. On… the date.”

“Thanks.”

A beat.

He added, half-joking, half-not, “And, y’know. If it doesn’t go well—if he turns out to be a total nightmare—you could always ditch him and come hang with us instead.”

I smiled, warm and genuine. “Tempting offer, Harrington.”

He relaxed a little, grinning. “Just saying. We’re way more fun than Hargrove.”

The BMW rolled to a stop in front of my house.

And then Steve stiffened.

I felt it before I saw it—the pressure in my chest, the instinctive oh no curling in my gut.

Parked across the street was a blue Camaro.

Billy’s Camaro.

Low, loud even when silent. Like it knew it didn’t need to announce itself.

He was leaning against it, arms crossed, cigarette dangling between his fingers. Watching us. Waiting.

His eyes flicked up when the headlights washed over him.

And he smiled.

Steve muttered, “Why is he here?”

“I don’t know,” I said, pulse kicking up. “He’s already seeing me tomorrow.”

“That makes it worse.”

Billy pushed off the Camaro and took a few slow steps closer, boots scraping asphalt. The cigarette glowed between his fingers as he dragged on it, eyes never leaving the car.

Specifically—never leaving me.

Steve leaned toward me, voice low. “You want me to walk you up?”

Billy laughed softly. Not loud enough for us to hear—but enough for me to feel it.

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s fine.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. “Mags—”

“I’ve got it,” I said, already reaching for the handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

I hesitated, then added gently, “And… good luck tomorrow. Try not to die.”

He snorted. “Right back at you.”

I stepped out into the cold night air.

Billy’s eyes dragged over me—slow, unapologetic, like he was taking inventory of something he already owned.

Steve watched from the driver’s seat, jaw tight. I closed the door and gave him a small wave. He didn’t pull off right away.

Billy noticed.

Of course he did.

I turned toward him just as Steve finally drove off.

Billy flicked his cigarette to the pavement and crushed it under his boot.

I crossed my arms. “Didn’t know you liked showing up unannounced.”

He tilted his head, smirk deepening. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“At midnight.”

“Coincidences happen.” His voice dropped. “You looked real cozy in there.”

I laughed lightly, even though my heart was hammering. “You spying on me now?”

“I thought I told you,” he said quietly, “I didn’t want Harrington driving you around anymore.”

I blinked. “You don’t get to tell me who can give me a ride.”

Billy stepped closer — not enough to touch, just enough to crowd my space. I could smell smoke and motor oil and something restless underneath.

“Harrington likes to play hero,” he said. “Guys like that? They don’t stop when they think something’s theirs.”

My stomach twisted. “I’m not his.”

Billy’s eyes flicked over my face, slow and assessing. “Didn’t say you were.”

A beat.

“But he’d like you to be.”

“He’s my friend.”

Billy’s smile sharpened. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“Steve Harrington doesn’t look at you like a friend,” he said. “And I don’t like sharing what I’m interested in.”

My stomach flipped. “That’s not—”

“And you don’t look back at him like one either.”

There it was. The hook.

I bristled. “You don’t get to decide how I look at people.”

He leaned down slightly, voice low and intimate. “I don’t decide. I just notice.”

Silence stretched between us. The night felt suddenly too quiet.

Then he straightened, hands up in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

I swallowed. “About what?”

He paused, glanced down at me, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Tomorrow,” he said lightly. “We’re good, yeah?”

I hesitated.

That hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

His smile sharpened. “Good.”

His hands rose to cradle my face, thumbs brushing gently along my cheekbones, calluses rough against my skin. His breath mingled with mine, warm and unsteady, as his lips hovered just above my own—close enough to feel the heat, the promise, but not quite touching yet.

His eyes searched mine, dark and intense, holding me captive without a single word. I could feel the faint tremble in his fingers, the restraint it took to stay this still when everything in him seemed to scream for more.

“Why are you here, Billy?” I murmured, the words brushing against his lips as we hovered inches apart.

“My dad was being an asshole,” he said, voice low and rough. “Needed to clear my head. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I knew he wasn’t lying—the raw honesty in his eyes gave him away. I leaned into him, closing the last bit of space, and he gently pushed a strand of hair from my face before his lips captured mine.

Billy kissed with purpose—firm and decisive, his stubble grazing my chin as he parted my lips and slid his tongue against mine. His touch was hungry, almost desperate, like he wanted to consume every part of me. I’d never felt this kind of want before, this intensity that made my skin burn. So I surrendered, meeting his tongue with mine, tasting the faint hint of smoke and mint as my hands slid up his chest, feeling the hard muscle tense under my palms.

Maybe this was all he needed—just the kiss, the closeness. I could handle that. Our eyes flicked open at the same moment, locked together as he caught my lower lip between his teeth and tugged. A soft moan slipped out of me before I could stop it. The heat in his gaze sent a dangerous flutter low in my belly. I wasn’t sure how much of it was pure lust and how much was the nervous flutter of anxiety.

But the question answered itself when his hands gripped my hips and pulled me flush against him. I felt his hardness pressing into me, unmistakable and urgent.

His palms slid lower, cupping my ass and squeezing possessively as he trailed hot kisses down my neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this to you,” he murmured against my skin, one hand already snaking up under my shirt, fingers tracing the curve of my waist. We were standing right in the middle of the street—porch lights glowing from nearby houses, anyone could glance out a window and see us.

I gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Billy, wait—we can’t.”

He knew why. He let out a frustrated sigh and pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“I hope we can continue this tomorrow,” he said, voice thick with promise, eyes dark and intent.

Before I could respond, he stepped back toward his car. “Get some sleep, church girl.”

The Camaro roared to life and tore down the street.

The front door creaked open, and the warmth of the house hit me like a slap. I was bone-tired, ready to collapse into bed and forget the whole messy night. But there he was—Dad, perched at the kitchen table like a sentinel, nursing a mug of what smelled like black coffee gone cold. His eyes flicked up, sharp and disappointed, the lines on his face deepening under the harsh fluorescent light.

“Hey,” I said carefully. “You’re still up.”

"Saw you out there. Talking to that Hargrove kid." he said, voice flat, but I could hear the edge in it. He set the mug down with a deliberate thunk. 

I froze in the doorway, my backpack slipping off my shoulder to thump on the floor. God, the way he said it, like I'd been caught doing something filthy. "Dad, it's not—"

"Not what?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze pinning me in place. "Not you flirting with trouble? Billy Hargrove's bad news, kiddo."

I shrugged, defensive creeping in. “I’m almost seventeen, Dad.”

He stood slowly, disappointment written all over his face — not anger, not yelling. The kind that hurt worse.

“That boy is trouble,” he said. “Real trouble. The kind that smiles while it’s doing damage.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know his reputation,” Dad shot back. “And I know what I saw.”

I crossed my arms, mirroring him without realizing it. “Which was what? A conversation?”

“I saw a boy who doesn’t know boundaries,” he said. “And I saw my daughter standing there like she was already making excuses for him.”

That hit too close.

I looked away. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m protecting you.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You’re deciding for me.”

Silence fell between us.

Dad softened — just a fraction. “Maggie… I need you to stay away from him.”

My chest tightened. Guilt flared hot and sharp.

“Why does everyone think they get to decide what’s good for me?” I whispered.

“I just want you safe,” Dad added.

"Fine, whatever," I muttered, grabbing my bag and heading for the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"Stay away from Hargrove!" he called after me.

I slammed my bedroom door harder than I meant to, the sound echoing through the quiet house. 

Chapter Text

Sunday morning, I woke up early and got ready for church.

I was halfway through fixing my hair when Dad knocked once and walked straight in, looking like he’d aged ten years overnight.

“Maggie… we need to talk.”

My stomach dropped. “About what?”

He exhaled. “You won’t be going to church with me today. I already talked to Father McBride.”

My brush clattered to the floor.

“You what?!”

“I told him about your nightmares.” He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “He thinks you might be experiencing something spiritual.”

“Dad. I am not possessed.”

“I’m not saying you are,” he insisted. “But Father McBride wants to speak with you. Privately.”

“Dad, I swear, it’s not demons. It’s just— bad dreams!”

His eyes softened. “I’m scared for you, honey.”

“Yeah, well—me too.”

He strutted toward me, and I hated how my hands started shaking. Dad cupped my face, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and said gently, “I’ll see you when I get back home.”

The door closed behind him.

The second he pulled out of the driveway on his way to church, I bolted downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed the phone. I dialed Billy’s number with shaky fingers.

No answer.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

Perfect.
I was going to miss my date with Billy Hargrove. He was going to be so mad he’d probably burn the church down out of spite.

My stomach twisted, but there was no time to dwell on it. I sprinted back upstairs, changed into different clothes as fast as I could, and slipped out the back door before Dad even had time to say Amen.

✘

I ran into Dustin first, then Steve — who looked tired, annoyed, and aggressively hairsprayed.

“We gotta find Dart,” Dustin said, already marching like he was leading a secret military operation.

We stocked up the Steve-mobile with meat, gasoline, a bat, rope and… more meat.

We unloaded the supplies while Lucas contacted Dustin through the walkie.

“So… your date,” he said. “That was supposed to be tonight.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Had to cancel.”

I saw the corner of his mouth curve into a satisfied little smirk.

“You look happy,” I accused.

“Me? Noooo,” he said, grinning. “I’m just—relieved. For your safety. Nothing else.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

We started walking on the railroad tracks two minutes later. Steve and I laid slabs of raw meat along the old railway tracks like the world’s grossest Hansel and Gretel, while Dustin explained the real reason he kept Dart.

“To impress a girl,” he said proudly.

I almost dropped the bucket of meat I was holding. “Dustin Henderson!”

“I know! I know! It was stupid!”

Steve crossed his arms. “Yep.”

“Reckless.”

“Absolutely.”

“Poor judgment.”

“The worst.”

Dustin glared. “Okay, are you both done?”

I smacked Steve’s arm when he kept going. “Quit it. You’re making him feel bad.”

“He should feel bad!”

“Steve!”

He held up his hands. “Okay! Fine!”

Dustin took a deep breath. “I just… wanted her to like me. I mean, she likes smart guys, and I thought—maybe if I showed her Dart—”

“You showed her a demogorgon?!” Steve yelled.

“No! I was going to show her the cute stage! Not… the monster stage!”

Steve groaned and rubbed his temples. “Kid, you need help.”

Dustin glared again. “Oh, like you’ve never done anything dumb to impress a girl.”

I stopped walking, my breath catching in my throat. The world felt too big again, too heavy. Too wrong.

I wished I could go back to my old life. Back to when Barb was alive, when the world made sense, when monsters weren’t real and I wasn’t trapped in these awful visions and nightmares that followed me everywhere.

Steve slowed immediately, doubling back toward me.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”

I shook my head, eyes stinging. “I just… I wish things were normal again.”

He stepped closer. “Normal how?”

“Like before Barb,” I whispered. “Before Will went missing. Before the monsters. Before the nightmares started. I just… I want my life back.”

Steve didn’t hesitate—didn’t fumble or joke or deflect like he usually did. Instead, he gently placed both hands on my upper arms, grounding me.

“Hey. Look at me.”

I lifted my eyes slowly.

“My dad thinks I’m the Antichrist. My visions are getting worse. And now there’s probably a priest in my living room speaking Latin at my cat.” I admitted 

His expression was soft in a way I’d never seen before—no sarcasm, no bravado, just… Steve.

“You’re scared,” he said. “And that’s okay. Anyone would be. But you’re not alone, Maggie. You’ve got me… and Nancy… and Hopper… and like—way too many people who care about you.”

A tear slipped out before I could stop it.

Steve brushed it away with his thumb, clumsy but careful.

“And I know you feel like everything’s your responsibility,” he continued, voice low, “but it’s not. The world doesn’t sit on your shoulders. You’re just a kid. You’re allowed to be scared.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Steve…”

He stepped closer, pulling me gently against him. His chin rested lightly on the top of my head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Okay? I promise.”

I exhaled into his chest, feeling something inside me unclench for the first time in a long time.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He laughed softly, squeezing me. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta keep you safe from monsters and dirtbag boyfriends.”

“Billy’s not my boyfriend.” 

Chapter Text

Lucas arrived at the junkyard with Billy’s sister, Max.

Steve and I both did a slow-motion double-take, then turned in perfect unison to stare at Dustin.

Dustin’s face went the color of a ripe tomato left in the sun. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Dustin tugged at his jacket, trying to act casual. It failed miserably.

I wandered over to Max while the boys argued over who got to carry the gasoline like it was the Olympic torch.

“Hey,” I said, offering a small smile. “I’m Maggie.”

Max gave me a once-over, then smirked. “You’re the one dating my idiot brother.”

“Not dating,” I corrected quickly. “Currently being terrorized into a date. There’s a difference.”

Max snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like Billy.”

I rubbed my arm awkwardly. “He, uh… doesn’t really take no for an answer.”

“Trust me,” Max said, rolling her eyes, “That is him taking no for an answer. If he actually wanted something, you’d be hiding in a bunker by now.”

“That’s… comforting.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

I laughed despite myself.

Max kicked a loose bolt on the floor, hands shoved in her pockets. “So… you like him?”

I made a choking noise. “What—I mean—no!”

“It’s okay,” she said flatly. “Lots of people like terrible boys.”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “He’s just—confusing. And annoying. And hot in a ‘please leave me alone’ way.”

Max nodded knowingly. “Disgusting. I get it.”

“Exactly!”

She shrugged. “Billy’s… complicated. Sometimes he’s decent. Mostly he’s a disaster with hair.”

“That’s the most accurate description I’ve ever heard.”

Max leaned in a bit. “But word of advice? He doesn’t pick girls. He fixates on them. So if he’s locked onto you…”

My stomach flipped. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Max said, “prepare for fireworks. And screaming. And probably a car chase.”

I blinked. “A car chase?”

She shrugged again like this was normal. “He’s dramatic.”

I pressed my hands to my face. “Oh my God…”

Max patted my shoulder sympathetically — surprisingly gentle for someone who could verbally stab someone without blinking.

“Hey. Don’t worry. If he gets too insane, I’ll hit him with my skateboard.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Or Lucas will. He’s scared of you now.”

“Why is he scared of me?!”

Max grinned. “Psychic Wi-Fi.”

I groaned. “Dustin is ruining my life.”

“No, Dustin is creating your brand,” she corrected. “Own it.”

I sighed. “I really should’ve stayed home today.”

Max scoffed. “And miss killing a monster with a group of idiots? Please.”

I smiled.
She wasn’t wrong.

Lucas and Dustin reinforcing the old school bus with random car doors like medieval knights on a budget. Steve pouring a perfect circle of gasoline around the meat pile like he was seasoning a very murderous steak. Max and I stacking hubcaps into a totally unnecessary but extremely cool barricade.

The five of us dragged everything into the junkyard, planning to hide inside an old rusted bus. It smelled weird, but at least it had windows.

Night came faster than expected, swallowing the sky in that uneasy Hawkins way.

Lucas climbed on the roof with binoculars like a very dramatic lookout.  

Inside, Steve and I sat beside each other on the metal floor while Max leaned against the window.

Dustin sat across from us, vibrating with jealousy and hormones.  

“So,” Max said, raising a brow at us, “you guys really fought one of these things before?”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. “Yeah.”

Dustin, apparently deciding chivalry was dead, snapped, “Don’t be an idiot, Max! If you don’t believe us, just go home!”

The entire bus went silent.

Max blinked. “Wow. Someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?”

She climbed the ladder to join Lucas on the roof.

Dustin watched her go, jaw hanging open.

I reached over and flicked Dustin in the ear. “What is wrong with you?!”

Dustin rubbed his ear, scowling. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

I raised a brow. “You like her.”

“No I don’t!”

✘

I was starting to drift off — just a little — and my head naturally fell onto Steve’s shoulder.
He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, letting me lean. His shoulder was warm, and honestly? He smelled nice. Like hairspray and faint boy-sweat and something comforting.

I was just about to fall asleep when—

GROWL.

We both jerked up, eyes snapping to the bus window.

A small shadowy creature passed by — dog-shaped, but wrong. Very wrong.

Steve stood immediately, grabbing his bat. “Stay here.”

“Steve? What are you doing?” I whispered, heart pounding.

He pressed his Zippo into my hand like he was knighting me. “Just get ready.”

Then he yanked the bus door open and stepped out like a total lunatic.

I lunged after him. “Are you insane?!”

Dustin caught me around the waist and hauled me back. “Let him!”

Max stared, mouth open. “He’s literally about to get eaten.”

“He’s insane,” I said.

“He’s awesome,” Dustin corrected, starry-eyed.

Outside, Steve spun the bat once, all cocky swagger, and shouted, “Come on, you ugly little—”

Four more Demo-dogs melted out of the shadows, heads blooming open like the world’s worst flowers.

I screamed. “Steve, run!”

“Get back in here, you idiot!” Max and I yelled in unison.

He looked genuinely offended. “I’ve got this!”

He did not have this.

One of the things launched itself at him like a horny missile. Steve swung the bat and sent it flying into a pile of tires. Another tried to flank him. He kicked it square in the flower-face and it yelped.

It was terrifying.

It was also… really, really hot.

I hated my brain.

He backed toward the bus, still swinging, hair perfect even while sprinting for his life. The second he dove through the door I slammed it shut behind him.

The bus rocked violently. Demo-dogs slammed against the sides like we were a piñata full of delicious teenagers.

We all screamed in four-part harmony.

Steve dropped the bat, grabbed a sheet of metal, and started batting the things away from the windows like the world’s angriest goalie.

Dustin was frantically working the walkie. “Code red! Code red! We are being actively mauled! Mike, Will, anybody—hello?!”

Static.

Another Demodog landed on the roof with a thud so loud it shook dust into our hair. It paced across the metal, growling deep enough to vibrate my ribs.

Steve stood beneath it, bat ready, breathing hard.

It tilted its head, let out the most blood-curdling screech I’d ever heard, and they all bolted into the darkness like they’d been called to dinner.

We waited five full seconds, panting.

Steve cracked the door open first, stepping outside cautiously. We followed him out, confused and shaky.

“Did you… scare him off?” I asked.

He gave me a half-smile before shaking his head. “No. They’re going somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said from behind us. “And that ‘somewhere’ didn’t sound good.”

I stood next to Steve as the wind shifted.
He was still breathing hard from the fight, chest rising and falling, hair sticking in wild angles.

He caught me staring.

I shoved the Zippo back at him, trying to play it cool even though my heart was doing the Macarena. “Next time you decide to play monster baseball, maybe warn a girl? I almost had a heart attack.”

He stepped closer, voice low so only I could hear. “You worried about me, Mags?”

I swallowed. “I’m worried you’re gonna get eaten before I can properly yell at you for being an idiot.”

His grin went crooked and lethal. “Promise?”

Chapter Text

We were trudging single-file along the railroad tracks like the world’s most depressed conga line when Lucas decided to restart the interrogation.

“You sure that was Dart?”

Dustin threw his hands up. “Yes, he had the same yellow pattern on his butt”

Max wrinkled her nose. “He was tiny two days ago.”

“Well, he’s molted three times already,” Dustin said, defensive.

Steve squinted. “Malted?”

I sighed. “Molted, Steve. Shed his skin. Like a snake. Or a really rude lizard.”

Steve muttered, “Same difference,” then louder “So when’s he gonna molt again?”

“It’s gotta be soon,” Dustin said. “And when he does, he’s gonna need a bigger food group than cats.”

Lucas skidded to a halt directly in front of Dustin like a very dramatic speed bump. “Dart ate a cat?!”

Dustin’s voice went ultrasonic. “What? No! Technically he just… relocated Mews to another plane of existence.”

Lucas opened his mouth for round two when I grabbed Steve’s sleeve.

“Did you hear that?”

A low, wet growl rolled through the trees, the kind that vibrates in your teeth.

Steve’s head snapped toward the sound. “Please tell me that’s your stomach.”

“Definitely not.”

The kids finally shut up and noticed we’d stopped.

Steve took one cautious step off the tracks. I followed because apparently my self-preservation had clocked out for the night.

“Guys!” Steve called over his shoulder. “Little help? Or keep arguing about cat murder, your choice.”

The growling got louder, closer, layered—like a whole choir of pissed-off monsters.

Lucas yanked his binoculars up like a tiny soldier. “It’s… it’s the lab. They’re all heading back to the lab.”

Steve glanced sideways at me. Moonlight cut across his face, turning the sweat and monster gunk into something unfairly attractive.

I realized I was still clutching his sleeve like a scared girlfriend in a slasher flick.

He noticed too. His hand came up, fingers brushing mine, not quite holding, just… there. Warm. Steady.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low enough the kids couldn’t hear.

“Define okay.”

“Breathing and not currently being eaten counts.”

“Then I’m thriving.”

He huffed a laugh, but his thumb traced once across my knuckles, slow, deliberate, like he was checking my pulse and also ruining my life.

Dustin’s voice cracked behind us. “Uh, guys? Personal space is a thing, and also we’re about to be on the menu, so maybe flirt later?”

Steve didn’t move his hand. “Mind your business, Henderson.”

Lucas adjusted his binoculars again. “They’re booking it. Like, Olympic sprinting with extra teeth.”

Steve finally let go of my hand and rolled his shoulders. “Alright. New plan, we follow the murder puppies back to Evil HQ, try not to die, and maybe save the world.”

I groaned. “Great. Field trip.”

Steve’s fingers found mine properly this time, lacing tight.

“Try to keep up, psychic,” he said, tugging me forward.

We made our way through the woods and toward the lab, flashlights bouncing off branches and frozen earth. When we finally reached the parking lot, two familiar silhouettes were pacing near a car.

“Nancy! Jonathan!”

The relief hit me so fast I didn’t even think—I just ran straight into them, pulling both of them into a tight, desperate group hug.

“I am so happy you’re alive,” I whispered.

Nancy hugged me back just as hard. “Are you okay?”

“Barely,” I said honestly.

Steve stood behind me, hands on his hips like a disapproving dad. “What are you doing here?”

Nancy raised a brow. “What are you doing here?”

Steve pointed at us. “Babysitting.”

I elbowed him. “We’re here looking for Mike and Will,” Nancy explained. “They’re inside.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Steve muttered. “Power flickered back on a few minutes ago. Something’s going on in there.”

Before we could argue, Nancy and Jonathan climbed into their car, panic in their eyes. Steve and I stayed with the kids—Dustin pacing, Max chewing her nails, Lucas trying to stay calm and failing.

A minute later, Jonathan’s car came flying toward us.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed.

Hopper’s truck screeched to a stop beside us.

He rolled the window down and yelled, “Everyone get in! Now!”

We didn’t question it.

We piled into the back of the truck—Max nearly falling into my lap, Lucas grabbing the rail, Dustin clinging to Steve’s arm, and Steve pulling me in beside him so I didn’t fall.

Hopper hit the gas so hard we all lurched back.

The trees blurred. The cold air stung my face. Something terrible had happened in the lab—I could feel it crawling under my skin like static.

I closed my eyes.

And that’s when the vision hit.

The shadow monster hovered above the lab—looming, hungry, aware.

Its tendrils pulsed like veins.

And from inside… a scream tore through the dark.

Will’s voice.
Then another.

A voice I didn’t recognize—raw, monstrous—echoing with him.

“GET OUT,” it snarled inside my mind.

My heart dropped.

For the first time, I felt it—really felt it—inside my head.

Watching me back.

My eyes snapped open.

“Maggie?” Steve whispered, his breath warm against my cheek. “Hey—hey, you okay?”

I nodded shakily. “Will… it has him. It’s angry. Really angry.”

Hopper glanced at me through the rearview mirror. He didn’t say it out loud, but the look meant. ‘Yeah. We know.’

The ride ended at the Byers house, tires skidding on the gravel.

We all jumped out, running into chaos—Joyce screaming, Jonathan pale, Nancy shaking.

The air inside the house was thick with heat—oppressive, suffocating.

Chapter Text

“Everything that’s happening… the vines, the tunnels, the dogs, Will… they’re all connected. One organism.” Mike paced the room, frustration sharp in his voice. “Kill one, you hurt the others.”

I felt my throat tighten. “Like a hive.”

Mike snapped his fingers, pointing at me. “Exactly.”

Dustin perked up. “So when we hurt Dart—”

“The Mind Flayer felt it,” I finished.

“And he reacted,” Lucas added.

“Which means,” Mike continued, “if something happens to Will…”

“He feels it too,” Nancy whispered, horrified.

My stomach twisted. “So we can’t hurt the monster without hurting Will.”

Joyce shook her head violently. “No. No, we will not hurt him.”

Hopper set a firm hand on her shoulder. “Joyce—no one’s talking about hurting him.”

A thick silence hung in the room.

Jonathan finally spoke. “Then… what do we do?”

Joyce looked around the room, panicked. “We need to separate Will from that thing.”

Hopper nodded. “If we isolate him—cut him off from the hive—we weaken it. Confuse it.”

“Like closing a door between them,” I murmured.

Hopper pointed at me. “Exactly.”

Jonathan wiped his face, thinking fast. “We need something it doesn’t recognize. Something that isn’t familiar.”

Joyce gasped. “The shed.”

Everyone looked at her.

“The place we found him…” Joyce whispered. “The place he hid from the monster.”

Hopper hesitated. “Joyce—”

“It’s the only place he’d be scared,” I said. “The real Will. Not the monster.”

Nancy nodded. “It might shock the Mind Flayer. Make it retreat.”

Dustin raised a hand. “Wait—so we’re scaring Will… to scare the shadow monster… that’s inside him?”

Steve slapped a hand over his face. “This is insane.”

Max shrugged. “Better insane than dead.”

Joyce grabbed Will’s face gently. “Baby, I’m sorry… but we’re going to save you.”

Jonathan wiped tears from his chin. “Let’s move.”

Everyone exploded into motion.

✘

The shed was off-limits to everyone except Hopper, Joyce, Mike, and Jonathan.  

The rest of us were banished to the house arrest in the Byers’ living-room, nerves frayed, trying to act normal while every creak of the floorboards sounded like a Demodog.

I dropped onto the couch next to Nancy. She looked exhausted but lighter than I’d seen her in weeks.

“So,” I said, nudging her with my shoulder, “you and Jonathan, huh?”

She actually blushed. “Yeah. We, um… we went to see Murray Bauman. Dropped off the tapes about the lab. He got us drunk on that awful vodka and basically performed an intervention until we admitted we were idiots for not being together.”

I snorted. “Murray Bauman, licensed therapist and professional meddler.”

“It was mortifying,” she said, smiling. “It was perfect.”

Before I could tease her more, the back door flew open.

Hopper strode in, face like stone. Joyce was right on his heels, eyes red-rimmed but blazing with hope.

“He’s talking,” Hopper said. “Morse. Kitchen, now.”

Dustin shoved a legal pad and pen toward Hopper like a surgeon demanding a scalpel.

Hopper tapped the pen and frowned. “What the hell does that spell?”

Joyce leaned closer. “H… E… R… E…”

Hopper and Joyce rushed back into the shed, nearly tripping over each other as they scrambled to set everything into action.

Hopper used the same channel as Dustin to communicate with us. Click-click… click… click-click…

Nancy wrote each letter down on Dustin’s legal pad, her handwriting quick and sharp, every new word tightening the knot in all our stomachs. Steve hovered behind me, hand resting on the back of my chair.

Dot-dot-dash… dot… dash-dash-dash…

Max and Lucas translated letter by letter, voice steady:

“C… L… O… S… E…”

My breath hitched. “Close?”

“G… A… T… E…”

CLOSE GATE.

The words landed heavy.

Dustin’s eyes went huge. “Holy shit.”

And then the phone rang.

One shrill, ordinary ring that somehow felt like a scream.

Every head snapped toward the wall-mounted phone.

Nancy moved first—she ripped the corded phone off the wall and slammed it to the floor so hard the plastic cracked.

Silence.

Max’s voice was barely a whisper. “Do you think he heard that?”

Steve tried for casual and missed by a mile. “It’s just a phone. Could be anywhere, right?”

But the air in the room had gone ice-cold. My arms broke out in goosebumps.

I rubbed them hard. “It knows we’re here.” I said quietly. 

Chapter Text

Woods twisting like veins.
Snow swirling.
Eleven screaming.
A dozen Demodogs sprinting through the forest, their mouths splitting open.
Not toward the lab.
Not toward the woods.

Toward us.
Toward the Byers’ house.
Toward Will.

And me.

I stumbled, gasping.

Steve caught me before I hit the floor. “Maggie!”

Hopper, Jonathan, Joyce and Mike scrambled into the house with an unconscious Will

Hopper spun around. “What now?”

I looked up at him, shaking. “They’re coming.”

“Who’s coming?” Nancy asked.

“Demodogs.” My voice trembled. “They’re coming here. Now.”

“How many?” Hopper demanded.

I swallowed. “A lot.”

Inside the living room, everything was chaos and adrenaline.

Hopper grabbed two rifles and handed one toward Jonathan. “You know how to use one of these?”

Jonathan opened his mouth—

“I do,” Nancy said, snatching the gun before he could reply.

Jonathan didn’t argue. None of us had the energy.

Steve grabbed his nail-bat off the floor with a sharp inhale, jaw clenched. Steve stepped in front of me without thinking, bat up.  

“Stay behind me,” he said, low.

I didn’t argue.

I could hear growling.

Close.

Too close.

Steve tightened his grip on the bat.

Hopper raised his gun.

Nancy’s finger hovered near the trigger.

I held my breath.

And we all prepared ourselves…

For a Demodog to crash straight through the house.

They were about to get in.

Then—

The roar stopped.

Just… stopped.

Silence.

Hopper’s muffled voice whispered outside, confused: “What the hell…”

The air changed — a pressure wave rippling through the floorboards — like the Upside Down itself had inhaled.

Then—

A thud.

And a scream—
A Demodog flying through the window.

Dustin yelled, “Holy sh—”

Another impact.
More snarling.
More bodies hitting the ground.

Something — someone — was throwing the Demodogs like toys.

I knew who before I even saw her.

The door swung open with a violent crack, slamming against the wall.

A figure stood in the doorway, breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling.

Blood under her nose.
Hair slicked back.
Eyes blazing.

Eleven.

Relief and awe washed over everyone in the room.

But when her eyes landed on me —
she froze.

Her head tilted slightly, just like Will had done.

Her brow furrowed.
Her eyes narrowed — not in anger, but in recognition.

Chapter Text

Hopper grabbed his gun. “I’m taking Eleven to the gate.”

Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce rushed to move Will—somewhere far from the house, somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere the monster wouldn’t recognize.

A place where they could burn the shadow out of him.

Joyce gripped Will tightly, whispering apologies as they carried him out. Jonathan stayed close, steadying his brother’s twitching body, while Nancy cleared the path with quiet determination.

They weren’t just taking him away.

They were taking him somewhere the monster inside him would panic.

Somewhere they could force it out—
before it killed him.

Joyce paused one last time, looked straight at Hopper.  

“If we’re not back by dawn—”

“We’ll come find you,” Hopper cut in. “Now go.”

Nancy nodded. “Someone’s gotta stay with him.”

Steve stepped forward. “And the kids?”

The kids all lifted their heads at the same time.

“You’re with Steve,” Hopper said.

Dustin groaned. “Why?!”

“Because he’s the only one with a weapon,” Hopper snapped.

“And hair,” Lucas muttered.

Steve glared. “Seriously?”

Hopper pointed at Maggie. “And she goes with you.”

Steve spoke instantly. “No. She’s not leaving my side.”

Hopper frowned. “Actually—”

“Nope,” Steve cut him off. “We’re a team now.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’m literally right here.”

But Hopper hesitated… then agreed. “Fine. Maggie stays with Steve and the kids.”

Joyce met Maggie’s gaze. “Keep them safe.”

“I will,” she promised.

Hopper turned toward the door, preparing to leave with Eleven. Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce braced themselves to drag Will to a different location. Steve grabbed Maggie’s wrist and pulled her closer to him. Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Mike looked between each other nervously.

The battle was starting.

Everything was in motion.

And Maggie felt the Mind Flayer watching all of them.

✘

The plan was insane, but it was the only one we had.

If Eleven closed the gate while the Mind Flayer still had its claws in Will, he’d die. We all felt it in our guts. So the kids cooked up a suicide mission: head to the pumpkin patch, drop into the tunnels, and set the whole hive-mind network on fire. Force the thing to loosen its grip on Will long enough for El to slam the door.

Steve, predictably, lost his mind.

I rubbed my temples. “Steve, they’re right. It’s the only distraction big enough.”

“No. Absolutely not. We are staying right here on this bench. Everybody got that?” He planted himself in front of the door like a goalie, arms out, voice cracking with that babysitter panic he couldn’t quite hide. “I said, does everybody understand?”

Dustin opened his mouth. Lucas opened his. Max just rolled her eyes.

Nobody got the chance to answer.

An engine snarled outside; loud, mean, unmistakable. Billy Hargrove’s blue Camaro fishtailed into the Byers’ yard, metal music rattling the windows. He killed the ignition but left the headlights on, two white beams cutting through the dark like searchlights.

Max froze. “Shit.”

Steve’s head snapped toward the window. “Stay inside—”

Too late. I was already moving. Door slammed open behind me before Steve could grab my jacket. Cold air hit my face as I stepped onto the porch.

Billy leaned against his car, cigarette dangling, that cocky smirk plastered on like he owned the night.

“You need to leave. Now.” I said, voice steady even though my pulse wasn’t. 

Billy took a slow drag, blew smoke toward the porch light. “That’s not up to you, sweetheart.”

I didn’t have time for his drama tonight.

“Billy,” I said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching on gravel. “Go home.”

He pushed off the car, took one step closer, smile sharpening.

Chapter Text

“You stood me up.” he said, stepping closer. 

Here we go.

“I didn’t stand you up,” I lied, instantly. “Something came up.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy scoffed. “Like what? Curling your hair? Praying? Your little church friends—?”

“I had an emergency!” I snapped.

“With who? Harrington?” His jaw clenched hard.

“No!” I shouted back, louder than I meant to.

His nostrils flared. “Then why didn’t you call me?”

“I did! You didn’t answer!”

“If you wanted to reach me, you would’ve.”

I laughed—sharp, bitter. 

“Do you know how that looks?” he said, quiet. 

“I don’t care how it looks.”

“You should.” His voice dropped even lower. “People talk. They say maybe you think you’re too good for me now. Maybe you’re letting King Steve put his hands on what’s mine.”

My stomach twisted.

“That true? You letting him touch you?”

“You’re pathetic.” I said, voice shaking with how loud it suddenly got.

He just stares at me. Like I slapped him. Like I confused him.

But then his expression hardens back into something mean. Something familiar.

“Fine,” he said. “Where’s Max?”

I froze.
So did the kids inside the house.

Billy’s voice dropped. “Don’t lie to me, Maggie. I know she’s here.”

Of course that’s when Steve chose to walk out the door like a sacrificial lamb.

I exhaled the loudest, most dramatic sigh of my life. “Why didn’t you stay inside?”

Steve shrugged. “Didn’t want you out here alone with psycho Ken doll.”

Billy’s grin sharpened like a knife. “Am I dreaming,” Billy said, “or is that you, Harrington?”

Steve stepped forward, bat-less but still stupidly brave. “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

Billy whipped off his leather jacket and tossed it into his Camaro. Oh no.

He was preparing to do something stupid.

“What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy asked mockingly, rolling his shoulders.

Steve shot back, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Looking for my step-sister,” Billy said. “A little birdie told me she was here.”

“Huh,” Steve said casually, “that’s weird. I don’t know her.”

Billy smiled cold. Not amused. “Small? Redhead? Bit of a bitch?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, buddy.”

“She's not here, Billy,” I said firmly, stepping between them before testosterone levels reached nuclear.

Billy’s eyes flicked to me—burning, jealous, possessive. “Then who’s that?” he snapped, pointing straight at the window.

All four kids ducked so fast it rattled the glass.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

Billy kicked forward, shoving Steve hard in the chest.

Steve stumbled back—but before he could swing, I grabbed Billy from behind by his arm and yanked with all my might.

“Stop!” I shouted.
My voice cracked.

Billy looked at me—really looked at me—for half a second, something wounded behind the anger.

Then he pulled his arm from my grip, jaw tight, breathing hard.

“Get out of my way, Mags,” he warned.

“No.”

“Maggie,” he repeated slowly, like my name was a threat. “Move.”

He stepped closer. Too close.
The kind of close that sent a shiver up my spine—fear, adrenaline, something else tangled inside it.

Billy’s hand clamped around my wrist like a handcuff. dragging me toward the house like I weighed nothing.

“Fine. You’re coming with me,” he snarled, voice low enough that only I could hear the tremor of rage underneath. “We’re gonna have a little talk about loyalty.”

I tried to yank free. His fingers only tightened, nails biting skin. “Let go—”

He didn’t. He dragged me across the threshold, kicking the door wide so hard it bounced off the wall. The kids scattered like startled birds—Dustin yelped, Lucas grabbed a lamp like a club, Mike shouted something lost under the blood in my ears.

Max tried to bolt toward the hallway. Billy’s other hand shot out, snagging the back of her jacket. He hauled her back against his side, one arm locking her there like a seatbelt made of muscle and spite.

“Found you,” he hissed at her. Then his eyes cut to me, wild and glassy. “Both of you. Sneaking around with Harrington and these little shits while I’m out looking like a fucking idiot.”

I tried to pull my hand back. “Billy, let go—”

Billy shoved me backward against the wall, his face inches from mine, breath hot and furious. “It sure looks like he gets a whole lot closer to you than I ever have.”

Steve was already moving, bruised mouth set in a hard line. “Get your hands off them.”

He grabbed Billy’s shoulder, spun him, and drove a fist straight into Billy’s cheekbone. The crack echoed. Billy’s head snapped sideways; for one stunned second he looked almost surprised anyone still dared.

Then he smiled, blood on his teeth, and lunged.

They crashed into the coffee table together. Wood splintered. The kids screamed—half terror, half exhilaration.

“Go Steve!” Dustin whooped.

“Kick his ass!” Lucas yelled.

Max’s eyes were huge, but she didn’t move to help her stepbrother. She just watched, knuckles white around the strap of her backpack.

I scrambled forward, grabbing Steve’s jacket. “Steve, stop—he’s not worth it—”

Billy used the distraction. He flipped Steve onto his back and started raining punches down like he wanted to bury him in the floorboards. One. Two. Steve’s guard slipped; blood sprayed from his nose.

Something inside me snapped cold.

I spotted it on the side table, left behind after Will’s last possession episode. The syringe glinted inside, pre-loaded with the strong sedative they’d used on Will.

I didn’t think. I snatched it, popped the cap with my teeth, and dropped to my knees beside them.

Billy’s fist was already cocked for another blow number four.

I jammed the needle into the side of his neck and pushed the plunger.

He froze mid-swing. Eyes flew wide, locked on mine.

“Maggie…?” My name came out small, almost boyish. Betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His hand flew to his neck, yanked the syringe out. He stared at the empty barrel like he couldn’t understand what it meant. Then his knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, shoulder first, a confused grunt escaping as the drug took him.

Silence exploded in the room.

Steve rolled away, coughing blood, face already swelling. The kids stood frozen. Max’s mouth hung open.

I crawled to Steve, cupped his face with shaking hands. “Hey—hey, look at me. You with me?”

He managed a lopsided, bloody grin. “Been better.”

Billy made a weak sound on the floor, fingers twitching like he was trying to crawl toward me even as his body shut down.

Max stepped over him, planted a boot on his wrist so he couldn’t move it. She crouched, unzipped her backpack, and pulled out the nail-studded bat she’d hidden inside.

She held it an inch from his face.

“You’re gonna leave my friends alone,” she said, voice trembling but steady. “You’re gonna leave Maggie alone. You’re gonna leave me the hell alone. Or next time I won’t wait for a syringe. I’ll use this.”

Billy’s eyes fluttered, pupils blown wide, but he still managed to focus on her. Something flickered there—rage, hurt, fear—then the sedative dragged him under completely. His head lolled to the side.

Max reached into his pocket, fished out his car keys, and dangled them in front of his slack face.

“These are mine now, asshole.”

She stood up, looked at me—at Steve—and her chin lifted, fierce and suddenly ten feet tall.

“I’m driving,” she declared.

Billy lay sprawled on Joyce Byers’ rug, chest rising and falling slow, betrayed by the one person he thought he owned.

I didn’t look back as we stepped over him and headed for the door.

Some monsters you fight with fire.

Some you put to sleep.

Chapter Text

I didn’t even have my license.
Yet here I was, letting Max drive Billy’s Camaro.

Because apparently she “knew how,” and honestly, at this point in my life, nothing surprised me anymore.

We tore down the road led to the old Merrill’s pumpkin patch. The tunnels. The hive.

I sat in the backseat with Steve, Dustin, and Mike squished beside me. Lucas and Max were in the front.

Steve’s head rested in my lap, heavy and bruised. He was barely awake. I dabbed at the blood on his temple with the edge of my sleeve. Dustin helped steady him.

“What’s going on?” Steve slurred, blinking up at me.

Then he lifted his head a fraction and realized Max was driving.

He panicked instantly.

“Hey—hey, what—why is she driving?“

“Relax,” Dustin said cheerfully. “She’s driven before.”

Max punched the gas harder just to prove the point. Everyone screamed except me. I was too busy holding Steve down so he didn’t reopen the gash on his cheek.

By some miracle, we made it to the tunnel entrance without dying. We spilled out of the car, grabbing gasoline, flashlights, and whatever bravery we had left.

I helped Steve stand; he was groggy, leaning into me, eyes still glassy.

Max caught my sleeve before I could follow the others down the rope ladder.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Can I ask you something? …Does Billy ever… scare you?”

“Not until tonight,” I said honestly. “Tonight he terrified me.”

Max swallowed. She nodded once, like she needed to hear it out loud from someone else.

Inside the tunnels the air was wet and rotting. The vines writhed under our boots, sluggish but alive. 

We poured gasoline onto the cold dirt, spreading it across the vines. The smell burned my nose.

“Everyone back,” Steve said, flipping the zippo open.

Fire raced away from us in every direction, whooshing up the walls like it touched the vines, they screamed. Not metaphorically. They screamed, a high, thin sound that vibrated inside my skull and made my teeth ache.

And then a violent shudder rolled through me.

A cold hook behind my sternum. The Mind Flayer recoiling, ripping itself out of Will like a splinter yanked from bone. I felt the exact second it lost its host.

The relief was so sharp it was pain.

My knees buckled.

“Maggie!” Steve spun back, caught me before I hit the ground. My body started jerking like a live wire, muscles locking and releasing outside my control.

Another wave slammed into me, Eleven, somewhere far away, forcing the gate shut with everything she had. The psychic backlash was a silent explosion. I felt the tear in the world knit itself closed, thread by burning thread.

But I wasn’t her. I wasn’t strong enough to hold both sensations at once.

The tunnel spun. Colors bled. My heartbeat stuttered like a bad radio signal.

Steve scooped me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I heard him yelling my name, felt the heat of the fire on my face, the jerk of his body as he ran.

Then—
a shadow moved at the edge of the tunnel.

A Demodog.

Blocking our escape.

Steve skidded to a halt.

Darkness rushed in from the edges of my vision, warm and total.

The last thing I felt was Steve’s grip tightening, like he could keep me conscious by sheer stubbornness.

Then the world cut to black.

✘

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, too bright, too white. I came awake slowly, throat raw, head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it.

Dad was in the vinyl chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His Hawkins PD jacket was draped over the foot of the bed like he’d been here so long he’d stopped pretending he might leave.

He looked up when the heart monitor beeped a little faster. His eyes were red-rimmed, stubble going gray at the edges. He looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen him.

“Hey, kid,” he rasped.

“Hey,” I croaked back. My voice sounded like gravel.

He reached for my hand, stopped himself, then did it anyway. His palm was warm, calloused, trembling just slightly.

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore, Mags,” he said, and the words cracked right down the middle.

I waited for the rest—the lecture, the grounding until I’m thirty, the disappointment. It didn’t come.

“You scared me. You scared me so bad, Mags. When they called and said you collapsed—when I got here and you weren’t waking up—”

His voice failed him.

He stared down at our hands, thumb brushing my knuckles like he needed to feel I was real.

“I thought I lost you too,” he said quietly. “All I could think was I never told you enough that I’m proud of you. That you’re the best thing I ever had. That even when you’re sneaking out and lying and scaring the hell out of me, you’re still the bravest person I know.”

He wasn’t just scared for me.

He was scared of losing the only family he had left.

Tears pricked hot at the backs of my eyes. “Dad—”

“No grounding,” he said quickly, like he had to get it out before he changed his mind. “No yelling. Just… don’t do that to me again, okay? Let me keep you a little longer.”

I turned my hand over under his and squeezed. “Deal.”

He sighed. “I just… want you safe. I want you to talk to me. Let me in, okay?”

I nodded, voice small. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to our joined hands, shoulders shaking once, twice. When he sat back his eyes were wet but clear.

“Also,” he added, voice steadier, “Harrington’s been wearing a hole in my waiting-room floor for six hours. Kid looks like he lost a fight with a lawnmower and still won’t sit down. You want me to send him in?”

I laughed; it hurt my ribs, but it felt good. “Yeah. Send him in.”

Dad kissed my temple, the same way he used to when I had nightmares at seven, then stepped out.

Steve appeared thirty seconds later, hair a disaster, left side of his face a watercolor of purple and red.

“Hey,” he said softly, like the word was made of glass.

“Hey yourself.” I scooted over. He sat on the edge of the bed without asking, careful, like I might break.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he admitted.

“Same.”

He brushed a strand of hair off my forehead with two fingers, gentle as breathing. “Your dad threatened to arrest me if I didn’t let the nurses finish stitching me up. I told him he’d have to cuff me to the bed because I wasn’t leaving this floor.”

I smiled. “Romantic.”

The door burst open before he could reply. Dustin barreled in first, cap askew, arms full of vending-machine candy. Mike, Lucas, Max, and Will followed like a small, loud parade. Joyce was right behind them, eyes bright with relieved tears, Jonathan and Nancy bringing up the rear with balloons and a lopsided “GET WELL SOON, BADASS” sign clearly made in the hospital lobby five minutes ago.

And then Hopper filled the doorway, arms crossed, trying to look stern and failing because his eyes were soft.

“Oh thank God, you’re not dead.” Max said. 

“We brought snacks!” Dustin announced proudly. “Because hospital food sucks!”

“That’s not appropriate,” Lucas muttered.

“But factual,” Mike added.

Will stepped to my bedside and whispered, “I felt you. When it… left me. I’m sorry if it hurt you.”

I reached out and squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Nancy smiled softly. Jonathan nodded. Hopper gave a grunt that I think meant “glad you’re not dead.” Joyce cried instantly again.

Steve looked around the room and whispered to me. “Your fan club is getting big.”

“Shut up,” I whispered back—smiling.

“Alright,” Hopper boomed, “official police business: this kid needs rest, so you’ve got ten minutes before I start kicking shins.”

No one listened, of course.

Dad leaned in the doorway beside Hopper, watching all of it with something that looked a lot like peace.

For the first time in a long time, the room wasn’t full of fear or secrets or monsters.

It was just full of people who loved me enough to break every rule to get here.

Chapter Text

A month slipped by like Hawkins snow melting into slush—quiet, almost normal. The lab was shuttered for good, its gates chained and guarded by feds who wouldn't say a word. Barbara finally got her funeral, a somber afternoon under gray skies where the whole town showed up with casseroles and condolences, and Nancy and I held each other through the eulogy, whispering promises to never forget. My visions dried up; no more nightmares clawing at my sleep, no psychic echoes rattling my bones. Dad and I fell back into our old rhythm. And Steve? We'd become this weird, unbreakable duo, best friends forged in fire and blood. Late-night drives in his BMW, sharing smokes and secrets, laughing about the kids until our sides hurt.

But Billy... we hadn't spoken since that night at the Byers'. Radio silence, except for the glares across the school parking lot, the way he'd rev his Camaro extra loud when he saw me with Steve. He was always tucked in beside Vicki at school, like there was never any space left for me. It never gave me the chance to talk to him—to explain, to apologize the way I’d practiced a hundred times in my head. 

Every time I saw them together, something sharp twisted in my chest. There was a small, ugly spark of jealousy I couldn’t smother. I didn’t just want closure. I wanted him. I wanted him to look at me the way he used to, like I was the one standing beside him instead.

It gnawed at me. I owed him something—an explanation, maybe, or just the truth about why I'd stuck that needle in his neck. And yeah, buried under the mess, I still liked him. In that dangerously stupid way.

So I built up courage, forced myself to breathe, and knocked on the front door of his house. The door yanked open. Billy stood there in a blue shirt and denim jeans slung low on his hips. His eyes narrowed—annoyed, yeah, but something softer flickered when he realized it was me.

"What do you want?" he growled, but he didn't slam the door.

I swallowed. "Can I come in? Please."

He stared me down for a beat, jaw ticking, then stepped aside. "Make it quick."

“You’re charming,” I muttered under my breath.

He crossed his arms and raised a brow. “You stabbed me in the neck. I think I get to skip the small talk.”

Inside smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, the living room dim with drawn curtains. No sign of his dad or Max—probably already at the dance. Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

I paced a little, words tumbling out messy. "That night... at the Byers'. I didn't want to hurt you. But everything was falling apart. The visions—I get these flashes, like I'm connected to that... thing. The Mind Flayer. The monsters under the town, the demodogs, the gate to the Upside Down. It's all real, Billy. Will was possessed, Eleven closed the rift, and I felt it all in my head. That's why I stood you up, why I was with Steve and the kids. We were fighting it. And when you showed up... I couldn't let you get dragged in. The syringe was the only way to stop you without—"

He cut me off with a harsh laugh. "You're fucking crazy, Maggie."

I glared. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are.” He took a slow step closer. “That’s what makes it even crazier.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“No,” he said softly, another step closer. “But you’re something.”

My breath caught.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall right beside my head — close enough that I felt his body heat, close enough that my heartbeat kicked into violent overdrive.

“So,” he murmured. “These… visions. Monsters. Apocalypses.”
 He smirked. “You expect me to believe all that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything.”

“And yet—” his hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “you came all the way here. Just to explain yourself.”

“I… thought you deserved the truth.”

His thumb grazed my cheek.

“And why’s that, sweetheart?”

I swallowed. “Because I like you.”

That wiped the smirk right off his face.

He blinked, something flickering behind his eyes — shock, then anger, then something raw he didn’t know how to hide.

He cupped my jaw with one hand and tugged my chin up gently.

“You like me,” he repeated quietly. “After everything?”

I nodded, breath shaky. “Yeah.”

His breath hitched — barely. A small break in his armor.

Then he leaned in, mouth brushing mine for half a second before he pulled back just enough to smirk again.

“You’re crazier than I thought.”

“Is that a dealbreaker?” I whispered.

Billy shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said, voice low and rough. “That’s exactly my type.”

Before I could breathe another word, he kissed me.

His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me in. His lips crashed against mine—rough, hungry, tasting like mint gum and pent-up fury. I froze for half a second, then melted, kissing him back with everything I'd been holding in. His tongue swept in, claiming, and I gasped into his mouth, fingers twisting in his shirt.

We stumbled toward his bedroom, door kicking shut behind us. Billy's hands were everywhere—under my shirt, rough palms scraping up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra. "You have no idea what you do to me," he muttered against my throat, teeth grazing skin. "Seeing you with Harrington... it fucking kills me."

"I'm not his," I breathed, arching as he sucked a mark just below my collarbone. "Never was. Not the way I am with you."

With one firm push, he sent me sprawling onto his bed. My shirt was yanked up and off over my head in a single rough motion, bra following in a tangle. Then his hands found my breasts, squeezing gently at first, before his fingers focused on my nipples, teasing them into tight, sensitive peaks.

"Good. 'Cause you're mine now." His mouth latched onto my nipple, tongue swirling hot and wet, teeth nipping until I whimpered. 

My jeans came off next, his fingers hooking into the waistband, dragging them down with my panties in one go. I was bare under him, heart racing, a flush creeping from my chest to my cheeks. 

He leaned down, forehead resting against mine, breath mingling hot and fast. One hand slid lower, his palm cupped me fully, probing between my lower lips with deliberate slowness. I gasped sharply—no one had ever touched me there.

“Oh my God—we’re going too fast,” I managed, voice shaky, even as my hips tilted toward him instinctively.

Billy rubbed that sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb, sending a violent shiver racing up my spine. I felt him smile against my mouth, smug and knowing. “You’re already soaked for me. I’m gonna make you feel even better.”

My breath caught as he teased me with quick, deft circles that had my knees buckling. He leaned down to suck hard on my neck, marking me again, as his finger worked magic.

"Plenty of idiots skip this part," he murmured against my skin, voice low and filthy. "They don't care if you're ready. But I want to hear you lose it. Need to feel you clench and soak my fingers, need to watch you come before I finally fuck you."

His words hit that deep frequency that set every nerve on fire. Heat pooled heavy and electric under my skin, melting away the last of my resistance. I opened my mouth to protest—to say something—but nothing came out except a soft whine.

All those Sundays at church, they’d warned us: wait for marriage, keep yourself pure. But here, in the dark with Billy, every touch felt like a revelation—intoxicating, new, impossible to resist. I was ready, trembling with it. I liked him, cared about him. Whatever came next, it couldn’t erase how perfect this felt.

Suddenly he shifted, thumb taking over the teasing outside while his index finger traced my opening. I tensed, trying to sit up. “Billy—”

“Relax,” he said, voice steady now, sitting up slightly and pressing his free hand flat on my stomach to gentle me back down. “Just breathe. Let yourself feel it.”

He pushed one finger inside me slowly, and I cried out—it wasn’t painful exactly, just new, strange, overwhelming. He moved carefully, in and out, massaging my inner walls until he curled it just right and brushed a spot that made my breath hitch sharp in my throat.

“Fuck,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched my face. He pulled out and added a second finger, stretching me wider. This time it burned—sharp at first—but as he sank deeper, his palm ground against my clit, dragging an involuntary moan from my lips. I flinched at the cold bite of his ring inside me, but the discomfort faded fast under the building pressure.

His two fingers rubbed relentlessly against that spot inside while his palm worked the outside, and it was too much—my breathing turned ragged, skin flushing hot like I might combust.

“Oh God—Billy—” I huffed, tension coiling unbearably tight.

“Fuck Mags, that’s it,” he urged, voice rough with want, pushing me right over the edge.

I shattered with a startled shout, hips bucking hard into his hand, abs contracting as waves crashed through me. My thighs shook violently, pleasure so intense it left me dizzy, reeling, in complete shock.

I opened my eyes, searching his face for answers, but he just smirked—satisfied, almost proud—and sat up on his knees to undo his belt.

Fear crept back in as he stripped off his jeans and briefs. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, curving up toward his abs, a bead of wetness at the tip.

“You’re okay,” he said softly, reading my wide eyes. He swiped fingers through my wetness—making me twitch—and held them up, glistening. “See how ready you are?”

“You ever…?” he asked, voice gravel-rough, hand stroking himself slowly.

I shook my head. “No.”

His expression softened. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.”

He eased me back, knees nudging my thighs wider. His fingers returned, circling until I was arching again, then lined up—the blunt head teasing my entrance.

“You sure?” he asked, eyes locked on mine.

Most of the girls my age had already done this—Nancy, Abby, Tina, and Carol. I'd heard all their stories like it was the most natural thing in the world. I’d listened, jealous and nervous, and now, with Billy so close I couldn't stop wondering what God would think of me giving in. Would He hate me? Punish me? I told myself it didn't matter, that maybe He wasn't even watching. 

“Yes.”

He pushed in—slow at first, inch by inch, the stretch intense, a sharp sting as he broke through. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, tears pricking my eyes. He stilled, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to mine. 

It hurt, but the fullness... it shifted, pain bleeding into something deeper, hotter. He started moving—shallow thrusts, building rhythm, his hips snapping harder as I relaxed around him. "So tight," he grunted, one hand bracing beside my head, the other gripping my thigh, hitching it higher.

Billy froze the second he saw the blood, bright red smeared along his shaft, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. His eyes flicked to mine, wide and suddenly unsure.

“Jesus, Maggie.” His voice broke, rough edges softened by concern. He started withdrawing, careful and deliberate, as if I might shatter.

“No, wait,” I rasped, even though it burned. I grabbed his hips, fingers digging in. “Just… go  slow. Please.”

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight. “You’re bleeding, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not.” A lie, but I needed him to stay. Needed to feel him all the way through this. “I want you. I want this.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning down to kiss me, slow, deep, almost tender, like an apology. His tongue stroked mine while his hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit again, gentle circles that made my hips jerk and my walls flutter around the head of his cock still lodged inside me.

He pulled out carefully, the wet slide making us both shudder. The sight of his cock, flushed dark and slick with my blood and arousal, should’ve mortified me more, but the way he looked at it, like it was proof, like it turned him on even more, made something flutter low in my stomach.

He grabbed his discarded tank top, wiped himself clean without hesitation, then folded it and pressed it gently between my legs. The cotton was warm from his body; the pressure made me hiss.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Just cleaning you up a little.”

I tried to close my thighs, suddenly shy. He nudged them back open with his knee, eyes locked on mine.

“Let me see you.”

The room was dim, just the orange streetlight bleeding through the blinds, striping my skin in gold and shadow. I felt every inch of exposure, thighs trembling, the soft give of my stomach when I breathed, the faint silvery lines on my hips catching the light.

Billy’s gaze dragged over me like he’d never seen anything better. His hand skimmed up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast, then over the curve of my waist, like he was memorizing.

He crawled back up, settling between my legs again, cock still rigid against my hip. This time when he lined himself up, he went slower, eyes never leaving mine.

He pushed in, just the head again, and the stretch burned, but the edge was different now, laced with the ache of wanting him deeper. My body fluttered around him, trying to pull him in even as I tensed.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice strained. “Open up for me, baby. Let me in.”

I forced myself to relax, thighs falling open wider, fingers digging into his shoulders. Inch by inch he sank in, splitting me open, filling me until I felt impossibly full. A broken sound escaped me, half sob, half moan.

When he bottomed out we both stilled, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me inside you. All of me. And you’re taking it so fucking good.”

The praise melted something inside me. I clenched around him involuntarily and he groaned, hips jerking.

“Jesus, do that again and I’m not gonna last.”

I did it again, just to watch his eyes roll back.

He started moving then, slow, deliberate strokes that dragged over every raw nerve ending. The blood made everything wetter, hotter, and the sound of it, obscene and intimate, made me clench involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to my shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight. You’re gonna kill me.”

I hooked my ankles at the small of his back, urging him deeper. The pain was still flickered, but pleasure was winning, coiling low and urgent. His thrusts grew longer, smoother, the head of his cock nudging something inside me that made me see sparks.

“Right there,” I gasped. “Don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He angled his hips, hitting that spot again and again, thumb still working my clit until I was writhing, nails raking down his back. I cried out his name, clenching hard around him, milking him.

He tried to pull out. I locked my legs tighter.

One more thrust and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt, pulsing hot and thick inside me. I felt every spurt, every throb after throb, until he was spent and shaking.

He collapsed carefully, rolling us so I was on top, still joined, his cock softening slowly inside me. Blood and come leaked out around him, sticky on my thighs, but I didn’t care. I rested my cheek on his chest, listening to his heart hammer.

After a minute he pressed a kiss to my sweaty hair.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw.

I nodded against his skin. “Yeah. More than okay.”

We lay tangled, sweat cooling, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip. "Crazy or not," he murmured, "you're stuck with me now."

Chapter Text

The morning light sliced through the blinds like a bad omen, and I woke to Billy shaking my shoulder, his hand warm and urgent on my bare skin. I was still naked under his rumpled sheets, my body aching in all the best—and worst—ways from last night. The evidence of us was everywhere: the faint metallic scent of blood mixed with sweat, the sticky residue between my thighs, the way my muscles twitched when I shifted.

"Get up," Billy hissed, voice low and tense. "Fuck, they're home early."

I bolted upright, clutching the sheet to my chest as the front door slammed shut. Voices floated —Neil's gruff bark, Susan's softer reply. My heart dropped into my stomach. "Shit, Billy—what do we—"

"Get dressed," he ordered, already yanking on his jeans, commando, the zipper catching on his skin in his haste. "Now. Before my old man comes looking."

I scrambled for my clothes, scattered like crime scene evidence across the floor. My panties were twisted inside my jeans, and I nearly tripped pulling them up, the fabric sticking to the dried mess between my legs. Billy's eyes flicked to me as I bent over, darkening for a split second—hunger flashing through the panic. "Jesus, Mags, you trying to get us killed? Cover that ass before I forget we're fucked."

I shot him a glare, but heat pooled low anyway, my body traitorous even now. "Not funny, Hargrove."

"Who's laughing?" He smirked, but it was strained, tossing me my bra with one hand while buttoning his shirt with the other. His fingers brushed my arm as I hooked it, lingering just a second too long, thumb tracing the edge of my breast. "Last night was worth the risk, though. You were so fucking—"

A sharp knock rattled the door, cutting him off. We both froze. Billy's face drained of color. "Dad?" he called, voice cracking like a teenager caught with porn.

The knob twisted. No time to hide—I dove for the closet, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Neil Hargrove filled the frame, eyes narrowing on the scene: rumpled bed, clothes everywhere, me half-dressed and flushed, Billy standing there like a deer in headlights.

“Don’t say anything,” he said under his breath. “Let me handle it.”

Neil's gaze landed back on me, raking over my barely covered body with disgust. "What the hell is this? Another one of your little whores, Billy? Christ, boy, you can't keep your dick in your pants for one goddamn night?"

The word hit like a slap. Whore. I opened my mouth to apologize—to explain—but nothing came out. Fear choked me, cold and sharp, my hands shaking as I clutched my shirt to my chest.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Neil’s head tilted, slow and deliberate, like he was sizing up a threat he didn’t think was real. A humorless smile tugged at his mouth.

“Oh?” he said. “So now you’ve got a mouth on you too?”

Neil's face twisted, red and furious. He grabbed Billy by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall, the thud echoing like a gunshot. Billy's head cracked back, but he didn't flinch, just stared his dad down with that same defiant fire.

"You don't tell me what to do in my house, you little shit," Neil snarled, inches from Billy's face, spittle flying. "You bring sluts home? Under my roof? I oughta—"

"Neil!" Susan's voice cut through from the hallway, sharp and startled. She pushed in, eyes widening as she took in the scene—and then landed on me. Recognition dawned. "Wait—that's Maggie. From church. Calvin Powell's daughter."

Neil froze, grip loosening on Billy's shirt. The air went thick, awkward as hell. He stepped back, straightening his own shirt like nothing happened, but the vein in his forehead still throbbed. "Powell? The cop?"

Susan nodded, glancing at me with a mix of pity and embarrassment. "Yes."

“My mistake,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t realize.”

Billy stared at him, breathing hard, fists clenched.

Neil cleared his throat. “Billy. Get her home. Now.”

No apology to me. Just an order.

Billy shoved off the wall, rubbing his neck, eyes blazing but mouth shut. Neil stormed out, Susan trailing with a muttered "Sorry about that."

Max peeked in from the hallway, her eyes wide but curious. She gave me a small, shy wave, and I managed an awkward smile back, mouthing "Hey" like this wasn't the most humiliating moment of my life.

The drive home was silent at first, Billy's Camaro rumbling too loud, his knuckles white on the wheel. Rain pattered against the windshield—fitting for the mood. He looked pissed, jaw clenched, that bruise forming on his neck where Neil had grabbed him.

I fiddled with my seatbelt, wanting to bolt the second we stopped. "Billy, I—"

He cut me off as he pulled into my driveway, hand shooting out to grab my wrist before I could open the door. "Mags."

I stopped.

"I don’t regret last night," His eyes met mine—stormy, intense, that same heat from last night flickering beneath the anger. "You were incredible. The way you felt around me... fuck, Mags, I could do that every night and it wouldn't be enough."

My breath caught, the fear from Neil's outburst twisting with a fresh wave of want. He leaned in, cupping my face, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead—gentle, almost sweet. It lingered, his lips warm against my skin.

I slipped out, legs still wobbly, and watched him peel away. As I let myself in, the humor faded, leaving just the fear. Neil's words echoed—whore—and Billy's bruise burned in my mind. What had I gotten myself into?

✘

The Hargrove house smelled like overcooked pot roast and forced domesticity—Susan had gone all out with the tablecloth and everything, like we were starring in some Norman Rockwell knockoff

We were official now — together together — and for the first time in a long while, things felt… good. Stable, even. My dad didn’t like Billy much. He tolerated him the way cops tolerate suspicious dents in their patrol cars. But I didn’t care. I loved Billy. That was enough for me.

Susan greeted us at the door with a smile that tried too hard and a hug that lingered too long, like she was making up for something.

“Ma’am,” my dad said politely, scanning the house like he was mentally noting exits.

“It’s so nice to finally have you over properly,” she said warmly. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Neil appeared behind her.

Dad shook Neil's hand—firm, professional, like he was already running a background check in his head. Neil tried to play nice, slapping Dad on the back a little too hard. "Good to see you again, Officer Powell. Heard a lot about you around town."

"Yeah, well, small town," Dad replied, his smile tight. I could tell Neil was threatened as hell—big bad Neil Hargrove, face to face with a cop who could actually do something about his bullshit temper. Neil kept glancing at Dad like he was waiting for the cuffs to come out.

We sat down at the table—me next to Billy, our thighs brushing under the cloth napkin bullshit. His hand found my knee almost immediately, squeezing just hard enough to send a spark straight to my core. I shot him a look—behave—but he just smirked, fingers inching higher, tracing slow circles on my inner thigh. "Missed you," he murmured under his breath, voice low enough that only I could hear. "Been thinking about you all day."

"Pot roast, everyone!" Susan chirped, setting down the platter like she was defusing a bomb. Max rolled her eyes from across the table, stabbing at her carrots like they owed her money.

The conversation started safe—weather, Hawkins' new mall, how Max was liking school. But Neil couldn't help himself. He leaned back in his chair, fixing Billy with that cold stare. 

“You still screwing up at school, Billy? Or is having a girlfriend keeping you in line now?” Neil said, cutting into his meat with more force than necessary.

Billy stiffened beside me.

Susan shot Neil a warning look. “Neil—”

“I’m just asking,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “Because I don’t want any… incidents. Not under my roof.”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

Neil leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You’d better be.”

The table went quiet.

Max didn’t even look up. She just kept eating like this was background noise. Like it happened every night.

“So,” Neil said, “You’ve got a dangerous job.”

My dad shrugged. “Someone’s gotta keep this town from eating itself.”

Billy snorted into his mashed potatoes before he could stop himself. I kicked him under the table.

Neil’s eyes flicked to Billy. “Something funny?”

“No,” Billy said flatly. “Just choked.”

Neil leaned back in his chair. “I just expect discipline under my roof,” he said, eyes locked on Billy. “Rules. Respect.”

Billy tensed beside me, his hand pausing on my thigh. "Yes, sir," he muttered, jaw clenched.

Neil snorted. "Yes, sir? That's all you got? If you spent less time chasing tail and more time pulling your weight, maybe you'd amount to something."

The table went quiet. Susan fidgeted with her napkin. Max kept her head down, fork scraping her plate like this was just another Tuesday. Me? I wanted to throw my water glass at Neil's head. I'd known he was an abusive prick—Billy had hinted at it in quiet moments, bruises hidden under shirts—but seeing it up close made my blood boil.

Dad cleared his throat. "Easy there, Neil. Kid's got a job. That's something."

Neil waved him off. "Boy needs a real man's work." He shot Billy another glare. "Or he'll end up like his worthless mother—running off with the first dick that looks her way."

Billy's hand tightened on my thigh—painfully now. I covered it with mine under the table, squeezing back. Max finally looked up, her eyes flicking to me with something like sympathy. She was used to this shit. I guess I had to get used to it too if I was sticking around. But Billy? He'd told me once, that he didn't want Neil in jail. "He's all I've got left," he'd said, voice breaking just a little. "Fucked up family, but family." I got it. Didn't like it, but I got it.

To break the tension, Neil turned to me with a fake smile. "Maggie, what about your mother?"

The question hit like a gut punch. Dad stiffened beside me. I set my fork down, throat tight. "She, uh… she passed away when I was younger."

Neil nodded slowly. “Mental illness?”

“Yes,” I said. “She was… paralyzed.”

There wasn’t much else to say. There never was.

Neil leaned in, like he was entitled to my grief. "What was she like before? Strong woman, I bet, raising a girl like you."

I swallowed hard, Billy's thumb stroking my knee now, grounding me. "She was… quiet. We weren't exactly the outgoing type. She was scared a lot. She thought people were watching her sometimes. That something bad was coming."

I glanced at Billy—he knew. His mom had left when he was a kid, running from Neil's fists. He'd lost her too, even if she was alive somewhere. Our eyes met, and for a second, the table faded— just us, sharing that quiet pain.

Susan's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

Neil nodded like he'd unlocked some deep wisdom. "Sounds like she needed more discipline. Life's hard on the weak."

Dad's fork clattered. "Neil—"

Susan jumped in. “Dessert!” she said too loudly. “I made pie.”

“He didn’t have to say that,” he muttered.

“No,” I said. “He wanted to remind me who he thinks he is.”

Billy turned to me then, eyes dark, angry, protective. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“I know,” I said. “And neither do you.”

For a second, the tension shifted — something electric passing between us.

“If he ever—” I started.

Billy shook his head. “I can handle him.”

I searched his face. “I know. I just… I want to help.”

Something softened in his expression.

He leaned his forehead against mine for half a second.

“Having you here,” he murmured, “that’s already helping.”

Max caught my blush and snorted into her milk. "Gross," she muttered, but she was smiling.

When we finally left—after more awkward goodbyes and Neil's half-assed "Come back anytime"—Billy walked me to the car, hand on the small of my back. "Sorry about that shitshow."

I shrugged. "Your dad's an asshole. But you're worth it."

He pulled me into a quick, hard kiss—tongue teasing mine just enough to make me whine when he broke it. "Love you, Mags. Even if it comes with family drama."

"Love you too." I squeezed his hand.

Dad honked the horn. I rolled my eyes and climbed in, but the whole ride home, I couldn't stop thinking about how to get Billy out of that house. Away from Neil. He deserved better.