welcome back

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Alina woke up later that night with her mouth as dry as a bone. Grimacing, she licked her dry lips, trying to snuggle back into the comfort of her bed, but her efforts were fruitless. Between her teeth was a tongue like sandpaper, and a sour taste was stuck in the back of her throat. Alina knew she needed to find some water, but she was reluctant to climb out of bed. She'd come back from the quarry only three hours ago, and she was exhausted.

With a sigh, Alina rolled over, meaning to get up, when something wet sunk into her clothes. That was enough to make her eyes shoot open, but it was too dark right now for her to see exactly what it is. She then realized that whatever she'd felt had completely coated her, soaking through her hair and clinging to her face. She wondered in disgust if she'd wet the bed. She hadn't done that in years, but she wouldn't be surprised if she'd done it now with everything else that was happening.

Alina looked down at her shirt as her eyes adjusted to the light. It, too, was soaked in whatever substance was on her bed. After her eyes adjusted, she tried to let out a scream at the sight of what, exactly, was coating her and her bed, but her voice caught in her throat, the sound escaping her barely above a whisper.

Blood. It was everywhere. Soaking through her hair, her clothes, and completely covering her top bunk. Alina whipped around to find that it was on the wall, too, which was so covered in it that it looked like it been painted on. As Alina watched in horror, a drip of the red liquid fell from the ceiling on her head, landing there with a sickening plop.

Alina closed her eyes in terror. She could feel it everywhere. Her mouth, which was previously dry, now tasted of copper, and she spat out red-tinged saliva. She could feel the blood plastered to her, so soaked through her clothes that it had practically glued her shirt to her skin. She could feel it slide against her skin, boil in her throat, streak every inch of her and this bunk.

With some effort, as Alina's hands were shaking, she managed to pry her pajama shirt off. Then she leaped down from the top bunk, looking around the rest of the room. She choked out a sob when she noticed that the room was just as filled with blood. Her feet splashed in it with every step, and as Alina looked around, she noticed that Will was gone, his bloodied bed covers mussed as if he'd just left.

She took a step forward, the force of her step causing blood to spray into the air, coating itself on her cheek, and let out another sob. Tears blurred her vision as she touched Will's bed. Not Will. Please, not Will.

That was when she noticed the note on his pillow. It was written in handwriting she hadn't seen in a long time, as the person who used it was dead. Brandon Fairgrieves.

YOUR FAULT.

"No." Alina backed away, her voice rising as she shook her head frantically. "No! It's not—it's not my fault." She whipped her head around, blood flinging off her hair as she did so. "It's not—"

"You're sick," a voice said, and Alina turned to find a man sitting on the floor, cradling a girl, not seeming to notice that his bottom half was covered in the blood. The girl had a shaved head, dried blood congealing on her nose, and bruises littering her face. Her eyes were half-closed. It was a face Alina hadn't seen in a long time.

"You're sick," the man continued. "You're sick, but I'm going to make you better. I'm going to take you back home where I can make you well again."

Alina realized who these people were, but it didn't stop her from letting out a strangled cry. Brenner. That was Brenner. And he was holding Eleven in his arms, just like he had been a year ago. The only problem with that? Both of these people were dead.

"Go away," Alina choked, taking a couple of steps backward and crashing into Will's bed. "P-please."

Eleven turned to stare right at her, her eyes cold. "Bad," she said, and then reached out her arm, concentrating hard. A mirror suddenly materialized, and Alina was propelled to move close to it. But when she looked inside it, she didn't see her terrified, bloodstained face. No, she saw Brandon Fairgrieves. His mouth open wide in a scream. Blood oozing out of glassy eyes. Claw marks marring his chest.

"NO!"

Alina let out a gasp as her eyes opened. She was standing in the middle of the hallway, and had evidently been sleepwalking. Strange. She'd never done that before.

Breathing as heavy as if she'd just run a marathon, her heart pounding in her ears, her stomach doing summersaults, Alina cautiously touched her face. It was clean of blood. Her hands were, too, and her pajamas, and her hair was dry. She realized that it had just been a dream. That she was okay. That she wasn't covered in blood.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. She'd had horrible nightmares before, but nothing to that extent. It had been so realistic. She'd felt that blood clinging to her, felt as her feet sloshed in it. But now it was gone. It was all gone.

She was heading to her bedroom to make sure it had only been a dream when she heard it. The rumbling of thunder from outside, so loud and violent it made her jump. She furrowed her brow. She was sure it hadn't been raining before.

Red light danced across her face and Alina turned, her eyes widening as she looked out the window. The sky outside was bright red. As she watched, lightning flashed, and the wind howled so strongly that it blew the front door open. Just like in her dream, a force compelled Alina to go to it. With small steps, her heart thudding so hard it almost drowned out the sound of the thunder, Alina stepped outside.

Outside, the sky was a dark blue, flecks of ash flying violently around the house. And the house... it was rotten. Disfigured. Vines crawled over it, some of them squirming slightly as if alive. As Alina took deep breaths, she found it was difficult to breathe. She stood, not of her own accord, frozen. Her legs seemed to be plastered to the ground, her eyelids thrust open. All she could do was watch.

How did I not notice? As Alina looked around wildly, still frozen, she realized where she was. She'd seen it the day she met Gabe, and now she was seeing it again, clearer this time. The Upside Down.

A dark reflection or echo of our world... a place of decay and death... a place of monsters... dark and empty and cold...

But how? How had she managed to end up here? The Demogorgon, who was the only thing that could bring people here, was dead. Eleven had killed it last year, losing her own life in the process. But she was somehow, impossibly here, watching the sky light up like it was the apocalypse. As she watched, another burst of lightning lit it up, revealing something else. A shadow, almost. A dark shadow with a face and arms and legs that stretched across the sky. One that turned its head towards hers.

Alina Fairgrieves. The voice was everywhere and nowhere at once, and Alina tried to run, but she still couldn't. Whether it was by fear or something else, she was stuck, looking at this thing.

She found, though, that she could speak. "What—what do you want from me?"

Humans are so arrogant. I want nothing from you, Alina Fairgrieves. I wanted your abilities, and now I have them. I wanted your friend's body, and now I will have him. But until then, Alina Fairgrieves, you might prove useful in helping me get what I truly want. I just need a little more.

The shadow was moving closer to her. Alina still couldn't move her legs, but she clenched her fists, hard, and bit her tongue. Both things that had grounded her before. And with a panicked scream, Alina fought against the force holding her. After a tense second, Alina managed to get her legs free, and immediately turned, running away from the shadow. She ran inside her house, slamming the door shut, before moving to Joyce's bedroom, which had a secure lock.

Running inside, Alina closed the door, locking it, and dove under the bed, screwing her eyes shut. Go away, go away, go away.

There was a rattle as the door was blown off its hinges, and she could see tendrils of shadow snaking their way under the bedroom door. Alina scooted backwards, a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, and pressed herself against the wall. The shadow was getting closer. It had almost reached her when—

"Alina!"

For the second time, Alina's eyes opened.

She was tangled in her blankets, sweat dripping down her face, her limbs cramped from being forced into uncomfortable positions. She sat up, looking around wildly, only to find Will sitting on the edge of her bed, his eyes wide, an empty glass in his hand. Alina realized it wasn't just sweat running down her face, it was water. Will had splashed her to wake her up.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I couldn't sleep, and then I heard you crying. I was worried about you."

Alina looked around wildly, but her room was spared of blood and there was no rumble of thunder. Taking heaving breaths, Alina closed her eyes, tears joining the mess of fluids on her face. She was trembling so much it looked like she was vibrating.

"Bad dream," she croaked. "Worst dream."

Will let out a sigh. "Me, too. What was yours?"

Alina squeezed her eyes shut. "There was blood... there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. And you, and Joyce and Jonathan were all gone, and it was all my fault. And then... Eleven... she knew it was my fault. She showed me my dad. And then I was... I was in the Upside Down..." Alina shook her head. "I can't. I don't... I don't want to say it."

"I was in the Upside Down, too," said Will softly. "Back there. Like what happened at the arcade. Why I had to go into the lab. I saw... I saw this thing, and..." he slipped his hand into hers. "I'm not going back. I'm never going to go back. And you're never going to go there, okay?"

"Okay," said Alina, opening her eyes again. She untangled herself from her covers. "I'm afraid to fall asleep again."

"Me, too," said Will. "But the doctor... he said that sleep is the best thing that we can do. We have to try."

He hung off the edge of the bunk, putting his glass back on the dresser, before lying down. "I'll stay here," he said. "I don't exactly want to sleep alone."

Alina lay down again, wiping the moisture off her face. Will put an arm around her, and both of them closed their eyes, their breathing shaking a little. Will didn't want to tell Alina everything he'd seen. How he hadn't been sleeping when he had been transported back there. How he'd seen a shadow in the sky that had turned its head towards him. How he had been paralyzed with fear.

Alina didn't want to tell Will of the shadow that had spoken to her, had threatened her. She didn't want to sound crazy. She didn't want to be a burden.

But if either of them had told the other of what they'd seen, both of them may have realized that the dreams they were having weren't ordinary dreams. That something more sinister was at play. They might've been able to stop what was to happen next if they had. But both of them kept their mouths shut, for fear of frightening the other, and so it was that the next events came to occur.

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a/n: yeah so dream sequence. but it was necessary so i hope you can forgive me. and also, i wanted to show that a lot of ptsd dreams are not a complete scene-by-scene recollection of the event. so i hope i did that right.

hope you enjoyed this chapter! if you did, make sure to comment and vote! and thank you all so much for 200 followers, that is literally insane. i never thought i'd make it this far.

'till next time! <3