Chapter Text
the static never really stopped after will's run in with vecna.
it clung to the walls of the radio station, low and constant, like something alive but too tired to move. it filled the gaps between people whispering softly, stretched thin through the silence, settled into everyone’s bones until it almost felt like it was supposed to be there
almost.
joyce stood over will, her hand hovering just above his arm, not quite touching. she’d been like that for minutes now, probably even longer. time didn’t feel right anymore.
“will,” she said, voice soft but tight, like she was holding it together by force. “baby, wake up.”
nothing.
his eyes moved fast under his lids. too fast. not like dreaming—more like he was trying to outrun something in his head.
mike leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, staring so hard at every aspect of will's face it looked painful. “he’s still doing that thing with his eyes,” he said. “that’s—he’s not just asleep, right?”
“rem,” erica said automatically, then winced. “i mean—technically—but—”
“dustin,” lucas muttered.
“i’m just saying—”
“not helping,” robin cut in, arms crossed tight around her chest, still nursing a few cracked ribs.
“guys,” mike snapped.
silence dropped again.
will’s breathing hitched, uneven but not quite panicked. like his body was syncing to something none of them could hear.
joyce finally touched him.
cold.
eleven and hopper had been stuck in the upside down for god knows how long now. hopper adjusted the walkie, tapping it twice like that might fix anything about their situation. “nancy, you copy?” he said. “jonathan? dustin? Steve? we're by the church—”
nothing but static.
“great,” he muttered. “fucking fantastic.”
el stood a few feet back, arms wrapped around herself, watching him. the air here always felt heavier on her. like it remembered her somehow.
hopper glanced over his shoulder. “they’re back at the lab. if we can get around—”
he stopped, thinking about their current predicament.
then, firm: “stay here.”
el’s brow furrowed immediately. “i can help.”
“i know you can help,” hopper said. “that’s the problem. you’re wanted. by, like, everyone with a badge and a gun in this place. so for once—just this once—stay.”
she didn’t move.
he gave her a look. “kid.”
she exhaled, annoyed, but nodded. “fine.”
“good.” he handed her the walkie. “if anything happens—anything—you call me.”
“i know.”
“i mean it.”
“i know,” she repeated, sharper.
hopper hesitated, then turned and moved off into the fog and broken structures, boots crunching against ash.
el waited.
one second.
two.
five.
the upside down breathed around her—slow, distant groans of something shifting far away up in the sky, like the world settling into itself.
then—
there were footsteps.
she froze.
not slow. not heavy, so it couldn't be military
they were fast. way too fast for her comfort.
they came from somewhere behind her, uneven, slipping, like whoever it was didn’t know how to move here—like they were running blind—and then they cut off abruptly.
a stumble.
a sharp intake of breath.
silence.
el turned slowly.
nothing in this place could trip over anything, it was all under one shared mind.
she stepped forward carefully, eyes narrowing. “hello?”
no answer.
she moved around the corner of a collapsed wall.
and stopped.
a boy was tangled in the vines, half on the ground like he’d fallen straight into their grip
but the vines weren’t reacting.
they lay slack against him. loose and unmoving, like they were a regular piece of environment.
it was almost like they didn’t know he was there.
el’s chest tightened.
he looked up at her, wide-eyed, breathing hard, and had fear written all over his face.
he was small.
too small.
dark hair. a dorky bowl cut. clothes clean—but wrong for this place. pajama pants. a white shirt.
like he’d only been here for minutes.
not years.
“what is this?” he said, voice shaky. “where am i? who are—”
el didn’t answer right away.
she just stared.
because she knew that face.
but not like this.
not younger.
not… untouched.
she stepped closer, cautious. “my name is eleven.”
the boy blinked up at her. “like… the number?”
her stomach dropped.
he didn’t know her.
not really, or yet.
something cold settled in her chest.
she crouched down slowly. “what’s your name?”
he hesitated, like the question itself was wrong.
“…will.”
she swallowed.
“will,” she repeated, quieter.
he glanced around, panic creeping back in. “this place—this isn’t—this isn’t right.”
“no,” el said. “it isn’t.”
he looked at her again, searching. “how long have i been here? i think i'm having a—”
she didn’t answer that either.
because the truth really didn’t make sense, and she assumed it would be worse for him.
instead, she asked, “what do you remember?”
will frowned, thinking. “i was—” he stopped. “i was at home, in bed. and then—” his voice faltered. “i heard him.”
el’s body went still.
“who?” she asked.
will’s gaze flickered, uncertain.
“he said it was okay,” he said quietly. “he said i could come here if I listened.”
el’s voice dropped. “who said that to you?”
will looked at her.
“henry.”
the name hit like a shockwave. el didn’t hesitate anymore.
“we’re leaving,” she said, grabbing his arm.
“what—wait—”
he stumbled as she pulled him up, still weak and very disoriented.
the vines brushed against his legs.
did nothing.
el noticed.
her grip tightened.
“come on.”
hopper turned at the sound of footsteps rapidly approached him.
his hand went straight to the gun.
“hop!” el’s voice cut through the air.
he stepped forward immediately. “kid, i told you to—”
then he saw.
and stopped.
“…no,” he said instantly. “nope. absolutely not. jesus christ, we are not doing this.”
will blinked at him, confused, shrinking back slightly.
hopper pointed. “that—no. that is not—no.”
“it is will,” el said, firm.
“that is a will,” hopper shot back. “that is not our will. our will is back in the real world, in the radio station, unless i’ve missed something huge—”
“he said henry's name,” el cut in.
hopper stopped.
looked at the kid again, and he really looked this time.
will stared back, scared but… normal. he knew hopper, at least.
hopper stepped closer slowly. “kid,” he said. “look at me.”
will hesitated.
then did.
hopper studied his eyes carefully.
hazel.
not dark.
he exhaled, just a little. “okay,” he muttered. “okay, that’s… something that's right.”
“we can’t leave him,” el said.
hopper rubbed his face. “of course we can’t leave him.”
will shifted. “what’s happening?”
hopper looked at him, then at el.
then sighed. “congratulations,” he said dryly. “this just got worse, kid.”
the lab wasn’t any better.
“you brought who?” dustin said immediately.
“will,” el said.
“yeah, i gathered that,” dustin said. “i meant—how is that will when will is—”
“very much not here with us,” steve finished.
nancy stared at will, eyes sharp, calculating. “how old are you, will?” she asked.
“thirteen,” will said, hesitant.
jonathan didn’t even hesitate.
he stepped forward, eyes locked on will, something soft and immediate flickering there. “hey,” he said gently. “it’s okay, dude.”
will looked at him.
something in his face shifted into recognition.
“jonathan?” he said.
jonathan swallowed. “yeah.”
dustin was already pacing. “okay, okay, okay—so theoretically, if we’re dealing with some kind of temporal displacement intersecting with—”
“dustin,” steve said.
“no, this is important,” dustin insisted. “because either time is stagnant, which we know is the case here—or splitting, vecna is pulling from different points in the timeline, which—by the way—is insane—”
“he said henry's name to me,” el repeated.
that shut him up for half a second.
“…cool,” dustin said. “even worse.”
hopper clapped his hands once. “we’re not staying here,” he said. “we move. now.”
getting back through the gate wasn’t clean, it never was.
but eventually—they made it.
real air.
real ground.
real world.
hopper barely slowed down once they entered through the back of the squawk. “we are not taking him to joyce,” he said immediately.
“yeah,” steve said. “hard agree. that feels like a heart attack waiting to happen.”
“jonathan,” nancy said.
he nodded. “i’ll distract her.”
“good.”
“wait—what?” will said. “mom’s here? jonathan—”
“long story,” dustin said quickly. “like, long long.”
“robin,” nancy said, as the former happened to walk by.
“oh no,” robin said immediately. “why me.”
“because you’re good with people.”
“i am bad with people.”
“you’re good with kids.”
“he’s not a kid, he’s—” robin gestured vaguely at will. “—a paradox.”
will blinked.
hopper pointed. “you’re babysitting the paradox.”
robin sighed. “great. awesome. love that for me.”
they ushered will into the recording booth, closing the door behind them.
it was quiet inside.
safe.
for now.
will sat down slowly on robins ratty old chair, still looking around like none of it was real.
robin hovered awkwardly nearby. “so,” she said. “hi. i’m robin.”
will nodded. “will.”
“…yeah, i got that.”
a beat.
“okay,” robin said. “don’t freak out.”
“i’m already freaking out. hop looks old now and so does jonathan.”
“fair,” she admitted. “valid. extremely valid point.”
will looked down at his hands.
“he said it was okay,” he murmured again.
robin stilled.
“yeah,” she said carefully. “we’re gonna… figure that out.”
it was just them and the quiet inside the recording booth.
and something very, very wrong.
will had been alone long enough that he’d started assigning personalities to the random bits of dust clinging to the different tapes.
the recording booth was quieter than the upside down, which honestly felt unfair. at least the upside down had the courtesy to be loud about how terrible it was by existing.
robin had checked in twice.
“hi, paradox child,” she’d said the first time, tossing a can of coke to him like she was feeding a raccoon. “don’t die, okay? i’d get blamed for it and i already have enough emotional damage going on right now."
the second time she’d just said, “still alive? cool,” and left again.
so now will sat in the middle of the booth, warm coke in hand, staring out through the tinted glass.
which, unfortunately, meant he could see everything.
“this is insane,” he muttered to himself.
because mike wheeler—who will remembered to be as scrawny as a stick bug, who used to look like he could barely carry a backpack—was walking across the radio station like he owned it.
and he was tall.
like, offensively tall to will.
“no,” will said quietly. “no way.”
he leaned closer to the glass so his nose was touching.
“that’s not fair.”
mike turned slightly and laughed at something dustin said, and will just stared harder.
same face.
same stupid expression.
just… stretched.
will paused. “what even is this.”
he took a sip of coke.
it helped absolutely nothing.
he’d stopped trying to understand time about an hour ago.
or maybe it had been five minutes ago.
or maybe three years.
honestly, all of it felt equally possible.
then the door opened.
el stepped in first.
will sat up immediately.
“hey,” he said.
then, after a beat—
“so… am i taller than jonathan now?”
el blinked.
“…that’s your question?”
“it’s just—he always said he would be taller than me,” will said, very seriously. “and i feel like if i’m already not in my correct time, i should at least win that over him.”
el stared at him for a second.
then, slowly: “you are… not taller than jonathan.”
“damn,” will said.
he slumped back a little.
el crossed her arms. “you are handling this strangely well.”
“i don’t have time to not handle it,” will said. “also robin gave me coke so i think i’ve accepted reality as a concept for me.”
el didn’t respond to that.
instead she stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“i need to show you something,” she said.
will frowned. “okay.”
“but you will not tell hopper. or your mom, when you see her.”
“that’s… already concerning.”
“it is important,” el said firmly.
he studied her face.
“…okay,” he said slowly. “that’s worse.”
they moved through the main part of the squawk quickly, el keeping close to him.
which, honestly, fair.
will kept glancing at himself in reflective surfaces as the pair of them plopped down on a love seat.
it was getting harder to ignore, while his "real" body was laid on a couch.
his body—older, taller, sharper in places he didn’t remember growing into—moved ahead of him in the world like it belonged there.
like it had always belonged there.
he didn’t feel like it matched him as he was now.
not really.
“so,” he said carefully, “this is my body.”
el didn’t look back. “yes.”
“cool.”
pause.
“i don’t love it,” will added.
“understood.”
el stopped.
turned.
“what henry did,” she said, “we do not fully understand.”
will nodded slowly. “okay.”
“but if he took you,” she continued, “out of time… that is different problem.”
“that sounds like a lot of problems,” will said.
“yes.”
another pause.
then el stepped closer.
“i can use the void,” she said. “to see you. your memories. where you were taken from.”
will frowned. “like… inside my head? you can do that too?”
“yes.”
“that sounds scary,” he said immediately.
el didn’t argue. “it is.”
“…okay,” will said. “i appreciate the honesty?”
she hesitated.
“it is the only way to know if you are… split,” she said. “or copied. or moved.”
will processed that.
slowly.
“…copied?”
“yes.”
“that’s worse.”
“i know.”
he rubbed his face.
“so what you’re saying is,” will said, “either i’m me and stuck here with older me, or there’s another me, or i got time-snatched by henry, who's also called vecna.”
“yes.”
“awesome.”
el nodded once. “we do it now.”
will blinked. “right now?”
“yes.”
then—
a voice behind them.
“uh.”
will turned.
and froze.
“hi mike?” he said automatically.
mike wheeler stood in the doorway.
completely still.
like someone had unplugged him.
“…what,” mike said.
will blinked. “i mean, it’s me. hi.”
mike didn’t move.
didn’t even breathe, apparently.
“no,” mike said slowly. “no, it’s not.”
will looked at el.
el looked at mike.
“this is going great,” will said.
mike’s eyes snapped to el. “what is happening.”
el didn’t hesitate. “he is will.”
“no he’s not.”
“he is.”
“no,” mike repeated, sharper now. “will is—will is right there—”
he stopped.
because he couldn’t finish it.
this version was standing right in front of him, older, real, looking at him like he was the one who belonged.
will shifted awkwardly.
“okay,” he said, trying to help. “i also think this is insane. does that help?”
mike just stared.
“you’re—” mike started.
then stopped again.
his voice dropped. “you’re real.”
will shrugged a little. “yeah.”
el stepped between them slightly. “we do not have time.”
“we always have time,” mike snapped, eyes still locked on will. “what is going on?”
will sighed.
“i don’t know,” he admitted. “i woke up in the wrong horror movie. seems like that's every day for me.”
mike looked like that did not help at all.
el grabbed will lightly by the arm again. “we go.”
“wait,” mike said immediately.
el didn’t stop.
“wait—el—”
will glanced back once as they left.
mike was still standing there.
like he didn’t know whether to follow or break.
once they were out of sight, will exhaled.
long.
slow.
“…so that’s mike,” he said.
el nodded.
“he’s taller,” will added.
“yes.”
“that’s still bothering me.”
“understood.”
they kept walking.
“okay,” he said quietly. “so what’s the plan again, exactly, besides me getting mentally invaded?”
el didn’t slow down.
“we find truth,” she said.
will nodded.
“cool,” he said.