📝: soooooo the Mike and Will argument [+ castle byers] scene was kinda rushed cause tbh, and this is low-key embarrassing, but it's kinda triggering for me :)))) not that that scene wasn't or isn't important to me, cause I've actually been thinking about writing it since I binged the series the literal minute it came out lol but then I got to writing it and i ended up closing up and detaching from it cause again, it's kinda triggering so I'm sorry if you were looking forward to it 💞

+
Let's give a round of applause for Will and that fantastic campaign he had ready that Mike and Lucas were too angsty to care about 👏👏👏👏

⚠️: angst, Mike being more of an ignorant dick, more angst

❓: what is something you hope you see in this series, whether its this book or in future season(s?)

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Stepping into Billy's room was like stepping into a trash can. I didn't trust anything enough to touch it, besides the floor, but I still have my doubts. It wreaked of beer, day-old pizza, and musty laundry. Of course, there was no mystery there, you could close your eyes and point and you'd find at least one of those things.

"Why do I get the feeling we're gonna find all kinds of wrong in here?" Max asks.

"Common sense?" I mumble. "Basic survival instincts?"

I step around the room, peering under anything I can while touching as little as possible. I don't even know what we're looking for.

"Ugh! Gag me with a spoon!" Max groans, slamming a drawer closed.

She looks back at us, an almost haunted look in her eyes. She began to gesture to the drawer and I threw my hands up.

"I don't want to know!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The bathroom was next. At least I had been in here before. Max said it was worth a try since it was the only bathroom in the house besides her parents' room, and Billy wasn't allowed in there.

It was dark when we came in, but the soft click of the lights switch brought with it a soft light. I began checking the shelves above the toilet, Max glanced at the counter.

"Guys,"

We peer over our shoulders to see El peering down into the bathtub. Her voice was barely above a frightened whisper, and it wasn't until I reached her side I realized the tub was full. And floating amongst the surface were several empty bags of-

"Ice," Max says, picking up a bag as it dripped back into the tub. "It's just ice. It's probably for his muscles or something, he works out like a maniac,"

Thoughtfully, I peer around the room as I wrack my brain. I didn't want to buy into it, but now it's impossible to ignore. That feeling in my gut that hadn't gone away since we spun that stupid bottle only grew infinitely worse since we stepped inside. El wasn't ready to let this go before, and now, neither was I.

Maybe if we checked the trash, all the best clues are in there. At least that's what I've gathered from all my mom's detective shows.

But where was the trash again? It wasn't by the toilet. It was-

"Max," I sigh.

"What?" She asks, turning to me only to frown at me as I gulp.

"Please tell me you know what that's from,"

She looks at me as if I've just started speaking martian.

"What the hell are you-?"

The words had caught in her throat when she saw the subtle smears of blood on the cabinet handles.

Instinctively, I look at El and she's paler than before. Now more than ever I wonder just how horrible it must have been for her to be this disturbed.

She steps forward, pulling open the cabinet doors and retrieving the small trash can.

Carefully, I watch her expression through the mirror. But her look of grave horror doesn't change when she peers inside.

"El, what is it?"

She doesn't answer.

"How bad is it?" I ask, shifting a little on my feet.

Again, she doesn't answer. She just lowers her hand inside and pulls out a bright red fannypack from the pool, and I remembered. Billy got a job as a lifeguard. I always thought it was ironic; him getting a job saving lives. I almost relax but then she pulls out a second item and that feeling in my gut has completely turned upside down.

"Very bad," El finally croaks.

Max and I watch equally horrified as she pulls a bloodied whistle from the bin.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Robin thumbs through the translation book, her eyes flying across the page searching for the words playing over in her ears. With the dingus duo out and about, the rest of the translation was left to her; the only one truly qualified for the job.

Unfortunately, it wasn't her only job.

Erica Sinclair had returned with many friends, and by the looks - and sounds- of it, they were hungry and growing impatient.

She stopped ringing the bell only moments after Robin lowered her headphones.

"I'd like to try the peanut butter and chocolate swirl, please," she says through an exaggerated smile.

"No," Robin says, wiping it right off. "No more samples today,"

"Why?"

"Because you're abusing our company policy," she answers.

Erica scoffs, looking around the store. "Where's the sailor man?"

"Sorry, he can't help you. He's busy," says Robin, turning back to her work on the translation.

"Busy with what?"

It's Robin's turn to plaster on a smirk, and she does so while leaning back into the counter.

"Spycraft,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

A pair of binoculars rise from the topiary wall Steve and Dustin were hiding behind.

"See anything?" Dustin asks.

"Uh," Steve stalls, binoculars still roaming the mall less than covertly. "I guess I don't totally know what I'm looking for."

"Evil Russians,"

"Yeah, exactly, I don't know what an evil Russian looks like,"

"Tall, blonde, not smiling?" Dustin wagers. "Also look for earpieces, cameras, duffle bags. That sorta thing,"

"Right, okay, duffle bags,"

There's a silence that falls over them at that moment. It's filled with distant chatting and the smoothie machine just one shop over. It's almost enough to bore Dustin with his lack of binoculars but he doesn't let it stop him from trying. His eyes lumber across the mall and just past the fountain to a laughing group of friends; four boys and three girls.

Just another reminder of his 'welcome' home.

Dustin missed the ways things used to be. As thrilling as a top-secret mission to save his country was, he missed being with his friends. He missed his sister.

Steve had said she had been by the other day. When asked, he revealed she had been out with El and Max, stopping for ice cream to which Dustin had scoffed.

"How's that supposed to make me feel better?" He had asked.

"She's trying, dude," Steve eased. "She's worried about you. I could tell,"

Dustin thought on this.

"Look, she said you two can have a monster movie night, or, something. Like you used to,"

"Then why not tell me herself?"

"She was busy and so were you. Would you have told her what you're doing?"

Dustin had fallen quiet.

"Look, it's nice she's branching out. You're giving this too much thought, man, I'm telling you."

Was he? Dustin wasn't sure anymore. It almost felt like he was holding on to the grudge for the sake of keeping her attention, not because he was mad at her anymore.

Dustin smiled to himself a little when he tried to picture what it would be like to have her on the mission. Then again, it was probably best his government-escaped, powered-sister wasn't going after the people she was created to fight anyway.

Steve was right, he realized. He was giving this too much thought.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Steve says, suddenly and very grave.

Just like that, Dustin was back in spy mode.

"What?"

"Anna Jacobi's talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky," Steve pouts.

Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Dude, if you're not gonna focus, just give me the binoculars,"

"Aw, Jesus Christ, whatever happened to standards?" He whines, ignoring Dustin altogether. "I mean, Lewinsky never even came off the bench,"

"Dude, you are the worst spy in history, you know that?"

He rips the binoculars out of Steve's hands. He never takes his eyes off the sight, despite the strap that is still secured around his neck. It pulled tighter at his neck and he began to weakly swat at the boy as he tried to snatch them away.

"Stop, hey. Stop,"

"Give me those,"

He finally looks back over to Dustin, now taking on the search.

"Besides," he says. "I don't know why you're looking at girls. You have the perfect girl right in front of you."

"Seriously," Steve scoffs. "If you say Robin again-"

"Robin."

"No, don't. No-"

"Robin. Robin. Robin."

"Stop, no, no, no-"

"-Robin. Robin." He pulls away from the binoculars, giving Steve a knowing look.

"Robin."

"No."

"Robin."

"No!" Steve cries. "No, man, she's not my type. She's not even... in the ballpark of what my type is, alright?" [Lol]

"What's your type again? Not awesome?"

"Thank you," he says, deadpanning Dustin.

"Mm-hmm,"

"For your information, she's still in school. And she's weird. She's a weirdo. And she's hyper. I don't like that she's hyper. And she did drama. That's a bad look. And she's in band? No,"

Dustin finally pulls away from the binoculars again to give Steve a baffled look. Was he being serious?

"Now that you're out of high school-which means technically you're an adult - don't you think it's time you move on from primitive constructs such as popularity?"

"Oh, primitive constructs? That some stupid shit you learned at Camp...Know-nothing?"

"Camp Know Where, actually. And no, it's shit I learned from life."

"Hm," Steve mocks.

"Instead of dating somebody you think's gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around? Like me and Suzie,"

"Oh, Suzie. Yeah, you mean, 'hotter than Phoebe Cates.' Yeah, that Suzie." Dustin shoots him a look. "And, uh, let's think about how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend?" Steve asks, scratching his head and pretending to think. "Oh, yeah. With my advice. Because that's how this works, Henderson. I give you the advice, you follow through. Not the other way around, alright, pea-brain?"

Huffing, he turns back to the search only to miss Dustin shooting him a tired look before rolling his eyes.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

It's quiet. The faint sound of rain beginning to pitter against the roof can be heard as they wait for Will to continue.

"Do you guys hear that?" asks Will, full of curiosity. "It sounds like... thunder."

The boombox beside him grows louder.

"But wait! It's not thunder. It's..."

Mike and Lucas watch him a bored pout.

He jumps from his seat, revealing to all the viscous hoard that he had waiting for them.

"A hoard or Juju Zombies!" He turns to Mike, returning to his seat. "Sir Mike! Your action?"

Mike half glances at his sheet, looking to Lucas with a sigh. "What should I do?"

The boy shrugs. "Attack?"

"Okay," Mike says flatly, putting in what little effort he had from the beginning into keeping up the charade. He picks up his dice. "I attack with my flail."

He drops the dice in lieu of rolling. Excitedly, or seemingly so, Will peers over his divider at the outcome and smiles at his friend.

"Whoosh! You miss! Your flail clanks the stone. The zombie hoard marches towards you and..." he rolls his dice. "The Juju bites your arm! Flesh tears, ahh! Seven points of damage."

"Oh, no. My arm," Mike says, mockingly as he smiles at a snickering Lucas. "Lucas, look, my arm,"

Will tries, for what feels like the thousandth time to brush off their behavior. But it was getting increasingly difficult. Instead, he leans in towards Lucas, capturing his attention as his friend tries not to laugh.

"Sir Lucas, the zombie hoard roars. Do you fight back? Or, do you run?"

Still attempting not to laugh, Lucas pretends to think on it. He raises his finger and-

RING

All heads snap to the ringing phone on the wall, and Will grows frantic. He leaps to his feet, throwing the wizard staff into the ground in declaration.

"No! It's a distraction! A trap! Do not answer it."

And as they had for almost an entire year, Will watches as his friends ignore him and his pleas and race for the phone.

"No!" Will pleads.

But Mike was already picking up the phone, the same desperation Will had been expressing for the attention of his friends in his voice.

"El?"

Will's shoulder sag.

"No," Mike sighs. "Sorry, not interested."

He turns back to his friends, slumping against the wall as he sighs again.

"Telemarketers."

"Maybe we should just call them?" Lucas says.

"We can do that?"

"I think so,"

"Yeah, but what would we say?"

"You'll say nothing!" Will cries. "The Khuisar tribe still needs your help!"

"Alright then," Mike shrugs. "I'll use my torch to set fire to the chamber, sacrificing ourselves, killing the Juju zombies and saving the Khuisar. We all live on as heroes in memory of the Kalamar."

"Victory," Lucas smiles tiredly, holding up his hand and the two friends high five, not bothering to hide their smugness.

Something breaks inside Will.

Will wonders to himself why it took him this long to realize. His friends didn't care about him. Not like friends are meant to. Will's friends didn't care about him unless he was in danger. All this time, it had been staring him in the face.

They don't care.

At least not anymore. And the proof was all there.

Mike and Lucas gave one five-second phone conversation with a telemarketer more attention than he had gotten all summer. And Will was done with it. He was done with them.

"Great," he mutters, throwing the staff to the ground and ripping off the dunce cap. "Fine! You guys win. Congratulations."

He ejects the tape, sending the basement into a chilled silence. Their faces fall.

"Will, I was just messing around," Mike says, voice growing soft.

Will had turned his back, hastily discarding the robe as he began to pack and lengthening the silence that spoke a thousand words.

'No, you weren't,' Will thinks.

"Let's finish for real," Mike eases, returning to the table.

"Yeah," Lucas chimes.

"How much longer is the campaign-?"

"Just forget it, Mike!"

"No! We wanna keep playing, right?" He looks to Lucas, pointedly and he quickly nods.

"Y-yeah! Totally!"

"We'll just call the girls afterward!"

"I said forget it, Mike!" Will yells, shocking the pair. "Okay?"

Will never yelled. Ever. The last time he had, it wasn't even him. It was back in the shed when the Mind Flayer had him.

Too late he could tell just how much damage he had caused. And it didn't even matter.

"I'm going home,"

"Come on, Will," Lucas eases, his voice low and soft.

But Will didn't even look them in the eye. He shoved himself past Lucas and stormed for the stairs.

"Move!"

Lucas watches crestfallen as his friend retreats from the room. Retreats from him and Mike.

He sighs, guilt multiplying with every thought, and Mike quickly tails after Will.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Will, come on!" Mike pleads, following his friend out into his garage where he stomps for his bike. Mike has to shout a little to be heard over the downpour of rain, but he does so anyway. "You can't leave, it's raining. Listen, I said I was sorry, alright?"

Will doesn't answer. What's the point, he thinks. He just continues to ready his bike.

"It's a cool campaign! It's a really cool campaign! We're just not in the mood, right now."

"Yeah, Mike!" Will snaps. "That's the problem, you guys are never in the mood anymore. You're ruining our party!"

"That's not true!"

"Really? Where's Dustin right now?"

Mike can't answer.

"See? You don't know and you don't even care. And obviously, he doesn't either and I don't blame him! You're destroying everything! And for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl?"

"El's not stupid! And what about you, huh? What about Y/n?"

"Since when have you cared about Y/n?! You've been treating her like shit! She's really been trying with you, Mike. We all have! But you don't care."

"I do too!"

"Then where have you been Mike? Other than off ditching your friends for El?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you can't move on!"

The silence is back and louder than ever. The rain pounded against the pavement just beyond the edge of the garage, enunciating the rift in an almost ten-year friendship. Will gawks up at Mike, disgusted and utterly betrayed.

Mike looked just as shocked at himself. But he didn't make any effort to take it back.

"I'm not trying to be a jerk, okay? But we're not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think? Really?"

Will almost scoffs. But he doesn't have the emotional energy. He's completely vulnerable and hurt.

"That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day, playing games for the rest of our lives?"

"Yeah," Will admits, his voice hoarse and wavering. "I guess I did. I really did,"

Saying goodbye to what hope he had left for Mike, Will mounts his bike and takes off into the heavy mist of rain.

"Will!" Mike calls. "Will, come on!"

Will didn't look back.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Rain thrummed against the now-abandoned swimming pools, beach chairs were deserted and any remaining sign of life was now scurrying for cover against the flash storm. The entrance was swarmed with people making a quick getaway to the safety and comfort of their warm, dry homes.

All except for three-figure, hidden under bright rain slickers of red, yellow, and blue.

The new crime-solving, void-hopping trio parked their bikes in the emptying rack and made their way for the front desk in a subtle urgency. Throwing back their hoods, revealing their still soaked hair and faces, they scamper to the front desk.

"Excuse me?" Max asks.

Two uniformed workers lounged boredly behind the counter. A lifeguard in her jacket, perched on the counter with her magazine and soda and the other, and a man in who they guess to be in his twenties, presumably the manager. He never looked up from his magazine to answer them in a dull drone.

"No one in the water until thirty minutes after the last strike. And don't try and argue with me. You want to get electrocuted, go climb a tree,"

"Yeah, we don't care. We're not here to swim." Max says, making a face. "Or get electrocuted,"

"We're here about this," Y/n says, holding up Heather's fannypack. "We found it, and we're hoping to return it."

The two finally looked up at the three of them, almost looking a bit curious.

"Does that belong to anybody here?"

"Oh, yeah," The manager nods. "That's Heather's. I'll get it back to her."

"We," El says suddenly, trying to hide her worry. "could give it back to her."

"You could. 'Cept she's not here. Bailed on me today,"

They all share a worried look as he returns to his magazine. When they don't answer, he looks at them again, curious.

"What is this? You girls want a reward or somethin'?"

Max shrugs, casting off any visible signs of worry. "Nope. We're just... good samaritans."

The girl behind the counter shoots a subtle glare at Max's behavior. Confused, the redhead shoots one right back. But her attention was quickly stolen by El, who was now staring curiously at the corkboard across the way. Her friends followed her gaze to see the board in question. In bright yellow words, it read, MEET YOUR '85 SWIM SEASON LIFEGUARDS right above six photographs.

Max and Y/n find themselves following El to the corkboard, ignoring the obnoxious laughter from the two they had left behind. El was getting an idea as she stared at one of the photographs of a young brunette smiling back at them, below her, written in sharpie was the name, Heather. And they seemed to know exactly what her idea was.

"Heather," Max mumbles. "Do you think you can find her?"

El takes one look back over her shoulder at the lifeguards. They were laughing at something. More importantly, they were distracted.

Without answering, she yanks the photo from the wall and the three friends disappear into the locker rooms.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Asian Women Alliance:

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Heart Of Dinner:

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Asian Americans Advancing Justice:

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