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𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭
𝟎:𝟑𝟖 —|—————— 𝟐:𝟐𝟗
♯ 𝐀 ♯ 𝟎𝟑
𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 : ▮▮▯▯▯▯▯▯▯
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

Tuesday, Nov. 10, 1983.

BRIGGS DOESN'T REALLY know what he planned to do, realizing it's barely halfway through second hour as he sits in the nearly empty parking lot of Hawkins Middle. He squints at the doors, mid-morning sunlight blinding him through the windshield. It's not like he has the authority to walk in there and get Corey out of school.

Even if he did, what would he tell Corey? What would he tell his mom and Danny?

Yeah, I pulled Corey out of school because I saw a white van at Joyce's house.

There's a logical explanation for that van, those men. Briggs knows there is. He just jumped to the worst possible conclusion, like always. There was a power outage—maybe it had something to do with that. The phone's broken, hence the first repair truck. It's not—it's fine. Nothing about a Hawkins Power and Light van means his sister is in imminent danger.

What was he thinking? Whoever the hell those people were—they won't get her here. Even if they were the people responsible for Will's disappearance, which they're not, they wouldn't abduct a kid right out of the public middle school. And there's no trace of any vans or repair trucks in the area.

So why is Briggs buzzing with nerves, hardly seeing straight, unable to get a real breath in? God, get a grip, he tells himself, clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Van or no van, there's nothing he can do right now. He can't see Corey. She's in school. He could go home, maybe, but the idea of sitting in an empty house right now is unsettling.

He's never wanted one of those stupid walkie-talkies more.

He could go to class, he supposes, but then he'd have to explain his morning absence. Briggs groans when he realizes that if anyone saw him or his car today, he's going to have to explain his absence in some capacity to his mom anyway. He hasn't missed enough days yet to warrant a letter or call home, but Hawkins is small and people talk.

Shit.

Briggs doesn't let himself consider the logistics or the consequences as he drives over to the high school, but not to the front doors—to the side doors. They probably should be locked, but they never are. And they lead right to the empty Hawkins High pool.

The deck is dry but enveloped in a sea of darkness, one that intensifies as the door slams shut behind Briggs. He's done this only two other times in his high school career—nobody's ever in here during the day, anyway, and it's probably breaking some rule, but he hasn't been caught yet.

He doesn't bother turning the lights on. It's just another stimulus to deal with, and right now, Briggs want to shut everything out. Better not to alert anyone of his presence, anyway.

His locker opens with a few flicks of the wrist, muscle memory by this point, and he changes as fast as he would for morning practice, somehow feeling even more exposed when the rest of the team isn't here.

He doesn't have his swim gear on him, and he doesn't care in the slightest. He puts his gym shorts on and throws his shirt to the bottom of the locker, then heads barefoot back to the pool deck.

All the way to the far end, to the starting block.

A solo competition, Coach always calls it. Briggs imagines the starting whistles as he crouches on the block alone, nobody there to witness the dive. Solo, indeed.

Ready. His fingers dig into the rough edges of the block, the grain of it rubbing against the soles of his bare feet, and he closes his eyes, breathes deep, once, twice.

Set. He's got no goggles this time, no swim cap, no drag-reducing swim gear, just a pair of ratty gym shorts and eyes ready to close tight against the sting of chlorine. The pool is dark save for the faint rays slipping through the high-set windows, only slivers of light seeping through cracks under the side doors and the narrow hall leading to the locker room.

Go. The water shocks him to his very core, the pain he needed, the sensation of cold wending into his bones and veins, that feeling that's awakening and distancing all at once, that makes him remember what it's like to be alive but puts him so far from reality that there's nothing but the chill and the chlorine and the burning of his muscles as he goes, goes, goes.

Briggs hits the water and knows he's home.

It's not butterfly today, just a heated freestyle, back and forth and back and forth with too much time between breaths, and every flip and push and kick and reach propels him further away from the van, the truck, the suits, the missing kid and the worried brother and the reckless sister and the hallway jerks and the grating feeling of helplessness surrounding the whole damn thing. Briggs throws himself into the laps like his life depends on it, and vaguely, in a haze of water and darkness and tiles not illuminated by any sort of overhead lights, Briggs thinks maybe it does, maybe his life does depend on this, because without it he'll worry and shake and pace and wait outside in the parking lot for Corey because white suits from white vans are doing bad things and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

He counts for a while, forcing the numbers into his head, big and bold, after he's sure he's done a hundred meters—one, two, three, four—barely breathing the whole time.

Five. Joyce was not home. Joyce is at work, at Melvald's, dealing with cranky daytime customers and not knowing about the men in suits combing through her yard.

Six. Jon is probably halfway to Lonnie's, blasting The Clash or Talking Heads and glaring out the windshield as he drives ten over the speed limit. Lonnie doesn't have Will, and deep down, Jon knows it—but he's gotta check. Briggs gets that.

Seven. Corey is safe. Corey is in school with her friends and the vans are far away at the Byers' house and they are not going to hurt her.

Eight. Briggs is swimming in the dark, empty Hawkins High pool. He is alone. He is not dealing with men in white suits or English class or Tommy Hagan. He is okay.

Nine. Everyone is okay. Everything is okay. This is okay.

He loses track after that, working his arms and legs and core and lungs overtime, just swimming in the dark in nothing but gym shorts. The drag is good, Briggs thinks, the extra weight of his shorts and his wet, floppy hair. Resistance is good, will make him faster in the long run.

He's finally settled into himself, into a state of calm, consistent laps, when he sees something in his periphery during a breath, something that wasn't there before. He reaches the end of the pool closest to the locker rooms and stops.

"Reyes?"

Shit.

Briggs wants so badly to be imagining that voice, but he knows what's coming before he looks up and meets the eyes of Steve Harrington, standing at the edge of the pool, looking down at him with a more puzzled expression than usual.

For a moment, he expects a lecture, something about how he shouldn't be here, but then he realizes Steve is shirtless. Staring at the water like he's ready to get in.

He's here to swim, not to tell Briggs to get out.

"What are you—"

"Oh, fuck off, Harrington," Briggs says, diving back under the water and pushing off the wall. Something boils low and angry in Briggs' gut, an annoyance that one of the things he'd been trying to escape from is here, interrupting. Asking questions he has no business asking.

Unfortunately, Steve does not fuck off. When Briggs reaches the far wall, Steve is already in the water, trying to catch up.

What the hell does this guy want from me?

"Reyes," Steve gasps as he surfaces in the next lane.

Briggs grips the edge of the pool deck in irritation, glaring daggers at Steve, not that the other boy can see his expression in the smothering dark. There's enough light that he can make out Steve's face, gilded by soft illumination from the little square windows, and he watches as the captain opens his mouth, then closes it, seeming to think better of asking questions.

Briggs doesn't ask questions, either, or comment on the sorry state of Steve's usually fluffy hair, now drooping and slick with water.

He and Steve just stare each other down at the edge of the pool, in the dim, vacant space filled with chlorine and the lingering scent of exhaustion. Maybe Steve is here to escape something, too—Briggs doesn't particularly care, and he doesn't want Steve to ask, either.

And a moment later, a long moment in which Briggs feels stripped bare by Steve's calculating brown eyes, a mix of concern and confusion and some other emotion Briggs can't quite identify, Steve just... nods. He nods and tilts his head toward the other end of the pool.

Race?

Briggs nods back.

And he and Steve Harrington, in a nearly empty pool in the middle of a school day, compete in the dark.

▮▮▮

When Briggs' arms and legs have turned to jelly, he hops out of the pool without prelude, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his knuckles. He's too tired now to care about the stressors of this morning, all his troubles drowned in the water he's spent who-knows-how-long slicing through relentlessly.

A splash indicates Harrington getting out of the water just behind him. Briggs sighs. He'd been hoping to avoid conversation.

The unspoken competition was just what he needed, an adrenaline rush of gogogo pushing him back and forth and back and forth, he and Steve trading the lead every few laps.

When Briggs was sure he hit the wall first by at least a good second, he got out of the pool. Enough time for Harrington not to be able to claim a win. Not that they marked a distance, or even said out loud that it was a race. But it was. Briggs knows it was.

And he won.

Steve's breathing is ragged behind him as Briggs walks directly toward the locker room, running a hand through his sopping wet hair and refusing to turn around.

For a minute, the only things piercing the silent midday air are the faint footsteps and panting of two exhausted boys.

And then Steve fucking ruins it.

"Hey," he says as the blinding lights of the locker room punch Briggs in the face.

"What." It's not a question, more of a get out of my face, Harrington, or I'll kick your ass into next week condensed into a single word.

"What were...I mean—you good?"

"Never better," Briggs huffs without turning around. Like Steve cares.

"You do this a lot?"

Briggs turns to look at Steve, to take in the beads of pool water tracing rivulets down his torso, his jawline. You do this a lot?

Do what? Swim in the dark pool during school? Try to outrun the incessant shouting of the voices in his head? Put his whole soul into beating Steve to the other end of the pool?

"No," he says.

Steve hums in acknowledgement, stretching his arms out above his head, and suddenly Briggs can't look away. He curses himself to the moon and back, silently, as Steve's shoulders ripple with toned muscle, as his swim trunks—not a Speedo, not gym shorts, just swim trunks—sag low around his hips, weighed down by chlorinated water.

Fuck.

Steve doesn't comment on Briggs' appraising stare, but he notices. He notices, locking eyes with Briggs before his gaze flickers up and down, reading the tension in Briggs' muscles, his clenched jaw, the way his breath catches in his throat. But Steve doesn't say anything about it as Briggs turns away and inhales sharply, beelining for his locker.

You hate Steve, he reminds himself, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest, his veins, his fingertips. Steve is a jerk. A top-tier jackass. Your biggest competition. All of your pet peeves in human form.

A boy.

A boy no different from the rest of the team, Briggs reminds himself. They've all got abs and toned muscles. It's not Briggs' fault if Steve is conventionally attractive. Hell, McCoy's objectively pretty easy on the eyes, too. He's not different for noticing it.

Briggs doesn't ask, but Steve says, "I do."

It takes Briggs a moment to even remember what Steve was talking about—You do this a lot?

No.

I do.

"Oh," Briggs says dumbly, not daring to glance back at Steve.

"It's nice, y'know, when everything else is...when you just need to get away," Steve says thoughtfully. And Briggs doesn't know why Steve is telling him this, why he's listening.

"Didn't expect the king of Hawkins High to need to get away from anything," Briggs replies, only half-joking. He remembers this morning, the way he'd stood there while Tommy called Jon pathetic, his half-assed apology to save his own reputation.

That was why he apologized, wasn't it?

"Yeah, well," Steve breathes. "You'd be surprised."

Briggs turns around at that, expecting to meet the captain's eyes—which isn't a good idea, really—but instead he's met with a white towel hitting him in the face.

He just stands there for a minute, clutching the fabric, shaking off the water and the feeling of Steve's gaze on his body.

And when Briggs finally pulls the towel away from his face, Steve Harrington is gone.

▮▮▮

"I can't fucking believe you just left me to suffer alone," Mack whines, sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep outside Hawkins Middle.

"It can't have been that bad, Mack," Briggs says. "I said I'm sorry."

Mack hasn't shut up about the pain of going through gym without Briggs and Jon since he collapsed into the car after school, glaring at Briggs like he was the reason for every moment of suffering Mack had ever experienced.

Which, yeah—Briggs is probably responsible for a decent amount of it, but not all of it.

A steady trail of kids streams out of the middle school doors, and Briggs' body floods with relief as he sees Corey walk out, flanked by Lucas on one side and Dustin on the other. Whole and unharmed and chattering like there's no tomorrow. She sees the Jeep and waves.

"Look at her little boy gang," Mack says with a snicker, tilting his head toward the trio as Corey gestures and points to the car, mouth moving a mile a minute. Briggs recalls the conversation he had with Corey this morning and zeroes in on the boys in question, trying to catch anything unusual in their behavior toward Corey—or in Corey's behavior toward them.

"Either of them look like they're into Corey to you?" Briggs asks, not looking away. Mack laughs, a loose, low sound.

"They're middle school boys," he replies. "They're into everything with a pulse."

Briggs wrinkles his nose, hating that Mack is right.

But if Corey reciprocates... which one? God, Briggs really hopes it's not Wheeler.

As Corey scampers over to the car, Briggs rolls down the window. He kind of wants to shove her in the back seat and tell her to never get within ten feet of a van, but that's probably not the best approach.

"Hi," Corey says pleasantly, and Briggs frowns. She didn't greet him with a what's up, asshole or a crude gesture, which means she wants something.

"What are you planning now?"

Corey clasps her hands together and rocks back slightly on her heels. "Uh, so, we were gonna go to Mike's."

Briggs' eyes dart back to where Lucas and Dustin are trying to be inconspicuous by the bike rack and failing horribly. Dustin leans against the wall—or tries to—but miscalculates the distance and stumbles backward. He barely catches himself, quickly planting his hands on his hips like he was planning it. Lucas stares at the other boy like he can't believe humanity has reached this level of idiocy. Briggs is inclined to agree.

But Mike is nowhere to be found.

"Uh, where is Mike?" Briggs asks, something twisting in his stomach. Guys in suits. White vans. Weird devices. The Byers' shed. Will missing.

Corey sighs. "He wasn't at school, and we think he's probably just so worried about Will he couldn't go," she says. "We wanna check on him. Is that okay?"

Briggs opens his mouth to say not today, it's not, but then Corey raises her eyebrows and reminds him, "I wouldn't ask you on a Monday or a Wednesday or a Thursday, y'know. I would just go."

She's not wrong. On the days Corey has to bike to school because Briggs has morning swim practice, he'll swing by the middle school after class to see if she needs a ride, but she usually waves him off in favor of gallivanting across town with her Party, and he and Mack are free to go.

But today... he's not really comfortable with that idea, not today, not when biking around town is what Will Byers was doing when he up and vanished.

Corey's just asking for a ride, basically. He knows that if he takes her home, she'll just get on her own bike and go all the way back to Mike's. Or she'll hop on the back of Lucas or Dustin's bikes, bikes that are definitely only made for one person. It's already a losing battle he's fighting. He's not her babysitter—just her glorified taxi.

And then she pulls her wide-eyed puppy face on him, and Briggs wants to slam his head into the steering wheel. Damn it.

"Fine," he sighs, nodding toward the boys. "But I'm driving you. All of you. Those bikes aren't made for two people."

His mind flickers back to last night's conversation. Next time you and the boys feel like doing something heroic and reckless, you let me know and I'll drive you, okay?

He hopes going to check on Mike Wheeler isn't heroic and reckless, that there's not some stupid scheme underneath the idea. Mike was Will's best friend before any of the others really came along. It's fair to assume he's probably freaking out.

But before Corey goes off with her gang, as Mack called it, Briggs needs to make sure she understands the risks, needs to make sure that if she's going to Mike's, she's staying there.

"Okay, Dad," Corey huffs, but then she grins. "Thanks." She turns to the boys and gives them a thumbs up, then gestures to their bikes and points to Briggs. Dustin violently fist-pumps the air in victory before he and Lucas start wheeling their bikes over.

"Hi, Mack 'n' Cheese," Corey says through the window with a shit-eating grin. "You're in my seat."

"Holbrook," Mack says cheerfully. "You know this belongs to me. I thought you were drivin'."

"Absolutely not," Briggs interjects. "Do you guys want to die?" Corey just grins even wider, flicking Briggs in the temple before trotting around to the back to open the trunk for the boys' bikes.

Mack and Corey like to do this thing where they pretend they're best buddies and gang up on Briggs, and there is literally nothing Briggs hates more in the world. Except maybe sushi.

"You're both idiots," Briggs informs Mack, who simply nods as if this is common knowledge. He's skipped the hat today, his dark hair a little wild, sticking up in various directions as if hands were run through it several times. He absentmindedly fiddles with the buttons of his blue-and-white striped collared shirt, the one he always wears on test days for the killer combination of luck and confidence on top of my unheard-of intellect, Briggs, okay?

Right. Kaminsky's exam.

Briggs is about to ask how it went when Corey, Lucas, and Dustin all pile into the back seat, bikes secure in the trunk. Like he's going to get a conversation in with them talking at a thousand decibels back there. He resolves to ask Mack about the exam later.

As Briggs pulls out of the parking lot and starts toward the Wheelers' house, he catches Corey's eye in the rearview mirror. Her knee is bouncing rapidly, and she keeps exchanging glances with Lucas and Dustin like they're all in on some big secret. Now's really not the time for secrets, in Briggs' opinion.

"So, anything happen at school?" he asks, trying for casual.

Corey makes a face. "Same old, same old."

Dustin nods way too emphatically in agreement and Lucas reaches across Corey to tug on his hair, earning an offended yelp.

Mack stifles a laugh with his fist in the passenger seat. This is really not easing Briggs' level of comfort about letting Corey run loose in the world.

"You sure Mike's gonna be okay with you guys being there? He's not sick or something?" Briggs pushes.

"Nah, it'll be fine, we talked about it yester—"

This time it's Corey glaring daggers at Dustin, shutting him up mid-sentence.

"You talked about it yesterday, as in Mike told you he wouldn't be at school today?" Briggs asks slowly, brows furrowing.

"No!" Corey nearly shouts, burying her hands in her pockets. "No, we didn't know. But he told us yesterday to come over after school. We don't know why he wasn't there."

"Yeah," Lucas chimes in. "So now going to his house is, like, bonus important."

Bonus important. Briggs snorts.

"Okay," he sighs. "His parents are home, right?" He can't quite recall what Ted and Karen Wheeler do for a living.

"Duh," Corey responds, like Ted and Karen have absolutely nothing better to do with their lives than stay home and watch Mike's tiny Dungeons and Dragons gang.

Honestly, Ted probably doesn't. But Briggs keeps that thought to himself.

He thinks about the men in the suits. A familiar dread settles in his gut, but... he promised to help Jon out tonight, and Ma and Danny won't be home for a few hours yet. If the kids are going to be safe anywhere, it's at the Wheelers'.

He drops Mack off first, and Corey doesn't even wait for him to close the car door before she climbs over the center console and claims his seat.

"Jeez, Corey, it's like a one-minute drive—"

"Yep," she says, popping the p with a proud smile as she buckles into the seat. Okay, then.

"Hey," Briggs says, leaning out the window. "Jon and I are gonna..." He glances back at Corey, who's already engaged in conversation with Lucas and Dustin, twisted around in her seat. Briggs lowers his voice anyway. "Jon and I are gonna search the woods tonight. You coming?"

Mack's brows furrow. "Like, with the search party?"

Briggs frowns. "Nah, chief said adults only."

"You didn't hear? They opened it up to the high school," Mack says, confusion written across his face. "They made an announcement this morn—ah. See, you wouldn't know, because you abandoned me at school today—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," Briggs snorts. "You know that's bad for me, too, right? Means I missed the daily dose of dopamine I get from watching you get your ass
whipped by a fuckin' basketball—"

"Oh, fuck you," Mack says, holding up one hand as a shield against the kids' view and flipping Briggs off with the other. "But yeah. Search party."

"Okay," Briggs exhales, getting back on track. "Yeah, I didn't know that."

"There's an assembly tonight, too," Mack says. "For Will. And the Byers. I figured we weren't going, 'cause Jon would absolutely rather die than be at that thing—"

Briggs frowns again, drowning out Mack's rambling about the assembly. Hopper had been adamantly against kids participating in the party. Does that mean not enough people are volunteering? He can't imagine anyone in this town isn't concerned by Will's disappearance. Stuff like this doesn't really happen in Hawkins.

Briggs used to wish something would happen in this town, just to interrupt the order of everything, the dull routine. He really didn't mean something like Will Byers getting kidnapped or some shit.

"I mean, then... yeah," he says when Mack stops talking for a second. "Yeah, search party."

Mack nods. "Sure, man. You driving?" Briggs gives him a look that says of course I am, you idiot, you don't have a license or a car, and Mack gives him a salute as he walks backward up the driveway. "See you tonight." He glances past Briggs to where his sister has finally turned around in the passenger seat. "Later, Holbrook!" he shouts, and Corey grins.

"Bye!" she shouts, waving enthusiastically.

The Wheelers' place really is less than a one-minute drive away, and Dustin and Lucas practically explode out of the car to unload their bikes from the back.

They're in a rush. Briggs knows they're planning something. These are the same kids that snuck out in the pouring rain to search the woods for their lost friend.

They're not going to just stop.

Corey makes to follow, but Briggs catches her by the elbow.

"Listen, I need you to be careful—"

"Briggs, I know," Corey sighs dramatically, wrenching her elbow from his grip as she shoulders her backpack.

"No, Corey, you don't understand—"

"I do understand! I'm not some stupid kid," she says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm tired of people acting like I don't know anything just because I'm in middle school!"

"Cor, remember what we talked about last night?" Briggs tries, desperately trying to get his point across in a way that won't piss Corey off more. "The whole reckless thing?"

"Yeah, I get it! And thanks for the ride. You followed through. Now I gotta go, Briggs—"

"Corey, wait," he sighs. "Today, there were these guys—"

She pushes the car door open, sliding to the ground and bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently, dark hair swinging into her face. "Briggs, I know to be careful. I know it's dangerous to look for Will. It's fine."

"Is that what you're doing?" Briggs asks in exasperation. "Did I drive you here because you're all about to go look for Will? You can't go out there alone—"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!" Corey groans loudly. "There's stuff going on that we know about—"

"Yeah, like what?" Briggs snaps, feeling the heat flood his cheeks. "Like guys from white vans scavenging in the Byers' backyard? Like that? Huh?" Corey's eyes widen at the new information, but Briggs isn't done. "Or is there something you're not telling me that I need to know, Corey? I'm not going to sit here and let what happened to Will happen to—"

"I'm not Will!" Corey nearly shouts, throwing her arms out in frustration. "I'm not Will, and I'm not going to get kidnapped, so you can stop trying to scare me with your stupid white van shit!"

"Corey! I need you to—"

"No!" she cries, her own face turning red now, fists balled at her sides in frustration. "You don't need me to do anything, okay? I don't need to be protected. I'm tired of you and all the boys thinking I do. Just because I'm a girl—"

Briggs takes a deep breath. This isn't just about him, then.

How can make her understand?

"I don't even know why you care so much all of a sudden," she huffs, looking at the ground. "You didn't when I was actually a kid. When I did need to be protected. You don't get to just push it back a few years—"

The words hit Briggs like a bus.

"Corey," he says, trying and failing to keep the hurt from his voice. "You're my sist—"

"You didn't even like me until, like, two years ago!" Corey shouts, fuming now as pushes the passenger door closed, now seething through the open window. Briggs feels the heat in his face, tries to rein it in—he's trying to protect her, damn it—but she's not done. "You're not even my real brother!"

Briggs freezes.

Corey's eyes widen a little, like she wasn't aware of the words until they came out of her mouth. But in the agonizing moment of silence that follows, she doesn't take it back.

Briggs opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

He can only watch as Corey turns on her heel and starts walking, not looking back as she storms up to Mike's house, where only Dustin lingers by the door, waiting for her to catch up.

Briggs can barely see as he launches the car into drive. There's something in his eye.

He rubs at it furiously with the heel of his palm, ignoring the heat flooding his cheeks, the breathing that's turned ragged in the solitude of the Jeep. He turns off the radio, shuts down Corey Hart's voice that's all too happy to be singing about the guy who's got it made in the shade, not needing another Corey's voice flooding the car right now.

When he pulls into his own driveway, he barely remembers getting there. The same words bounce off the walls of his memory like a tennis ball off cement, like a swimmer off the pool's end.

He can't escape them.

You're not even my real brother.

▮▮▮

The woods are chilly but full of a low buzz of sound, draped in a blanket of night, flashlight beams flickering between the trees like stars. Orange vests indicate little duos and trios of volunteers padding across crunchy leaves, calling out Will's name.

Mack and Briggs wear no such vests—thankfully—having arrived late.

When Ma and Danny got home earlier, Briggs informed them of the search party only to find out they'd already planned to participate in it. Briggs insisted they go on ahead, since he had to drive in the opposite direction to pick up Mack, anyway.

"Where's Corey?" Ma asked, and Briggs swallowed hard.

"She's at the Wheelers'." Despite his best efforts, his voice came out a little strained. "Checking up on Mike because he wasn't at school today." At Ma's furrowed brow, Briggs hurried on, "Ted and Karen are both home. I just figured it'd be good for her to be under some sort of supervision if we're all out for the night."

Don't ask about school. Don't ask about school, Briggs thought furiously, praying that somehow nobody got the call, or that Ma forgot.

Danny nodded approvingly. "Thanks, Briggs," he said. "Well, the search party's meeting at Benny's, looks like. See you there?"

Briggs nodded, and that was that. No questions about school. No pushing about Corey. Today's only reprieve, apparently.

Now, he and Mack pick their way through the leaves and tree roots, guiding flashlight beams along the trod-over ground. Briggs doesn't see any other high schoolers—they must all be at that stupid assembly.

What a sight that must be, the whole school gathered on the football field to support a family who isn't there. He knows Jon hates it, all this attention. Some assembly won't make it any easier on him.

And though Jon isn't at said assembly, he's not here, either. Maybe he isn't back from Lonnie's yet. Or he's with Joyce.

After his midday swim, that weird encounter with Steve, Briggs swung by Melvald's to kill time before school got out. He stayed just long enough to see Joyce's Pinto in the street and the woman herself talking to Donald inside—buying a new phone, by the looks of it. Good.

"Why search around Benny's first?" Mack wonders aloud, and a man a few feet away glances up from the beam of his flashlight.

"You didn't hear?" he asks, scratching his head.

Briggs and Mack shake their heads in tandem.

"They found him dead today," the man shrugs. "Sayin' it looks like a suicide. Real shame."

Briggs freezes, snapping a twig with his shoe and gaping at the man. Benny Hammond. Dead?

Corey jumps out of the car the second it's in park, not bothering to wait for Briggs as she approaches the bustling diner. Always busy on a Saturday afternoon.

The place is small, an American flag rooted in the ground out front, Benny's Burgers lit up in red on the rectangular sign above the door. In curvy black lettering underneath, it reads, Family Owned & Operated Since 1956. Briggs catches up just as Corey pulls open the gray front door, framed by white window shutters.

"What're you ordering?" Briggs asks as they join the line in front of the counter, trying to make conversation.

Corey lifts a brow, unimpressed. "A burger?"

Briggs smirks a little. Corey smirks back. Smartass, he wants to say, but they're not at the friendly insult level yet.

Yet, Briggs reminds himself. He's gonna fix this thing between them, this fractured bond that's all his fault.

A sweet young woman takes their order, two classic burgers with sides of fries, and Briggs catches Benny's eye through the window to the kitchen. He smiles in that gruff, warm way of his, and Briggs smiles back.

Today marks two weeks since Jon told him to pull his head out of his ass and treat his family with some respect. It was the wake-up call Briggs needed, and also one of the only times Briggs has ever cried in front of Jon, the other being the day his dad skipped town.

Since then, Briggs has been trying to make it up to Corey, to Danny and his mom—he knows he can't undo it, those two or so years of absolutely awful behavior. But Corey agreed to go to lunch with him today. It's a start.

"Plans this weekend?" Briggs asks as he and Corey take the rectangular table nearest to the counter, settling into the padded wooden seats across from one another. The four-person table is cool to the touch, Briggs notices as he pushes the condiments and napkins in the center to the right a little, so they're not obstructing his view of Corey.

He inwardly cringes at his use of small talk. He hates small talk, and here he is initiating it.

Corey shrugs. "Going to Mike's tomorrow for a new campaign," she says. "He's usually DM, but this time it's all me." Briggs has no idea what that means—DM.

"Right." Briggs snaps his fingers. "Dungeons and Dragons." He's proud of himself for remembering the name.

Corey nods hesitantly, like she's surprised, too.

"So, tell me about it," Briggs says. Corey just stares at him for a moment. "The, uh, campaign, I mean."

"You really wanna hear?" Corey gets a little spark in her eyes then, like she's ready to spout off information like she does to Danny every time commercials come on and something wasn't scientifically accurate in a TV show.

"I really do," Briggs says, trying to appear open, welcoming. Corey smiles—not a full-on grin, but wider than she's ever smiled at Briggs before.

The diner is full of the sound of rickety fans placed haphazardly around the seating area, the clatter of pans, and the chatter of regular patrons bouncing off the white-tiled walls. The place isn't much, really, but it's a Hawkins hotspot all the same.

Corey hardly notices when Benny slides two baskets of food onto their table with a smile that Briggs returns. She's too invested in describing her campaign, something about elves and evil forests, and Briggs has never heard Corey talk so much in his life.

He smiles softly.

He really wants to be her brother someday, her real brother. If she'll have him.

Briggs shudders at the thought of Benny, soft smiles and a warm dining room and all his burger-flipping glory... dead.

Family Owned & Operated Since 1956. God. Who's gonna operate it now?

Benny's Burgers became a regular lunch spot for Briggs and Corey after that summer day. He hates to think about what the news will do to her.

She'll probably find out from someone else, considering that she seems to hate him right now.

"Dude," Mack says, patting Briggs on the shoulder.

"Huh? Sorry. What?" Briggs blinks twice, hard, and realizes Mack is staring at him, concerned. A little frown is illuminated by the flashlight in his left hand.

"I asked if you were okay."

"Oh," Briggs says lamely. "Yeah. Just—surprised about Benny. That sucks."

Mack nods. The man who broke the news about Benny has already moved on, engaged in a conversation with a woman a few feet away.

"Y'know, Earl says this boy with a buzzcut was tryin' to rob Benny's kitchen yesterday," she says conspiratorially. "Thinks maybe it was Will."

"Oh, nah, a buzzcut? Will's got that bowl cut—" the man says.

"Far as we know," the woman says, and Mack and Briggs put a little distance between themselves and the gossiping volunteers. Talking about this like it's the latest high school happening, like Benny killing himself and Will disappearing are just plot points in some stupid movie. Briggs' grip on his flashlight tightens.

A deep voice shouts, "Come on out, buddy!" like Will's just hiding, and Briggs grows even more annoyed, even more restless. Like he wouldn't come out if he could.

Suddenly, the bowl cut Briggs has always teased Will about doesn't seem so silly anymore. Suddenly, all Briggs wants is to see Will in one piece with that stupid hair and dorky smile. He wants to ruffle his hair and hug him and tell him Corey and Lucas and Dustin and Mike snuck out in a thunderstorm just to look for him.

Chief Hopper and the deputies are somewhere off to the right, and past them Briggs catches a glimpse of Ma and Danny up ahead with some other volunteers. He breaks into an easy jog, catching up, Mack on his tail.

"Jeez, man, you don't have to run—" Mack pants, out of breath. Briggs really does feel bad for leaving him to third hour gym alone.

"Oh, hi, Miss Davis-Holbrook," Mack greets through his labored breaths. Danny is chatting with Mr. Clarke, neighbor and science teacher extraordinaire, and Ma beams at Mack and Briggs.

"Mack, darlin', how many times have I told you? Just Leah," she smiles warmly. "Hey, baby," she says, giving Briggs a quick side-hug. Mr. Clarke glances back, then, and recognizes Briggs as Mack mumbles okay, Miss Leah and Ma proceeds to hug him like he's her own son.

"Hey there, boys," Mr. Clarke says warmly to both Briggs and Mack, and Briggs offers the man a half-smile. No matter how many times his mom and Danny refer to him as Scott, Briggs can't shake the habit of calling him by his last name. Mr. Clarke has always been kind to him. Briggs was never any good at science, but Mr. Clarke was one of the few teachers in middle school who didn't make him feel stupid. And Corey just adores him.

Briggs' chest twists a little at the reminder. God, she better be in Mike's basement right now.

"Hey," Briggs responds, and Mack lifts a hand in a wave.

"No assembly for you two?" Mr. Clarke asks, and Briggs shakes his head.

"Felt better to be out here doing something," Mack offers. Mr. Clarke nods solemnly.

"That, I understand," he says, falling back into step with Ma. "Leah, how're you holding up?"

The search party's sole high schoolers fall back a bit, leaving the adults to their polite conversation.

"Listen, man, I don't like that Jon's not here," Mack murmurs, his flashlight drawing lines across the matted grass. "He doesn't know this thing's open to the high school, either. He was gone already, yeah?"

Briggs nods. Mack is right, and he promised to help Jon search the woods tonight. He stupidly forgot to ask where, and since he's not home to answer any phone call Jon might make, this probably wasn't a good idea.

With a shared expression of damn it, let's go, Briggs and Mack ease their way to the back of the group. Without the obnoxious orange vests, it's not hard to slip away unnoticed, beelining for the car Briggs parked on the side of the road. He prays his mom and Danny don't notice—he's made an appearance, so that should be enough.

"Check his place first?" Mack asks, and Briggs nods, starting to pull the Jeep out onto the road. But before he can even signal, another car shoots past them, speeding and kicking up dust.

Normally, Briggs would honk—but he'd recognize that car anywhere. Jon's beloved '71 Ford Galaxie 500.

"Or not," Briggs mutters, taking off after his friend.

"That man shouldn't have a license," Mack remarks as Briggs follows him off Kerley. Briggs nods. Once, Jon drove Mack and Briggs to the movie theater a week after getting his license and almost hit not one, but two cars just trying to park.

Now, the rusted Ford pulls right up to an area cordoned off with red-and-white striped police tape. Pretty ineffective, Briggs thinks, considering someone could just walk around it.

Briggs parks just behind the Galaxie and is out the door in a split second.

"Jon," he calls as the boy in question pulls something from his open trunk. His camera.

"Oh, hey," Jon says a little breathlessly. He still looks like shit, but Briggs doesn't say that.

"We were gonna swing by your place, but you drove right by us," Mack says as he joins Briggs.

"Oh, hey, Gibby."

"Fuck you," Mack says.

The nickname, a play on Mack's last name—Gibson—is one only Jon ever uses. Mack's hated it since the second it left Jon's mouth. So, naturally, he never stopped using it. Hey, Gibby and fuck you is pretty much the standard Jon-Mack greeting at this point.

"Why here?" Mack asks, gesturing to the police tape.

"Mirkwood," Jon says. Briggs snaps his fingers, recognition flickering in the back of his mind.

"Corey mentioned that. The path Will takes home," he says. Jon nods, shutting his car trunk.

"It's where they found his bike."

Mack raises an eyebrow at the camera.

"Evidence," Jon says vaguely. "Clues, I dunno."

He ducks under the taped-off barricade. Briggs is about to ask why he wouldn't just walk around it when Mack follows suit. And Mack is the smart one, so, whatever. Briggs ducks under the tape, leaves crunching underfoot.

Evidence. Clues. Briggs knows he needs to tell someone about the van and the suits, and considering it's Jon's house, he should probably start there.

"Jon," he says. Jon glances up in question before kneeling to explore some leaves. "So I went to your place to check on Joyce today, and she was at work, but there were these guys in your yard."

Jon freezes, still crouched in the grass. "What do you mean?"

"Like, guys in full-on protective suits, with gas masks and everything. From a Hawkins power van. But they were looking all around your backyard, in your shed, and something was just really wrong about it, dude. I don't know if you scheduled repairs or—"

"We didn't," Jon says abruptly, standing up. "When was this?"

"Pretty much right after you left for Lonnie's." Briggs swallows. Jon runs a hand through his hair.

"Okay, I really don't like that," he breathes.

"What the fuck? Why was I not told this?" Mack butts in, glaring at Briggs.

"It's not your house—"

"Well, I've been there—"

"So has Karen Wheeler, doesn't mean I'm gonna—"

"Guys!" Jon shouts. "Leave it. Just... I'll talk to my mom about it later. Maybe she... called someone or something and forgot to tell me." Despite his words, Jon looks utterly unconvinced. "It's weird. But... whatever. Can we just look for Will?"

Briggs nods, looking down a bit guiltily. He can't even imagine how shitty Jon must feel right now. With Will, and then seeing his dad, God—

"So, you saw Lonnie?" Briggs asks carefully as Jon crouches again and takes a photo—with startlingly bright flash—of some random leaves and sticks. Jon grunts in answer. "How...how'd it go?"

"Shit," Jon shrugs aimlessly. "Still a jerk. No Will. New girlfriend. Y'know."

Briggs takes the hint, shrugging at Mack over Jon's head. Not pushing today, then. Mack starts digging through a pile of leaves, like he's going to find Will inside of it. Briggs wanders aimlessly around some thick tree trunks, wondering what exactly he's looking for.

Hawkins Power and Light, he remembers. But Danny's never driven one of those vans, and he works at the power plant. He's not sure he's even seen them in the parking lot the few times he's driven by, out past Benny's and Jon's and that big-ass laboratory they use for God-knows-what.

But Briggs doesn't get much time to dwell on it.

Because a scream pierces the curtain of night, saturating the chilled air with a charge of adrenaline and unknown. High-pitched and drawn out, a woman, and...and close. Really close.

Briggs locks eyes with Jon, then Mack, the familiar thrum of panic igniting under his skin.

Without a word, he breaks into a run.

▮▮▮

a/n:

yay, another one! it hurt to write the corey scene but she needed to be separated from briggs for this next part of the season, and they both have some issues they still need to work through :(

i actually wasn't planning on that scene with steve at all. it just kind of happened and i'm okay with it

the hardest part of writing stranger things, i think, is figuring out who knows what at various points in the plot. like, remembering how much corey knows about eleven or whatever—she was gonna make some offhanded comment about superpowers, but el hadn't shown that yet at this point in the episode, ahhh

let me know what you think / what you wanna see in upcoming chapters!! thanks for reading, love you <3

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