— CHAPTER 14 —
DEAD WEIGHT

( trigger warning: panic attacks )

FRIDAY 2nd NOVEMBER,
1984

THE walk back to Hawkins High is a slow and contemplative one, but at least it gives Daphne time to calm herself down again... or at least try. Every time she inhales deep gulps of crisp November air, instead she finds it morphing into the stuffy atmosphere of the Hawkins Lab, which left her clawing at the walls like a caged animal.

     Coward. That's what she feels like for not tagging along. After everything they had been through last year, festering regret eats away at Daphne as she wonders where Nancy and Jonathan are now. How far is it to this Murray Bauman guy? Is he as legitimate as Nancy is convinced he is, or just some rip-off? Deep down, she hopes it works; she hopes they expose all of the lab's dirty secrets. But more overpowering is the fear of what would happen if it backfired.

     Calm the fuck down, she repeats slowly in her head, as if talking to a spooked creature. Take it easy... you're out of that place now.

     Daphne doubts she'll be able to concentrate on any of her remaining lessons, but anything where she can take her mind off her own thoughts sounds like a good plan. The hallways are mostly empty of students, most of them cooped up in classrooms — she can hear the muffled dronings of teachers and her Converses squeaking along the floor. Why are her shoes so loud? It bugs her for some reason, the noise scratching her eardrums uncomfortably like nails on a chalkboard.

She skids to a halt in the hallway. Wait, where the hell am I going?

Her mind has gone totally blank. Being spaced out on a daily basis is one thing, but after the lab she feels completely scatterbrained. Daphne fishes around in her bag for her timetable, slightly creased and swarmed with doodles: it is currently almost the end of Fourth Period, after which she discovers she has Spanish and Algebra, followed by her Film Studies elective to round it all off. Always a good way to end a Friday, she reminds herself, trying to be optimistic — even if most of the people in the class only signed up so they had an excuse to watch movies.

She retraces the route to her Algebra class, and is just about to procrastinate getting there when she spots a lone student at his locker. The tall, slender figure is instantly recognisable to her, even if his face is obscured by his locker door.

Felix.

She hasn't seen or heard from him since Tina's Halloween party. Daphne edges gingerly over to his locker, leaning her back against the next door down from his and craning her neck up to face him. Will he be mad at her for not bringing him home? Or calling him back? There is only one way to find out.

"... Hi," she murmurs finally.

A pair of slightly tired caramel eyes, with hair caught in their eyelashes, peeks out from behind the door. "Oh, hi," he replies wearily. Daphne allows herself a small sigh of relief. He just sounds exhausted, not mad.

"How're you doing? Amy said you were pretty hungover yesterday."

"You can say that again," he sighs, "I felt like death."

"Well, I guess that's what happens when you get sheet-faced."

Felix's lips crack open into a self-deprecating smile, and Daphne manages a quiet giggle. Sure, a little corny, but it worked its magic at making him smile. He pulls his ballet shoes out from his locker by their straps and shuts the door — now there is nowhere to hide from his gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't take you home," she apologises. "I just... I had a lot going on. I know that doesn't make me sound any less shitty, but—"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I got home fine. Anyway, the more important question is where were you this morning? I didn't know if you were sick or not."

"I, uh... I had somewhere to be," Daphne lies. "An... appointment."

Although he seems somewhat unconvinced, Felix shrugs it off. "I think Mr. Kowalski is probably onto you now."

"Shit," she despairs. Now that he mentioned it, she recalls they were supposed to have a test this morning in History, which she had forgotten about even before she teamed up with Nancy and Jonathan... and Mr. Kowalski hated when people missed his tests. Great, she thinks, another cherry on my damn cake of misery.

"Let's walk a little slower. I don't want to get back to class just yet." Felix dangles a hall pass in front of her nose. "Just killing time before practice. We're really pushing it now 'cause ballet school auditions start this month."

"Do you have any soon?"

"Next Saturday I have a preliminary one, but... I was thinking I might not go."

"You... what? Why not?" Daphne asks, completely taken aback. Felix being unsure about anything ballet-related feels totally alien to her — for all the years she's known him, it is all he has ever wanted to do, and he has stopped at nothing to grasp that future.

But the Felix standing in front of her right now seems deflated, confused. "I don't know. I guess things have just been tough lately, and it's not like I'd get in anyway, so..."

"Felix, of course you will," she assures him passionately. "That's all you've ever wanted to do. And you've worked so hard for so long, you– you can't just let it slip away now." What also lies on the tip of her tongue, but remains unsaid, is that she may never forgive herself if his future crumbles all because of what happened last year; because there was nothing she could do to make him feel better.

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed," Felix shrugs flippantly, swinging open the doors to the dance studio.

"Maybe you have."

With a loud thud, his bag drops to the floor. Felix whirls around and stares at her, almost startled. "What... what's that supposed to mean?"

Daphne can immediately feel herself wandering into dangerous territory — even teetering on the edge of the subject seems to render him fragile, oversensitive. But now they are here, she has the feeling that she can't turn back now. Maybe hearing it from someone else could do him some good.

"Well, you have kind of changed," she treads carefully. "I mean, what was all that at Tina's party? Underage drinking until you black out? You never used to be like that. You used to have boundaries. Look, I can see you're hurting, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to notice just how much. But– but come on, you know you can talk to me, right? You could tell me if something was wrong. I'm your friend. Your best friend, I'd like to think..."

"Fine. You really wanna know? Here it is." Felix drops down to sit on the studio floor, yanking and tying the straps of his ballet shoes as he begins to vent. "My girlfriend's been missing for almost a year, and nothing has happened. Nothing. No new leads, no progress made in the search, no nothing. I don't know where she is, if she's okay– shit, if she's even alive. And my ballet teacher's on my ass all the time because I'm underperforming right when I should be performing at my best, as if I didn't fucking know that already. And yes, maybe I have ended up drinking a little more, but since it feels like no one cares about Tonya anymore, I figured I should stop caring too..."

Wincing at the loud friction of him tightening his shoes, Daphne crouches down to his level. "Felix, you know that's not true. Of course people care, and... and they'll find answers about Tonya soon." Whether they are ones he wants to hear is another thing. Felix hops up onto his feet, leaving her on the floor, and starts doing such frustrated heel-raises that Daphne worries he'll pull a muscle.

     "That's what everyone keeps saying, but they might never find her. Just like they haven't found Barb."

     "Gone, gone, gone!" Eleven's screams echo in Daphne's mind, the cries she made when the poor girl found Barb's body in her void.

     "They can't keep looking forever," says Felix, "and they won't. I know that. And it's– it's really fucking hard to know that. So I'm sorry if I'm a little cranky, or not perfect enough."

     "That's bullshit! I'm not blaming you for anything."

     "I– it's– whatever, you wouldn't get it..."

     "... I wouldn't get it?" she whispers, incredulously.

     Felix, slightly off-put by how tense she suddenly is, nods. "Yeah... yeah, you– you just nod and say it'll all be fine every time I mention Tonya. And then you change the subject."

     Something about that sends a jolt through Daphne. A sharpness, a metallic taste in her mouth, something fanning the flames she's been trying to stamp out all morning. He has no idea. He has no idea. It is only a small remark, one he couldn't know would impact her — but it ignites something in her like a stray spark onto bone-dry grass. Before she can stop it, a year's worth of pent-up feelings bleed out of her, out of every crack in her ailing facade, and there is nothing she can to do stem the flow.

     "I know you're hurting... but do not stand there and tell me how I feel," Daphne's voice trembles, "because I've had to put up with that all fucking year; people telling me what to do, what to say, how– how to feel about everything. These past few months have been the worst, and I can't even tell you why. But one thing I can do is at least tell you I'm worried about you, because I care, and this is the kind of shit in life that can screw you over if you let it. And if that happened to you, I'd... I'd never forgive myself!"

     "Okay, okay, just..." Felix holds out his hands, concern suddenly etched into his features; Daphne can see that through her misting vision. It's embarrassing, but too late to hide it from him now. She feels all flushed, her eyes sting with threatening tears, and there's a rock lodged in her throat strangling her voice. "I don't wanna argue about this," he says, trying to diffuse this. "Let's just forget we had this conversation. Until we hear something about Tonya—"

     "They're not gonna find her, okay?!"

     A beat passes between them. Both of them catch up to time, navigating each loaded contour of every word she just screamed.

     "... What?" Felix croaks, his shimmering eyes so wide they might pop out.

     Oh no. No, no, no—

     "You know something, don't you?" The epiphany seems to strike him. Sheens of tears tremble on the edges of his eyes, stepping closer to her; a desperate, pleasing look seizing him. "What do you know? What do you know about Tonya? Is she okay, is she alive?!"

     "I... I'm..."

She could try to deny it, but Felix is already putting the pieces together. She can tell.

"Come on, tell me!" he pleads.

     No escape. No way out. Daphne swears the room has started turning, flipping itself inside out and churning her up within it. Her vision seems to shrink Felix into something distorted, something squashed, and she hates it. All she can concentrate on is the roar of blood rushing in her ears, of her heart hammering against her rib cage. Alarm bells are going off in her head, unless– no, wait, the school bell. She hears her shoes thud against the floor before she notices herself stagger backwards.

     "... I'm so sorry," Daphne finally chokes out, before hightailing it out of the dance studio with all but a bewildered Felix left in her tracks.

     The hallway teens with students walking to Fifth Period, white noise of chatter reverberating off the walls and bodies pushing and shoving against her. She feels like she's being crushed slowly, buckling in on herself and already snapping, her breaths quick and shallow. The girl's bathroom door swings open with a shove of her shoulder, Daphne barrelling into one of the empty cubicles and locking the door behind her. She slides down to the floor, which is still spinning, and hugs her knees to her chest.

That's when it really hits her.

What has she done?

What has she done?

Daphne thinks she could die — right here, right now. The whole world feels like it's crashing down on her. And the more she thinks about it, the worse she feels. What have you done? she taunts herself. Felix clearly caught on to what she meant; she may have not said that Tonya was dead out loud, but he knew it. He wasn't an idiot. And oh God, what will he think of her now? Will he tell anyone? What if the lab finds out and they do their worst?

Her chest and throat feel on fire and tight like stretched elastic, choking through hiccups of sobs that leave her tainted with nausea. Just in case, she clings onto the toilet bowl for dear life, as if she were a sailor tossed overboard in a storm. You need to calm down, an inkling of reason tells her, slicing through her frenzied mind. You're having a panic attack. Breathe.

As difficult as it is, Daphne tries to hang onto each second that she counts. Deep breath in, deep breath out. In through the nose, out through the mouth... in, out, in, out. She carries on like this for a while, forcing herself to think of nothing else but simply breathing and existing — and even that feels hard in some moments — but slowly she feels herself start to calm down. Bit by bit, her breaths steady themselves, the burning in her chest subsides, and the room stops spinning. It gets to the point where, a few minutes later, she is able to muffle herself in silence as two girls walk in the bathroom to re-apply their make-up. Under the cubicle gap, she watches their shoes click across the floor, hears the squeak as the door shuts, and sighs.

     She feels like a shell of a human now. Pins and needles permeate all her limbs, her mouth dry like sandpaper and clammy sweat clinging to her skin. Crumpled in the corner of the cubicle, shivering opposite a roll of toilet paper, Daphne feels the impending dread creep in again. The blunt truth of the matter is this — she let the cat out of the bag. She told Felix about Tonya, possibly the worst situation of them all, and now she has no idea where to go from here.

     She wants to talk to someone. Anyone. But she knows her options are limited. Felix is out of the question, obviously, as well as Amy for the same reasons. She can't even tell her own father; at least not the whole story. The list of people who will understand the situation is depressingly short — Joyce, and probably Hopper too, are too occupied with Will for her to dump her problems onto them. Daphne supposes she could tell Cath, but she thinks that would only freak out the poor girl more; and frankly her sister's other pubescent, thirteen year-old friends are not an option either. Her best bet might have been Jonathan or Nancy, but as of about an hour ago, that went out of the window.

     So who does that leave?

     Mentally rifling through her options, Daphne sees one person left who might just understand — someone she can get to quickly and, if he had the time to give, could listen. It isn't be her first choice, but it may well be the only one left...

━━━━━━

     DAPHNE finds Steve Harrington just where she thought she would — in the gym, doing basketball practice. He is surrounded by other sweaty, testosterone-driven teens chasing the ball and flinging it into nets either side of the hall. Once again, Steve's team are the shirt-wearers, and Billy Hargrove's are the bare-chested ones (still gross, she thinks). And once again, it seems that Billy's team is whooping the others' asses by a long shot.

     But this time, instead of lingering outside the door, Daphne walks into the gym. Immediately the sticky aroma of perspiration wafts towards her and she grimaces, still feeling delicate after her panic attack. For about half an hour at least after she calmed herself, she just sat in the cubicle alone with her thoughts — every time she got up until now, she felt dizzy again and had to sit herself back down.

She walks over to the side of the bleachers and holds on with one hand, the cool metal on her skin calming her. Steve is trying to dribble the ball past Billy, who gives him a shove to the side and steals it, shooting it back over his shoulder and into the hoop. The sharp whistle from the coach makes her wince; and that's when he seems to clock her. Daphne doesn't notice the coach until he is standing in front of her, blocking her view, and she gulps self-consciously.

"Hey, can I help you?" he asks, his whistle still swinging back-and-forth.

     "Uh, y-yeah, I just..." Daphne trails off. Over his shoulder, she notices Steve look over at her; at first it's a half-glance, mostly occupied in the game, but then his brows furrow with what she thinks is concern.

     "They're practicing right now, can it wait?"

     "Well—"

     "It's okay, Coach, just give us a sec," says Steve, who has just jogged over to the coach's side. After some hesitation, he leaves the both of them alone. "What's up? You look kinda... pale."

     That would be because I just had a mental breakdown in the girl's bathroom, she thinks tiredly.

From the basketball court, the mosquito-level irritating voice of Tommy Hagan pipes up: "Ooh, Harrington's pulled himself a new girl! Getting desperate after Wheeler, huh?"

"Jesus Tommy, shut up!" Steve snaps back at him, before turning back to a put-off Daphne. "Sorry, go on?"

     "Listen, we..." Daphne swallows thickly. Her mouth still feels bone-dry. "I really need to talk to someone about something... something bad."

     The hustle of the basketball players turns into white noise, all her focus on him as she tries to communicate through her stare, hoping he will receive the message that it's to do with last year. After a few beats, she sees something in Steve's demeanour change — message received. All of a sudden, it's like they are living in their own box, sealed off from the rest of the world as the only two people with a deep, dark secret.

     "Alright, uh... how would you feel waiting, like, ten minutes?" Steve shoots a glance over his shoulder, his hair flopping into his eyes. "I think we're almost done anyway, and I think I should probably just shower quickly... I'd rather not reek of sweat."

     At the last remark, Daphne can't find the strength for a smile but exhales lightly through her nose. Only Steve Harrington would ask to squeeze in a shower before a quick meeting — although she can't say she disagrees with his reasoning. "Yeah, no worries," she replies quietly. "Can we meet in the library? In one of the study rooms?"

     "You got it," he nods, shooting her a thumbs up before and catching a rogue basketball that flies his way.

Daphne meanders her way through different corridors until she reaches the school library. The peace and quiet that washes over is therapeutic, already working wonders in settling her nerves for now. She finds a vacant study room decorated with wall-to-wall bookshelves; even quieter than the rest of the library. With a heavy sigh, Daphne lets her bag sink down onto the carpet, and the agonising wait begins.

Steve finally arrives about fifteen minutes later, just as the bell for Sixth Period goes and the hustle of students starts again. All Daphne can think is: Perfect, we won't look suspicious for skipping class then. "Hey..." he nods as a greeting. "So, you wanted to talk?" His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, but instead of his gym clothes, he's thrown on his jeans and a striped polo shirt.

"Yeah.... um, sit down, I guess." Daphne gestures gingerly to the table and chair sitting snugly in the corner of the room. Once he places himself down, she realises there is nothing holding her back from confessing what happened earlier. Shit. How does she begin? Feeling paranoid, Daphne lurches towards the windows and shuts the blinds, consequently dimming the room somewhat more. She even tests the door's lock to make sure no one can barge in.

     "Okay, what– what is going on?" asks Steve. "You're acting really weird..."

     "I have to make sure no one hears us. I mean, what happened before, no one was supposed to hear that..." She stops, digging her palms into her eyes for a moment and exhaling slowly. "You know that whole confidentiality thing we had to agree to last year? To hide the truth about what happened from everyone else?"

     "Yeah, why?"

     "Well... I may or may not have messed that up."

     "Hold on, what do you mean you messed it up?" Steve asks. Then, doing a double take, he blinks at her. "You told someone?"

     "Not intentionally!" Daphne shoots back, already feeling judged. This is exactly what she was afraid of.

     But Steve already jumps onto finding a positive spin, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for some light in the darkness. "Okay, okay, I guess this doesn't have to be bad... it just depends on who you told and how much you said, right?"

     "Right, right... I don't think that's gonna help me though."

     "What did you say?"

     "I... I kind of ended up telling Felix what happened to Tonya."

     At this, Steve's eyes pop open like saucers. Oh boy, thinks a freshly panicked Daphne, here we go. "But I didn't mean to! I mean, I– I didn't actually say those words exactly, it was more that I blurted out this thing about... about how she wouldn't be found. And Felix, he– he isn't stupid, I'm like ninety-nine percent sure he put two and two together... oh, come on Steve, please don't look at me like that."

     "Like what? I'm not looking at you in any way!" he says defensively, but blinks as if that will shake off the way he stared at her.

     It's too late, anyway, because now Daphne can feel the panic welling up again — she begins pacing back and forth as her words tumble out. "You were, you were looking at me like I'm screwed! You think I don't know I'm screwed? Jesus Christ– you know, I-I didn't even want to find you for this, okay? You were my last resort. I would've gone to Nancy or Jonathan first, but they're off actually doing something useful because I chickened out. I know you might give me crap for saying what I did, and I don't blame you, I just– it just spilled out, and– if I can't tell anyone I'll– I'll..."

     She has no idea what she will do. Daphne just knows the emotional exhaustion suddenly smacks her senseless; she backs up against the wall, sliding slowly down onto the floor with a miserable thump. She doesn't feel on edge anymore, she doesn't have the energy for it. She just feels so tired.

     "I don't know how long I can go on just... pretending none of it ever happened," she whispers.

A solemn silence falls over the room. It ekes out in the space between Daphne, hiding behind her bent knees and Steve, hunched over in the chair. She can't bring herself to look him in the eye just yet, not after cracking her heart open like that — she still isn't entirely sure whether she can trust him with the little bits, whether coming to him for this was the right choice.

"This whole thing sucks, doesn't it?" Steve says wearily.

"Yeah..." she mumbles.

"You know you asked about the pool last night, and why I don't use it?" As Daphne nods, he folds his arms across his chest and sighs. "I just feel so weird about how... how that's where Barb went missing, and look what happened to her. So now I just don't use it. I mean, shit, I used to be on the swim team for crying out loud. But now? Yeah, no... it just feels wrong. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," says Daphne, her voice laced with empathy. "But Steve, that wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

"True... but then you should know that this thing with Felix, and Tonya too, that isn't your fault either. You've just been trying to protect him, right?"

For a moment, she forgets to respond. They are such simple words, but somehow so incredibly effective — she finds that they brush away her overthinking and feeling of despair, slicing straight through to what she does know deep down. Finally, Daphne manages a small nod because yes, that's all she's ever wanted to do since this mess began.

"And if he knew the full story, he should have no reason to hate you... if that's what you're worried about." Steve reaches a hand under his sleeve and scratches his arm, appearing in deep thought. "I don't think I'm qualified for giving any advice, especially not with what you should do after this. But, I think... I think things will get better. They'll be shittier first, for sure, but then it will get better. It has to."

     "I sure hope so," Daphne murmurs.

     A few beats pass. Then, cocking his head slightly, Steve gives a lopsided smile. "So, I'm your last resort, huh?"

     "That's what you got from my big speech?" she chides, being unable to help grinning too. It feels good to smile again.

     "No, I was just curious, s'all..."

     "Well, next time I'm in need, I might just go straight to you," Daphne says earnestly. She means it.

     "Oh, I didn't really do anything," he shrugs it off self-consciously. "All I did was sit here like a schmuck and listen to you."

     "I couldn't really have asked for more."

This seems to remind him of something, Steve's eyes lighting up. "Hey, by the way, um... I realised I never really thanked you for last night. Or the night before, actually."

"Oh, that's okay," she replies quickly, but he isn't finished yet.

"No, I really appreciate it. These past couple of days have been pretty shitty for me, to say the least, and last night especially was shaping up to be a lonely one until you rocked up... so, thanks."

Daphne gives a small nod, a sign of gratitude, and delights in the fact she can still feel herself smiling — a weak one, at that, but it certainly makes the difference. She finds herself wondering all of a sudden why she and Steve haven't talked like this before. School hierarchies, remember? her logical side reminds her. But she recalls all the times over the last few months where she bumped into him and Nancy, and she could have done it then; Steve has become a lot more approachable since he was humbled by a demogorgon (and maybe some punches thrown by Jonathan, too). And standing in contrast with Billy, the newly crowned King of Hawkins High, Steve's truer colours shine better than ever.

Did they not go through some of the same things last year? Wasn't he the one who, lit by the halo of Joyce's flashing lights, saved Daphne's life with the nail bat? They could be friends — she genuinely believes that.

"Well, we should probably get back to class," Steve suggests. "My report card's probably bad enough already."

Agreeing to this, Daphne steadily gets to her feet again, picking up her bag from the other empty chair. Her limbs are still rife with pins and needles. "Ugh, my legs still feel like jello," she chuckles uneasily, shaking her legs about as if it will help.

"Why don't you just bunk off your last two periods? You already did the first five. Besides, it's a Friday afternoon, who's gonna care?" Steve slings his backpack over his shoulder. "What do you have now?"

"... Algebra."

Grimacing distastefully, he shakes his head. "Oh yeah, definitely skip that."

Daphne chuckles, and feels a little more weight lift off her heavy heart. She heads to the doorway, right after pulling up the blinds, and waits behind for Steve to gather his things. Watching him now, she feels a sudden compulsion to reassure him — to let him know just how much she appreciated this. Because sure, she'll still feel shitty when she goes home and crawls into bed, probably only coming downstairs for dinner until tomorrow. But at least for about five or ten minutes, Steve reminded her of the simple truth, and at least she can hang onto that for now. The same was true for their spontaneous late-night chat yesterday, too.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not as bad as you think you are," she says sincerely. "You're actually a really good guy."

     Steve seems completely clueless of how to respond. He blinks at her for a moment, looks over his shoulder then back at her, as if to say Who? Me? — at last he finally manages to reply, "Uh... thanks."

     "No problem," Daphne replies curtly, cringing at herself momentarily for sounding like a cashier. But the slight weight lifted from her shoulders helps her walk out of Hawkins High, starting the longer walk home — even when the fear catches up again, she hopes she might have the strength to fight it back this time.

━━━━━━

     AT the end of the school day, Cath finds herself at a crossroads. The sea of students part in two directions, where two individuals catch her eye, and it is her job to decide which current to join — a terrible job for a perpetual hater of decision-making.

     The first path is the queue to the bright yellow school bus, where in the midst stands Andrea clad in her badge-covered denim jacket. Their argument from this morning still feels raw, and frankly she wonders whether it is too raw to re-approach just yet. However Cath can't think of any better time to make amends, since she so desperately wants to patch up things with Andrea... what if leaving things for longer widens the gap?

     But then the other path is by the bike rack, which Mike is getting closer to with each determined step. As planned, he is off to the Byers house to see what's going on with Will — and Cath so desperately wants to tag along. No, 'tag along' is the wrong phrase to use. She wants to make herself useful, from the simplest of tasks to getting more involved, whatever he needs. With his condition getting worse, Cath feels an intense duty to look out for her friend; and, frankly, her idea of doing that is not rummaging through garbage to find a baby demogorgon. She knows she can help Will Byers, if he will let her.

Caught in a web of conflict, Cath glances back over at Andrea, who's just getting onto the bus. They catch each other's stare for a moment — it is held uncomfortably, like something hot or sharp in their hands. Then Andrea promptly looks away again, hiding herself inside the bus where she cannot be reached. Meanwhile, she looks over to the bike rack and sees Mike already riding off into the distance.

Well. That decides things then.

Cath jogs over to the bike rack, trying to push past students as politely as possible. The dull ache on her tailbone as she hops onto the seat doesn't bother her, straightaway lifting the brakes and pushing down the pedals. She wobbles a little at first, weaving between crowds of kids, but once she has more space she can gain more momentum.

Although she isn't sure which route Mike has taken to the Byers, she can assume it would be the fastest one. The confidence in her bike-riding compared to last year is startling, swivelling into smaller lanes to take short cuts and managing to stay calm if a car approaches — practice makes perfect. The wind whips at her skin in prickles of cold, and a sudden bout of breathlessness hits her from the exertion, but Cath persists.

At last, when she turns the bend into the next road down from her own house, she sees Mike blazing a trail down the road.

"Mike! Mike, wait up!" she calls out, her calves burning as she tries to accelerate and catch up — for a relatively un-athletic boy, Mike sure can pump those pedals.

The Wheeler boy glances over his shoulder and does a double take. Recognising her, he slows down, but still keeps a steady pace. "What're you doing here?" he asks once she catches up, "I thought you were gonna stay at school and look for Dart."

"I..." she pauses for lack of breath, then answers, "I was, but now I'm helping you and Will instead."

"Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent," says Cath, braking as they stop to check for cars. "I've seen his episodes, and I feel like I've seen him get worse over the last few days. So I just want to be there for him during this, whatever it is... also I really need this so I feel like less of a waste of time."

Not that she would have needed to justify anything to Mike, but he nods in agreement anyway. "Alright, let's go."

Mike and Cath trail alongside each other at a more comfortable speed, the trees gradually creeping closer to the road as they get nearer to the Byers home. It gives her a sense of security to see the familiar neighbourhood, the forested parts, and eventually their driveway. The pair dismount their bikes and bring them to the porch, wheels tick-tick-ticking as they do. A laundry line of pale bedsheets flutters weightlessly in the same breeze that makes Cath shiver all of a sudden.

Walking up to the door, they notice all of the windows are obscured by curtains, blinds or even something else to board them up. Something definitely feels wrong about it all — Cath tries to silently communicate this to Mike, and by the slightly unnerved glance he shoots her, she knows he senses it too. With a deep breath, he knocks a balled fist on the door, although it sounds more like banging.

"Hello! Will? Mrs. Byers?" Mike hollers.

"Not so loud," she whispers cautiously. "He might be sleeping."

"That's what you're worried about right now?"

"Well, come on, if Will hasn't slept in days I wouldn't wanna wake him—"

Their whispered bickering ceases when there is a small click in the door. Out from behind it peers a weary Joyce Byers; both Mike and Cath start trying to peer into the house behind her, for any sign of Will, but she blocks the doorway with her body. "Hey, you two," she greets them weakly, seeming preoccupied with something.

"Is Will here?" Mike jumps straight in, wasting no time.

Cath, trying to soften the urgency, adds, "We just wanted to check up on him, see how he was doing."

"You know what? Now... now's not really a good time," Joyce says shakily.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. You know, he's... he's just not feeling real well. He's laying down, so I'll tell him you stopped by, okay?"

Joyce already starts turning the two kids around, in as friendly a way as possible; Mike and Cath exchange a desperate look, knowing they might just lose their chance in a moment. The door is almost entirely shut until he blurts out, "It's about the Shadow Monster... isn't it?"

His words stop Will's mother in her tracks, making her freeze in a way she can't mask from the kids. Slowly, she opens the door again, her gaze fraught with worry and a deep, deep concern over things Cath was afraid to imagine. Realising she cannot hide anything from these kids, Joyce steps aside in the doorway. "He's sleeping right now," she says, "but when he wakes up, you can go say hi... do you guys want some dinner?"

━━━━━━

A/N;

the way everyone's been arguing and falling out with each other for the last 3 chapters, i'm STRESSED

you'll be pleased to know that this is the last (big) conflict between characters for now, so no more friendships are being torn up for the time being. these last few chapters have been HEAVY (but then suddenly, staphne 🥰🥰🥰). i put a trigger warning at the top for panic attacks just in case, because i know for some people, reading about them can be too much. hopefully i wrote it sensitively enough because i didn't want to brush over it.

(p.s. sorry if the last part of this chapter was a bit "meh" because i had to finish it off before something, and it ended up being at 6am this morning, so i'm still half asleep 😂)

on a more exciting/optimistic note, this is chapter 14 and i've planned to have 28 chapters, which means we are officially halfway through this story! can't believe i'm at this stage already, honestly, and there is so much more still to come...

thank you for reading as always, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

— Imogen

[ Published: August 29th, 2022 ]