Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Suddenly I stop, but I know it’s too late
I’m lost in a forest,
All alone

 — The Cure, A Forest

Kat Byers woke to regret in her mouth, a boozy aftertaste full of cigarettes, cheap beer, and bad decisions. The new breakfast of champions. Her head throbbed in slow, punishing waves. Each beat a personal metronome tuned to fuck you . Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, way too damn bright. She cracked one eye open.

Okay. Not spinning. This is promising.  

The second eye put up a fight, fused together by last night’s sticky mascara. She pried it open, peeling the gummy lashes apart with her fingers. Sitting up made her stomach turn, but standing..standing was so much worse. The floor tipped like some shitty carnival ride.

Fuck, I’m never drinking again.

“Where the hell are they?” her mother asked, voice drifting through the thin walls. “Jonathan?”

“Check the couch?” her younger brother called back.

The sound rattled her skull, each word pulsating like the kick drum in Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills.”

So. Loud.

Kat groaned and fumbled for the glass of water on the nightstand, gulping down the lukewarm liquid. She followed it with tylenol, knowing full well it was going to get into her system and not know where to start. Her eyes drifted to the clock.

Shit.

If she didn’t move, she’d be late to first period. Not only did Mrs. Click loathe her, but her tests were always a colossal pain in the ass. Kat imagined her grading them while sipping wine and cackling like a Bond villain, her smile growing with every red mark.

The hangover felt bad enough. Now anxiety too? Kat played the part, apathetic and detached, but if she were being honest? Old habits clung to her like whatever shitty cologne Eddie wore last night. Grades still made her stomach twist.

She grabbed the same ripped jeans she’d worn out last night, ignoring the vague clove smell,  and paired them with a long-sleeved black shirt underneath a Motorhead concert tee. She slipped on black and white chucks, barely tying them before racing into the hallway. Kat stepped into the living room just as her mom tore apart the couch. She was tossing pillows and digging through cushions looking for the keys, clearly on a mission.

Kat sighed. This was nothing new. She reached the coffee table, shoving old TV Guides out of the way until she uncovered the keys.

“That’ll be ten bucks, please,” she quipped, lobbing the keys over. “Cash only.”

“Oh, Sweetie, thank you,” Joyce said as she caught the keys and kissed Kat on the cheek.

“Five?”

Joyce responded with The Look and Kat knew a losing battle when she saw one. She started for the kitchen, but her mom caught her arm gently.

“You’re a little late for Halloween,” she said, pointing at her own face and making a circle with her finger. “You might wanna…”

Shit. Her mascara…

Her mom had to know she’d been drinking last night, right?

Shit, Shit, Shit. 

“Channeling Kiss this morning, are we?” Jonathan joked, handing her a plate as she shuffled into the kitchen. Kat scrunched her nose and waved it off, her stomach twisting at the greasy smell of fried eggs.

“You at least should have hidden that hickey on your neck.” Jonathan murmured, just quiet enough to keep Joyce out of the loop. 

Her stomach dropped. She slapped a hand over her neck as if that would erase it. How did she forget that? Jesus, last night was fuzzy. Cheap beer, a zippo flick, hands in her hair, breath hot against her ear…

Shit!

Kat aimed a half-hearted kick at his shin and nearly toppled over, catching herself on his shoulder. Staying upright did not seem to be in the cards for her this morning. It was entirely too early and she was way too hungover for this Leave it to Beaver bullshit. Steadying herself, Kat headed for the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel. She wet it and scrubbed hard, wishing last night’s bad decisions came off as easily as mascara. 

“Alright,” Joyce said as she grabbed her purse from the table. “I will see you kids tonight.”

She gave Jonathan and Kat a loving squeeze on the shoulder, and nearly made it through the door before she looked back at them. 

“Uh, where’s Will?”

“Oh, I didn’t get him up yet,” Jonathan answered. “He’s probably still sleeping.”

Joyce sighed, dropping her shoulders in exasperation. “Guys, you have to make sure he’s up!”

“I’ll grab him, Mom,” Kat said, throwing the paper towel away and walking to Will’s room. 

“I’ve told you both this a thousand times,” Joyce continued, voice trailing as Kat stepped into the hallway.

“Oh Will the Wise, your long rest is over! Time to roll initiative!” Kat sang out as she  swung open the door.The room was empty.  Bed made. No sign of him. She walked across the hall to the bathroom and peeked in. Also empty.  

“He’s not here... He had Mike’s big campaign, right? Maybe he crashed at the Wheeler’s?”

“You’re sure he’s not in his room?” Jonathan asked, setting the breakfast plates on the table and moving to look for himself. Something in his tone made her stomach plummet. 

Kat threw Jonathan a look. 
“Not unless he’s suddenly turned into the Invisible Man. You were watching him last night. Did he not come home?”

“I-I don’t know,” Jonathan stammered. 

You don’t know?” Joyce repeated, sharper now. 

“No. I-I got home late,” he mumbled, eyes darting to the floor. “I was working.”

“You pulled a shift last night?” Kat asked.


Goddammit. One night. She had only wanted One. Fucking. Night.   


Kat spent all week being the responsible one, taking care of everything while Mom worked. Just one night to fucking breathe.  But no, she decided to be selfish. Decided to blow off steam. Decided to trust Jonathan to handle one thing. And here they were.


“Mom was working and I had st-study group. Big test today.” The words tumbled out, brittle. “What the hell, Jonathan?”

“Eric asked if I could cover,” Jonathan continued. “I said yeah. I thought we could use the extra cash.”

Guilt curdled in her gut. Jonathan bailed, but at least he did it to help. She was the one who ditched to watch her best friend’s band practice like a selfish asshole.

“Guys, we’ve talked about this,” Joyce’s voice sharpened as she threw up her hands. “You can’t both be out when I’m not here. It’s your responsibility to figure out who keeps an eye on Will when I have to work. You know this.”

“He was at the Wheeler’s all day,” Kat said quickly. “I’m sure he just crashed there. I’ll call.”

“I can’t believe you two sometimes,” Joyce said, shaking her head. 

Panic clawed at her chest, deep and gnawing. Kat’s hand shook as she grabbed the receiver of the yellow rotary phone and dialed The Wheelers from memory. She forced a smile at her mom.


Will was fine. He was totally fine. The campaign just ran long. Probably fell asleep on his character sheet and biked to school with Mike. That’s all.


Joyce fidgeted with her keys, her jaw tight.  After two short rings, someone picked up the line. 

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler? It’s Kat Byers.”

“Oh, Kathleen. Hi!” 

Kat’s eye twitched. Her good Christian name ? Leave it to Mrs. Wheeler. 

“Yes, ma- is that Will I hear back there?”


A muffled scuffle came through the line followed by something being knocked over and squabbling. Mrs. Wheeler took the phone away from her face, reprimanding them. 

“Will?” Mrs. Wheeler asked, pulling the receiver back towards her face. “No, no. That’s just Mike.”

Kat’s head spun. She slapped her hand against the wall to steady herself.

“He didn’t spend the night?”

“No. He left a little bit after eight,” Mrs. Wheeler paused for a brief moment before concern filled her voice. “Why? Is he not home?”

“Uh, you know what? I think he just left early for-for school,” she said as her eyes caught her mother’s once again. Panic filled Joyce’s face.  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wheeler. Bye.”

Kat hung the phone back up and stared at her family with a slow shake of her head. Her little brother was missing.

For a few seconds, no one spoke. Jonathan paced, dropping his head into his hands. Joyce stepped toward Kat, resting a hand on her shoulder. Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, but didn’t spill. Kat felt her heart pound, but her limbs wouldn’t move.

Will.

Where could he be?


Sitting still, drowning in what-ifs wouldn’t help. Not with every possibility clawing at her brain. 

After the initial panic wore off, the Byers made a plan. Kat would go to Hawkins Middle and make sure Will didn’t actually leave early for school. Everyone doubted this theory, but they needed to know for sure. Jonathan would stay home in case anyone called or Will turned up. Joyce would talk to the Chief. Kat exhaled. She had a plan. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sitting on her ass. Plans meant control, focus, something to do. 

Kat stood outside the car in the parking lot of Hawkins Middle, drumming her fingers on the roof of her beat up Ford LTD. Her gaze trailed from student to student, waiting for the nerd squad to show up on their bikes. They rode together every morning. Kat secretly thought it was kind of cute, but she’d never tell them that. She brought a cigarette up to her lips, but her hands shook too much to light it.

I swear to fucking Pelor if Will shows up with those assholes, I’ll kill him. I’ll hug him. But then I’ll kill him. Then I’ll do it again for fun.

She finally got the damn thing lit at the same time Dustin’s curly-ass hair poked over the fence, followed by Mike and Lucas as they slid their bikes into the rack. No Will.

Don’t do this to me, Bug. Not you.

Her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back down, swallowing them whole. That wouldn’t help anyone. She had shit to do. Her gut tugged toward them, ready to ask for every last detail. But she couldn’t. Those boys did everything together. If one of them was in danger, the others would mount a rescue mission of the highest level. She couldn’t–wouldn’t–do that to them.

Kat stood there, staring at those bikes long after the boys went to class. Didn’t even realize she’d totally spaced until ashes from the cigarette fell on her hand, nearly burned to the filter. She tossed it to the ground, stamping it out a little too hard.

What was the next step? Would anyone else know anything? Did Eddie skip today? Of course he did. It was Monday. They’d been drinking...and other things. 
Wait.
Will was at the Wheeler’s last night…
Nancy .

She turned on her heel so fast she nearly tripped. Jogging across the parking lot, Kat spotted Nancy heading inside with Barb.

Thank fuck.

“Nancy!” Kat shouted, cutting across the parking lot.

A bus lurched to a stop right in front of her, unloading at the entrance. For fuck’s sake. She swerved around the crowd, resisting the urge to flip off the driver.

“Hey Nancy!”

Nancy turned, her long striped skirt swishing with the sudden movement.

“Uh…Kat?”

Damn this was awkward as hell. Once inseparable, now they barely even made eye contact in the halls. The sleepovers, late-night phone calls, the inside jokes–all of it stopped the summer before Freshman year. Nancy buried herself in school and grades. Kat buried herself in music, late nights, and bad decisions.

Nancy memorized formulas and textbooks. Kat memorized back roads and exactly how much she had to drink to blur the edges. Her old life and new one clashed like a goth at a Bon Jovi concert.

Kat loved her family, but they were a handful. She needed an outlet. Could still hear her dad’s drunken rants echoing in her head, but she shoved that shit down like always.

The constant pressure kept her clenched like a vice, and something had to give. She cared less and less about her grades, though they were good enough to get by, and instead blew off a little steam with her rowdier friends. Alcohol and metal bands were not Nancy and Barb-approved. That much was obvious with the sneer on Barb’s face.

Kat resisted the eye roll. She deserved a goddamn award for patience today. Failed her constitution save against the hangover, but nailed that performance check. 

“Yeah, Nance,” Kat said with all the old familiarity. “Wait up a sec.”

Nancy cast a longing glance at her locker, but paused anyway. Kat knew if they didn’t keep moving, she would make Nancy late. She gestured forward and fell in step beside them.

“Did you see Will last night?”

“Will?” Nancy thought for a moment before continuing. “I don’t think so. He was at the house most of the day I think? I didn’t get home until after dinner. I was at Ally’s.”

“So, did he call?” Barb interrupted.

“Keep your voice down,” Nancy replied, looking from Barbara to Kat and back again. “And I told you. It’s not like that.”

Barb turned to look at Kat, pursing her lips.

“Hi, Barb,” Kat said overly sweetly. 

“Hi… Kathleen .” 

Kat’s eyes narrowed. She glared at Barb, refusing to look away until Nancy spoke to break the tension. 

“To answer your question, Barb, yes. He did call. We…made out a couple of times,” she blushed. “And to answer your question, Kat, no. I didn’t see Will. I think they must have left about eight or so. Dustin offered me some leftover pizza around then. I figured Mom was kicking everyone out.”

Nancy opened her locker as she finished and a small piece of notebook paper floated to the ground. Kat grabbed it just as it hit the floor, reading the message scrawled hastily in blue sharpie. 

Meet me in the bathroom. – Steve

“Looks like you have a hot date,” Kat said, handing the note to Nancy. “Thanks for the help.”

Or for nothing.

Kat spun, moving for the door as the hallway roared to life. Lockers slammed. Lights stabbed. The noise pressed in, drowning her in white static.

Nancy noticed.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, catching Kat and grabbing her shoulder.  “With Will, I mean,” 

The grip startled Kat like a jolt to her system, but it grounded her. The static muted. She nodded at Nancy once, then stormed down the hall before the walls could engulf her.

By the time she pushed open the front doors of Hawkins High, Kat’s entire body trembled. Outside, the air felt too thin. The sun was too bright. She dropped into the Ford and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Every reasonable explanation for Will’s disappearance melted into something worse until tears threatened to spill. She shoved a cigarette between her lips, forcing her hands still long enough to light it. The first few drags drifted into her lungs, warm but useless. It wasn’t enough.

Kat’s gaze drifted to the slender silver ring curled around her finger. The band was etched with delicate looping patterns that didn’t feel delicate at all. At its center sat a smooth, polished black onyx stone. The color of midnight, her mom told her. The gem caught the light in strange ways, sometimes gleaming, sometimes swallowing the glow whole.

She slid her thumb over the stone out of habit, pressing the weight of it into her index finger. Her Mom gave it to her the day she came home from the hospital with Will. He was so tiny, even as a baby. Always small for his size. Her mom had introduced her to Will, sat her on the couch, and stuffed two pillows under her arms before letting her hold him for the first time. Then her mom presented one of her grandmother’s old cross-stitched handkerchiefs, the ring wrapped safely inside.

Her mom never really explained why. Kat just knew that it meant something deep, something neither of them could explain. It may not be an official magic item, but she equipped it every day just the same. Something sacred just between them.

Once she’d left its imprint deep into her index finger, she peeled out of the parking lot toward home.

The drive felt endless. Every red light lasted an eternity. Every slow driver felt like a personal attack.

Please just be home. Please.

Kat pulled into the gravel drive and killed the engine. Something about the quiet felt…wrong. Too still. Even the trees felt like they were waiting for bad news.

She slipped out of the car and through the front door. Her mother paced by the phone, gripping the yellow receiver like she could strangle the person on the other end. Kat knew that look.

Must be Dad.

Jonathan caught her eye from the couch. Anything? He mouthed.

Kat shook her head and dropped her satchel on the table with a dull thunk. The noise barely registered as she focused on her mother’s face.

Shit. Mom is panicked.  

“Hello?” Joyce asked, turning back toward the wall. “Is Lonnie there?”

Kat clenched her fists, staring down the hallway like it held the answer to any of this.

Dad wasn’t home, but of course his flavor of the week was. 

“Can you please put him on–” 

They cut her off.

“Who is this?” Joyce demanded. “Cynthia? This is Joyce. Lonnie’s ex-wife. I really need to speak to him. Can you please put him on the phone–”

Another interruption. Kat watched as the anger took hold, twisting her mother’s features and pulling her mouth tight. 

“No, no, no! Put him on the phone–Bitch!” she slammed the receiver down with enough force to make Kat and Jonathan flinch. 

“Mom,” Jonathan’s voice was careful, bracing for impact. 

“What?”

Kat crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Joyce. 

“We have to stay calm, okay?” Kat murmured, pulling back just enough to meet her mother’s eyes. 

Joyce nodded stiffly, jaw clenched. With a sharp inhale, she picked up the phone again, like she wasn’t done fighting yet. 

“Why call him anyway?” Kat asked. “That’s the last place Will would go.” 

Jonathan shrugged. None of the Byers kids had anything nice to say about their dad, even Will. 

“It’s just as well he didn’t pick up,” Kat mumbled, picking up one of the posters Jonathan had been working on. Her stomach lurched at the bold black letters. 

Missing .

Her hands curled around the edges, gripping too hard. 

“Mom, Kat,” Jonathan’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, “Cops.”

Kat jerked her head up as headlights swept through the window. Chief Hopper’s jeep and two other cop cars rolled into the driveway. She was already at the front door before she realized it, yanking it open just in time to see Hopper step out with Will’s bike dangling from his grip. 

Her breath hitched. Jonathan’s hand clamped her arm before she collapsed. 

The chief dropped the bike on the front porch and motioned for the other two officers to follow him inside. 

“So the bike was just lying there?” Joyce asked as the cops made their way into the house. 

“Yeah,” the chief responded, clearly distracted. He pointed Officer Callahan towards the kitchen. 

“Did it have any blood on it or…” Kat started, but Hopper cut her off.

“No, no, no, no. Nothing like that. Phil?”

Jonathan jumped into the conversation. “If you found the bike out there, why are you here?”
She gripped Jonathan’s arm tighter, pulse thrumming through her ears. 

“Well, he had a key to the house, right?” the Chief said. “Maybe he came home.”

Mom rolled her eyes, annoyed. “You think I didn’t check my own house?”

“I’m not saying that,” the Chief responded. “This always been here?”

He gestured to a hole in the wood paneling by the front door. When he opened it, the dent lined up perfectly. 

“I don’t know,” Joyce replied. “I have two boys. Look at this place.” 

Kat swallowed. Not the time, but still…she appreciated not being lumped in with Jonathan and Will’s chaos. 

“You’re not sure?” the Chief frowned, stepping past them toward the back door. He moved with purpose, barely pausing before beelining for the shed.  

Jonathan and Kat hovered by the porch, clinging to each other as the Chief ducked inside. The longer he stayed, the more Kat’s stomach twisted into knots. Hopper finally stepped back out, his entire demeanor shifting. He barked orders over his shoulder as he crossed the yard. 

“Call Flo. I want to get a search party together, alright? All the volunteers she can muster. Bring flashlights too.” 

“Hey, you think we have a problem here?” Officer Callahan asked. 

The Chief didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Tears welled in Kat’s eyes.

Will.

Chapter Text

And she screamed out
Kicking on her side and said
“I’ve lost control again”
- Joy Division , She’s Lost Control

Jonathan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles ghostly white. He hadn’t uttered a single word since they left the house, and Kat didn’t need him to. The tension rolling off him felt suffocating. She’d heard enough of his conversation with the Chief to know exactly what was eating at him. 

“He’s not at Dad’s,” Kat said, crossing her arms. 

“What?” Jonathan flinched, like the words physically struck him. 

“The Chief? That’s what he said to you this morning, right? He wants to check out Dad?” 

Silence, but Kat pressed on, anger creeping into her voice. 

“Will’s not there, Jonathan. He’d never go there. And even if he did? Dad would throw him out and scream at Mom for it.”

She clenched her fists, the silver and black onyx ring on her left index finger biting into her skin. Kat felt her rage threatening to spin out of control. She closed her fists tighter, locking it down. She had to keep it together. There were other options… Some cultures were chill with patricide, right? Maybe we could just dump him on an iceberg and let nature take its course. 

Jonathan’s grip on the wheel twitched, nostrils flaring. Kat could tell he fought the same thoughts. Lonnie added nothing to their lives except disappointment and damage.

Fuck. Him.

Kat spent most of her childhood watching Lonnie drink night after night, return home just before they left for school, and cheat on her mom week after week. She did everything in her power to shield Jonathan and Will from that life–waking up in the middle of the night to her mother crying, listening to whisper fights and slamming doors on the rare nights he came home early. She could only protect Jonathan from so much, since he was just a year younger. Not much of a gap. But Will? He was theirs to protect and they made it their life’s mission. Kat knew Jonathan needed to blame someone for Will’s disappearance and Lonnie was as good as anyone.

Kat stared out the window, her rage still broiling within. Were tickets to the North or South Pole were cheaper? Christmas wasn’t that far away so…probably the South Pole. 

“We’re here,” Jonathan said too sharply. “I think we should hit up the entrance, the library, Freshman hall, and the office bulletin boards. Then move to the Middle School.”

Kat looked down at the folder full of missing posters sitting on her lap, a lump forming in her throat. Was this actually real life right now? Were they actually having a conversation about putting up Missing posters? For Will?  

Her Bug.

A nickname made for bedtime stories and Saturday morning cartoons, not…this.

“I’ll-” she paused for a moment, her voice wavering too much to get the word out. She thumbed that metal ring until she found the words again. “I'll go to the office first, then meet you back at the entrance. You can do library and Freshman Hall?”

“Sounds good.”

Kat took the side entrance to the library, yanking her oversized army jacket tighter around her. The fabric, soft and worn over years of wear, swallowed her whole, letting her disappear inside it. Not just her shield, but her armor–the only thing standing between her and the world.

She inhaled deeply, forcing air past the tightness in her chest. School always felt like traversing the first layer of hell, but today it hung in the air like a goddamn execution. This was the last place she wanted to be, but right now Will needed her and she would be there. At first, her feet refused to move. She clenched her fists again, that comforting bite of metal grounding her.

Just walk in. Just put up the damn posters. Find Will.

She exhaled, swallowed the lump in her throat, and pushed open the door. 

She shoved into the library, the door chime hitting like the first round of TAPS. Mrs. Green turned, her eyes heavy with pity. The air became stifling and Kat very nearly barfed.

“Oh, Kathleen. Here, honey. Let me get those for you.”

Mrs. Green grabbed the posters, fussing with the pushpins as her lips twisted into a pity frown.

“Terrible…just terrible. Poor Will. Poor you. I’m sure the Chief is doing everything he can. These things…” she trailed off, voice softening like that made things better, “Sometimes they’re just out of your hands…you know?”

The words hit like a drumstick raking down Kat’s spine.

She glanced at the door, but somehow managed to glue her feet in place. Bees buzzed in Kat’s head, their droning blending with the librarian’s voice until all she could hear was static. She ticked the seconds off the clock until Mrs. Green finally closed her giant gaping mouth. Without another word, she nodded stiffly and sprinted out of the library, letting the metal door slam behind her.

She exited back into Freshman Hall, exhaling as she leaned against the cool cement brick wall. Tears bit at her eyes, escaping before she could lock it down. Rage burned into her cheeks, fueling the tears more. With her eyes closed, she squeezed that familiar onyx ring with her other hand until intense pain spread throughout her hand.

“Uh, Kat?”

A hand tapped her shoulder. Kat opened her eyes and found Gareth, staring up at her with that cute little freshman face. 

Goddammit.

Half of her wanted to cry at that face. Her friend. Her family. Her party . The other half felt rage for wanting to fall apart.

Not here. Will is missing, and he fucking needs you. Pull it together.

She inhaled, shutting off the emotion, the spiral, everything. She swallowed it down.

Hell, Gareth didn’t need this dramatic shit either. His first few weeks of high school had been hell until Eddie rescued him from total social pariah. They still gave him shit, but the kid had guts and she could respect that. She could hold it together a little longer. He didn’t need to see her fall apart.

“Gareth!” Kat greeted, her voice too high, too peppy.  

“I’m so sorry…about everything.”

He sheepishly pulled Kat into a quick hug. There was that pity again, but at least it didn’t cut as sharply as Mrs. Green’s. She stiffened, but didn’t pull away either. None of this was his fault. 

“We’re all here for you, you know? Eddie made everyone sign up for the search party.”

Hearing the words out loud didn’t feel real. Someone else’s little brother was missing. Not hers. Not Will. He was fine. This was someone else’s problem.

“Uh, Kat?” Gareth placed a hand on her shoulder, tugging her away from the spiral. 

“That sounds like Eddie,” Kat said flatly. She didn’t even realize she was speaking. 

God…Eddie. Where was he right now? That was the only person she wanted to see. Was he in woodshop right now? Her eyes drifted through the window in the door at the workshop annex as if she might catch a glimpse of his bushy hair.

“I’ll let you get back to the posters. I just wanted you to know that we’re all supporting you. Bye, Kat!”

“Bye, G,” she said instinctively. He was a good kid with a kind heart. Just like Will.

A stray tear trailed down her cheek as Kat swiped at it hard, wincing at the sting.

Kat inhaled so deep her lungs burned . She forced the air out at once, not stopping until every last bit of air left her body. One more stop. Just one.

She rounded the corner into Main Hall, eyes immediately tracking Jonathan. He tacked Will’s missing poster onto the bulletin board by the entrance as Carol, Tommy H., Steve Harrington, Barb, and Nancy glared at him like hyenas waiting to pounce. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asked. 

“I don’t think he speaks,” Carol responded. 

“How much you wanna bet he killed him?” Tommy laughed. 

“Shut up,” Steve replied, giving Tommy a half-hearted shove, but his smirk didn’t quite fade. 

Nancy approached Jonathan right as Kat stepped up behind Tommy and Steve. 

“Are you fucking serious right now, Tommy?” Kat asked, shoving him.

The shove landed hard. Tommy stumbled into Carol, who narrowly avoided face-planting into the wall. Barbara completely fled the scene, while Steve whipped around to Kat, his eyes wide. She looked wild. Untethered. Absolutely fucking feral. Rage took the wheel and floored it.

“And what about you, Harrington?” Kat’s voice dripped venom as she turned on him, her face inches from his. “I always knew you were spineless, but I figured you’d at least have the balls to stand up to this bottom-feeding dipshit. Guess I gave you too much credit.”

Steve froze, her wild fury burning the smirk right off his face.

“What the hell, you crazy bitch!” Tommy retaliated, regaining his footing. Hands rushed towards Kat again, but the impact never came. Steve stepped between them, his shoulder pressing against hers as he took the shove. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve said, gently pushing Tommy back. 

“Watch out, babe. Kitty Kat’s foaming at the mouth,” Carol responded, stepping beside Tommy.

Pelor help the next person who called her that. 

“So. The freak’s crazy sister has to stand up for him,” Tommy slapped Steve’s hand away, eyes locked on Kat.

“A twelve-year-old boy is missing! Is that some kind of joke to you?” Kat yelled, matching Tommy’s step. 

“No. But you are, you fucking psycho. Maybe you’re the real reason your little brother is missing. You and your circle of freaks!”

Kat’s vision exploded in unmitigated fury. She lunged at Tommy with every ounce of strength she possessed, his words igniting her wrath like wildfire. The folder full of posters tumbled to the ground, forgotten. Her fist coiled tight, that black onyx ring lined up perfectly with Tommy’s smug fucking face. She’d break his nose, and didn’t give a damn if she shattered her own hand doing it.

The punch sailed toward Tommy’s face.  Kat could almost hear the crack of cartilage, feel it beneath her fist, but the jab never landed. Strong arms caught her mid-lunge, yanking her back by the waist.

Steve. Fucking. Harrington.

“Woah woah woah. Easy there, Tiger,” he warned, his voice brushing against her ear, low and infuriating. She could feel the warmth of his breath dance across her neck and smell the overwhelming scent of  his yuppie-ass cologne. Anger exploded throughout her entire body again as he set her back onto the ground, his arms lingering on her waist as if he anticipated another pounce.

“Let her go, Steve. You’ll probably catch some freak disease,” Carol huffed. 

“Enough,” Nancy said, stepping beside Steve to help separate Tommy and Kat.

Steve’s grip on her hip tightened for just a second, a reflex. Heat exploded on her side as flames licked up her spine. Their eyes locked, something unspoken crackling between them. Kat ripped herself free, giving Steve’s arms a shove as she wriggled out of his grasp.

Kat’s chest heaved as her gaze jumped from Steve to Tommy, then fell on Nancy. She just stood there, frozen and silent. Steve’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something but forgot the line.

Mark the calendar, folks. King Steve forgot how to speak.

“Your boyfriend and his friends are real dicks, Nancy. You know that?”

Jonathan grabbed her bag and folder from the ground, handing them to her as the pair walked to the door. 

“Yeah, walk away. Fucking freaks!” Tommy yelled. 

Steve’s gaze followed her out as she stalked away, an unreadable expression on his face. Without turning around, Kat held her hand high above her head and flipped them off, holding it until the heavy metal door shut behind her.    

Chapter Text

If I go there will be trouble
And if I stay there will be double
So come on and let me know
Should I stay or Should I Go

– The Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go

Kat’s rage simmered, thick and suffocating, while Jonathan drove in silence. That fight, those fucking assholes. She seethed, staring at the front zipper of her bookbag. A faded, braided chain of multicolor strings clung to it, fraying at the edges. Kat slid the woven friendship keyring through her fingers over and over again, a leftover from her friendship with Nancy that she never could bring herself to throw away. She clenched it tightly in her fist and ripped it off as a familiar guitar cadence stole her focus.

“Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash wailed from the speakers. Kat’s body stiffened, her mind slipping back before she could stop it. 

Kat scraped the last grilled cheese from the pan, the smoky scent curling into her nose, taunting her empty stomach. She chucked the heavy cast iron into the sink, swearing to Pelor she’d remember to wash it, but let’s be real. That was Jonathan’s problem now.

She stacked three sandwiches onto one plate and set aside another for her mom. A bag of chips and a handful of napkins followed, balanced precariously in her arms. With a well-practiced shuffle, Kat nudged the door closed with her hip. Music thrummed softly from the stereo, a steady pulse under the sound of her careful footsteps. Jonathan and Will sat on the edge of the bed, heads bobbing in unison. She smirked. As much as those little shits tested her patience, moments like these made it worth it. 

“You can keep the mix if you want,” Jonathan offered. 

“Really?” Will smiled widely. 

“Yeah, really. All the best stuff on there. Joy Division, Bowie, Television, The Smiths…It’ll totally change your life.”

“Yeah, totally,” Will responded, his face lighting up.

Joyce’s voice cut through the thin walls. “Where the hell are you, Lonnie? I don’t–I don’t want to hear it. This is ridiculous. I’m so sick of your excuses.”

Kat clenched her jaw. Right on time. She pushed through the rage, forcing a smile and moving between her siblings. 

“Scooch!” She said, plopping between them. “And turn it up. This is my favorite part!”

Kat wrapped a grilled cheese in a napkin and handed it to Will. He took it, gently placing it in his lap. 

“He’s not coming, is he?” Will asked. 

Kat’s anger simmered beneath the skin as she caught the sadness in Will’s eyes.

“Do you even like baseball?” she asked.

“No,” he responded with a shrug. “But it’s fun to go with him sometimes.”

“Oh, come on,” Jonathan piped in. “Has he ever done anything with you that you actually like? Like the arcade or something?”

“I don’t know.”

"He hasn’t,” Jonathan continued. “He wants to force you to like normal things. And you shouldn’t like things because people tell you that you’re supposed to. Especially not him.”

Kat handed Jonathan a sandwich, their eyes meeting in silent understanding. They’d both learned the hard way– Lonnie’s promises meant nothing. Canceled plans, forgotten birthdays, calls that dwindled to silence. He wanted kids he could brag about. The kind who racked up trophies, kicked the winning field goal, won the spelling bee. The kind who made him look good. When Kat swapped decathlon medals for Iron Maiden vinyls, his interest vanished. He couldn’t brag on a delinquent who turned out just like him.  Now that Will had quirks of his own, Lonnie pulled the same disappearing act.

“So you like The Clash, huh?” Kat asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. 

“Definitely,” Will nodded. 

“Hell yeah. Jonathan better have put The Cure on there. It’ll change your life.”

“Of course I did. Who do you think I am?” he feigned hurt.

Kat smirked, taking a dramatic bite. “Good, I was about to revoke your sad boy music privileges.”

Jonathan’s face fell into actual disdain, and Kat burst out laughing.

“Alright, Will, finish your sandwich, and we’ll go to the arcade. We’ll even pick up the boys and take them, too… if it's okay with their moms.”

“Really?” Will grinned and took a huge bite of his sandwich.

“Really.”

Jonathan cranked the music extra loud as all three of them headbanged to The Clash. Kat caught the way his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. The tightness around his eyes eased as Will scarfed down the sandwich, practically vibrating at the thought of the arcade. Jonathan would never say it, but she knew. He carried all of this on his back…Will’s heartbreak, Mom’s Stress, the constant weight of being the man of the house. It pissed her off. He deserved better than this. They all did.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and knocked her shoulder against his. “Alright, sad boy, don’t think this lets you off dish duty.”

“Listen,” Jonathan scoffed, “I’m not a sad boy. I have refined taste.”

“Until you agree that A Forest is The Cure’s best song, I’ll have to decline your right to an opinion.”

“It’s A Strange Day and you know it.”

Kat gagged. “Not even by a long shot. That’s it. Your right to music? Fully revoked.”

Will giggled, his eyes bouncing between the two like a spectator at a tennis match.

“Coming from the girl who blasted Blondie nonstop for three months.”

She stiffened. “Shut your mouth right now. She’s an icon.”

“Poser,” Jonathan muttered, shaking his head.

Yeah, this was good. Maybe not perfect, maybe not how things were supposed to be. But for now? It was enough.

The memory shattered as the car filled with thick, awful silence. With a shaking hand, Kat snapped the radio off and angrily wiped tears from her eyes. She glanced at Jonathan, wondering if he was remembering the same moment. She noted his clenched jaw, the too white grip on the steering wheel.

“We’re going to find him, Jonathan,” she said, her voice shaky at first but dipping into determination. “We have to.”

The rest of the afternoon blurred. More posters, more pitying stares from people who offered empty, meaningless words. Her legs ached, and her feet were on fire. She ignored both. By evening, Kat’s determination cooled into firm resolve. This is what family meant. You push through the pain, you stoke the embers, you never leave a party member behind. 

Later that evening, she stood outside the passenger side of their car, eyeing Jonathan suspiciously. He dropped her off in the ritzy part of town to put up more posters, wanting the car for an errand. She could clock every lie he told since he was four. She tried coaching him on how to lie better, but it never took.

“Jonathan? Spill,” her voice was sharp and way too much like her mother’s.

“It’s nothing, Kat. I need to get more prints made. You need to put up more posters. We’re dividing and conquering.”

She studied his body language. He wouldn’t meet her eye, his knee bouncing impatiently, fingers drumming on the steering wheel…All of his tells popping off at once.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” she warned, closing the car door. “Mom’s dealing with enough.”

He rolled his eyes, but nodded. The second she stepped away from the car, he peeled off. As she watched the taillights, a bad feeling bubbled in her gut. Everything felt off.

Her choice of starting in South East Hawkins had been strategic. Will’s bike was found nearby, surely someone saw something . The posters felt redundant, but with every one thrust into a mailbox or taped to a telephone pole, she could breathe a little easier. Taking action. Doing something . She felt so helpless. She was helpless. What could she possibly do to bring Will home? Cast a 4th-level Locate Creature spell? She couldn’t help but laugh at the argument he would make.

“But Kat, I’m a humanoid. Not a creature. It wouldn’t work.”

"No, Will. You’re a twelfth-level goober. That’s definitely a creature.”

No. NO. She couldn’t do this, not now. Not here. Not on a sidewalk in the middle of the nicest houses in town, leaning against a brick mailbox like some character from The Breakfast Club.  She wouldn’t fall apart.

Ahead, two figures emerged from the darkness and Kat spiraled. Is this what happened to Will? Did someone take him? Was that about to happen to her?  Kat grabbed one strap of her crossbody bag with her hand and gripped it until her knuckles were white and the sharp pain from that onyx ring felt unbearable. The figures slowly came into view. 

“Nancy? Barb?” Kat asked sharply.

“Hey, Kat,” Nancy began eyeing her grip on the bag. “Is everything okay? What are you doing out here?”

Kat sighed. Preparing to get murdered.   

“Everything’s fine,” she answered simply, loosening the grip on her bag.  She held up her folder of posters, the pile less than half the size of what she started with this morning. “Just…this.” 

“Oh…” Nancy trailed off, awkwardly looking from Kat to Barb and then to the ground. 

“What are you two doing out here? Unless you’ve moved?” Kat asked, looking at Barb.

Barb shook her head. 

“Uh...Steve lives out here,” Nancy finally answered. “He’s having a thing.”

“Ah,” Kat rolled her eyes. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

Kat began to walk down the street, but Nancy stopped her. 

“Look, Kat, about today. I’m so sorry. Steve’s not normally like that. He isn’t really at all like Tommy and Carol. I know it's no excuse for what Tommy said, but-”

Kat held up her hand and shook her head. 

“Don’t worry about it, Nance. Steve needs to learn that the friends you choose reflect on your character. If you’re not careful, they’ll drag you down like dead weight. If he wants to hang out with some douchebags, that’s his choice. It makes him a douchebag by default.”

Kat paused, debating the next line. But fuck it. What did she have to lose?

“And if you’re not careful, Nancy, Steve will do the same to you.”

Nancy paused, processing as a heaviness settled between them. 

“Hello, ladies.”

Kat flinched at the familiar voice, her cheeks immediately flushing. They all turned to see Steve Harrington standing a few feet behind them with a smirk on his face.

Shit.

Had he just overheard all that?

Not that she wouldn’t say it to his stupid, smug face. She would, but she would have at least liked to have the satisfaction of watching it land.

“You do know the party is, uh, inside, right?” he asked, casually slinging his arm around Nancy. 

Kat’s eyes widened as anger bubbled just under her skin. “Well, that’s my cue.” She turned on her heel.

Of course he was standing there. Of course he overheard. This fucking guy.

Her face burned . She needed to get the fuck out of here. God, she really hoped no one noticed in the darkness.  

“Kat, wait.” Nancy hesitated for a second, glancing at Steve before looking back at her. “You should join us.” 

Kat stopped mid-step, slowly turning back with a look so drenched in disbelief it was practically dripping. Was Nancy serious? There was no version of reality where she’d walk into that house with those people. But…the invitation? It did touch something raw. More than once over the years, she’d missed Nancy. Kat swallowed the sentiment.

“Yeah, thanks, but pass.” No hesitation, no pause. She turned and kept walking.

“You guys head up,” Steve said, directing Nancy and Barb. “I’ll catch up.”

Nancy nodded, pulling Barb with her. Steve lingered, closing the distance, stopping at the edge of the driveway while Kat stood on the opposite side. 

“Listen, Kat, I-”

The roar of Tommy’s car cut him off, bass shaking the pavement before the headlights swung into the driveway. Kat heard the familiar shriek of Van Halen and rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. Of course, Tommy would be blasting “Panama.” He slammed the brakes, screeching to a halt next to her and honking like the grade-A asshole he was. 

“I thought the party was inside, not out here with the trash. Didn’t know you invited us to a freak show, Harrington,” Tommy quipped, looking Kat up and down. Her skin crawled.

Kat didn’t skip a beat. She spun on her heel, lifted her hand, and flipped him off without a word. He wasn’t worth the energy, the effort, or the breath it would take to spit something back.  Exhaustion gnawed at her bones, but anger fueled her feet. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

The engine revved as the car peeled up the driveway, laughter spilling from the windows.

She didn’t turn back, didn’t slow her stride. But, the entire way down the street, she could feel it. Steve Harrington, standing there, eyes pinned to the back of her head.

Chapter Text

Ever since I was a baby girl
Wanted one thing most in this world
It was to keep my love-keep
my love alive
– Heart, “Love Alive”
                                                     

                                          
“Sweetheart, can you hear me? Will?”

The words dragged her from the depths. Kat’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Will, can you hear me?”

She groaned, closing her eyes again. The pull of sleep tugged again, and she gave in. No thought. No feeling. No pain. There, she didn’t have to swallow dread or dodge grief’s riptide. She could just be.

“Will?”
Kat gasped awake, a visceral surge crashing through her body. She sat up straight, clinging to the covers as reality rushed in. The anger, the grief, everything she’d shoved down came crashing to the surface, surging like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

She forced her eyes to focus, staring at the Dio poster across from her bed. The poster featured a tumultuous white-capped ocean, craggy cliffs, a burnt orange sunset, and thick black clouds. In the midst of it all stood a demon with a horse-like head, pulling on heavy metal chains. Enveloped in chains, the head of a priest was barely visible above the water. He peered back at the demon in horror.

The dark water lured Kat’s gaze, unwilling and heavy. Staring at the drowning man caught in the undertow, her chest tightened. They were one in the same. Her throat felt thick, chalky. She squeezed her fist tight, relishing the sharpness of the metal ring biting into her palm. Her lifeline.

“Can you hear me? Will?”

The words ripped Kat through the static, grounding her in reality.

Will?

He’s here?

She raced down the hall, stumbling on a large storage box that wasn’t there last night. Bracing against the wall, she kicked it to the side and threw open Will’s door. When did he get back? Why hadn’t they woken her? Was he actually okay?

Kat froze.

Joyce sat on Will’s bed, surrounded by every single lamp they owned. She rocked back and forth, holding a strand of Christmas lights and mumbling to herself. 

“Mom?” she asked from the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Kat, baby. Come here,” she urged, patting the bed. “Come here.” 

“Are you okay, Mom? What is all this?”

“Come here. Come here.”

Kat slowly approached the bed, arms shaking as she gripped her mother’s outstretched hand. 

“It’s Will,” she said. “He’s trying to talk to me.”

“Was it another phone call or-”

“No. Through the lights.”

Her heart plunged. The lamps stared at her, dark and lifeless.

“Mom…”

“I know. I know ,” her mother continued, stray tears falling. “Just, Just watch. Will, your sister is here. Can you show her what you showed me, baby?”

Kat focused her attention back on the lights, each of them unlit and dull. Panic rose in her chest, leaving a lump in her throat. Joyce was losing it right in front of her and she didn’t know how to stop the fall.

No, no, no.

“Did you see it?” Joyce pointed at one of the lights as it flickered.

Kat swallowed, then nodded and gently smiled. 

“I did, Mom.” 

“Something is going on here,” Joyce said with determination. “With, with the lights…and the wall.”

This was bad. Like really bad. But something in Kat’s gut pushed her. 

“How did he communicate with you through the lights?”

“They…they flickered. One, then the other. When I talked to him,” she explained, gesturing to the ball of Christmas lights again. That explained the storage bin in the hallway.

“And the wall?”

“I-I-I just know Will is here,” she stammered. “Maybe if I get more lamps…”

Kat forced the panic down and enveloped Joyce, pulling her tight. As if she could squeeze the pain and exhaustion from her bones.

“I know you want to stay strong for any sign of Will. But you won’t be any good to him, to anyone, if you don’t at least get a little rest. I know you’re exhausted, Mom.”

Her mom nodded.

“Will is lost,” Kat said, her lips brushing against her mother’s hair. “And we will find him, but first, you have to save your strength. He’s going to need you.”

“I will. I just…I need to sit for a minute.” 

She kissed her mother on the forehead, fighting the tears stinging her eyes. Kat shut the door carefully, lips trembling. She closed her eyes and slumped against the door, sliding down until the floor caught her. Kat clutched her knees to her chest, mooring like a boat in high tide.

A single sob cracked through her chest.
Shattering. Raw.

The door across the hall creaked open, and Kat’s breath hitched. She felt it before she saw him, that shift in the air and the pull of someone watching.

Jonathan.

Her gaze snapped to his, and her stomach plummeted. A dark look settled over his face, shadowed in the dim hallway light. He’d never seen her cry. Not since they were kids.

And now? She was cracking. Fractures webbed through her ribs, water rushing in to fill the breaks. If she didn’t pull herself together, she would drown right in front of him. 

“Geez, Jonathan,” she started, swiping the tears off her face with quick, impatient hands. “At least take a picture. Call it “Freak in Freefall” or something cool and understated.”

Her voice wobbled, but she managed a last-minute saving throw and leveled it out. Jonathan exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  He slid down the wall beside her, pressing their shoulders together.

“You talked to Mom?” Jonathan asked, rubbing his temples.

“Yeah,” Kat answered, sniffling before continuing, “She thinks Will is talking to her through the lights. She said something about the wall, I just…”

Kat couldn’t even finish the sentence. She felt overextended–like a drummer, arms heavy, too exhausted from the solo and letting the beat slip.

“She’s breaking, Jonathan,” her voice wavered. “And I don’t know what to do. How do we bring her back? I mean, what if…”

Kat stopped. Her eyes locked onto the ring on her hand. The black onyx and silver ring gifted from her mother. She pressed it deep into her index finger with both thumbs.  

“What if he’s…What if Will’s gone.”

Jonathan shifted, as if the words were too heavy to bear. She knew he’d considered it.

“No.” His voice didn’t waver. “We can’t fall apart either.”

He leaned into her more, jostling their shoulders together, like he could physically shake the doubt out of her.

“He’s out there somewhere, Kat.” His grip on certainty was tight, too tight. “He’s out there, and he needs us.

Kat nodded. She wanted to believe it. She almost let herself.

But that all-too-familiar sense of dread coiled tight in her gut. Something was wrong. She could feel it. The air in Hawkins felt cold, heavy. The trees seemed to breathe. Even inside her childhood home the walls watched, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

No. I can’t fall apart.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, the aftertaste of the lie bitter on her tongue. “We’re going to find him.” 

The rest of the morning blurred. Somehow, Kat dressed and drove to school. Principal Matthews encouraged her to pick up assignments for some semblance of normalcy. Like she gave a shit, but it was better than idling around the house…better than watching her mother fiddle with more lights. Around noon, Kat found herself standing outside Main Hall chatting with her friend Jeff. 

“I appreciate the kind words,” she said, offering a small smile and forcing a flat tone. “I’m here for just a little while to grab some make-up assignments.”

Jeff gave her a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Eddie was asking about you by the way.”

Kat’s stomach twisted. She missed him, but something held her back. The grip on her backpack tightened until her knuckles turned white.

“Yeah,” Jeff started, his words carefully chosen. “He said you’ve been MIA since everything happened. You know how he is, pretends he doesn’t worry, but he’s not exactly subtle. I think he went by your place the other night.”

“Yeah,” Kat scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Well, tell him not to lose sleep over me.”

Jeff laughed quietly, but there was something too knowing in his eyes. “You know, you don’t always have to be the one holding it all together, right? We’re here for you.”

Kat’s throat tightened, and she forced a small smile.

“Yeah. Thanks, Jeff.”

He pulled her into a quick hug.

“Check your locker. Eddie left something in case you stopped by.”

She watched him walk away, eyes stinging. God, she had amazing friends, but they felt so far away. Like they were here and she was in the Shadowfell, hearing them but not able to feel them.

Kat walked down the hall to her locker, entering the lock combination three times before it worked. Today was one of those days where she perpetually rolled with disadvantage. She sighed, sliding the lock out of the handle and pulling it open. Eddie could have left anything in her locker. A goofy note, a bag of milk duds, or even a page from the composition notebook he kept titled “Kat’s Compendium of Bullshit.” One of his prized possessions, where he roasted her to death and wrote down the evidence.  One of his latest entries had been her favorite yet. They’d argued about how much he prepped for their Hellfire Club games.

“You don’t plan shit, Byers. You just do things. I have to run five different contingency plans because you refuse to act like a sane party member and tackle every problem from nine different angles.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she quipped, a huge grin spreading across her face.

That same night, he’d written the following:


To slow the party down next session, I have to distract Kat.

Option A: Distract with food. (Weakness: Tator Tots from Benny’s. Milk Duds.)

Option B: Lead her into a logic trap. (Risky. Will likely backfire spectacularly.)

Option C: Say something sappy and have the rest of the party solve the puzzle before she can recover. (Untested. Only attempt as a last resort.)



The memory tugged at her, pulling a genuine smile from somewhere within. He never stood a chance. She lived to throw a wrench in Eddie’s plans and always pulled some reverse uno card bullshit. Worked like magic, every time.

Kat reached into her locker, stuffed with untouched textbooks and a few well-hidden clove cigarettes. She pulled out a hard, rectangular object wrapped in butcher paper with scribbled drawings all over it. Front and center, a skull wearing a dwarven helmet with hearts for eyes. Scrawled on the side in his messy handwriting, Kat read:


Magic Item – Temporary Resistance to Psychic Damage. Take a fucking breather, Kat.


A hand gripped her shoulder, tugging Kat out of the reverie and whirling her around. Nancy Wheeler stood in the middle of the hall, chewing her bottom lip.

What the hell?

“Nancy? …everything ok?”

Kat had been friends with Nancy Wheeler long enough to know her expressions. This one–lips pressed tight, corners downturned--meant she was anxious. But she was also thinking. Hard. 

“Have you seen Barb?” Nancy asked, her voice careful. “I mean, last night… did you see her while you were handing out posters? After Steve’s? Or anything?”

“No,” Kat raised an eyebrow. “Nancy, what’s going on?”

Nancy began to pace and talk, something she did to alleviate anxiety and think more clearly. She spilled everything. The pool. The fight. Barb wanting to leave. Kat winced. That tracked. Honestly, she’d been shocked Barb agreed to go in the first place.

Nancy’s eyes welled up again as she described the way Barb looked– betrayed, annoyed, and worried. That also tracked. Barb always had been the mom friend.

And then Nancy admitted it: She went upstairs with Steve and hadn’t seen Barb since.

Kat tried not to be judgmental. Really, she did, but her face didn’t get the memo. A deep frown flitted across her face.

So glad you took my words to heart, Nance.

She pushed down the thought. It wasn’t helpful. 

“No, Nancy. I’m sorry. I went home after I left Ste-” she paused, “after seeing you two last night.” 

Nancy paced again, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes pooled with tears, but they didn’t spill.

Kat dropped Eddie’s gift in her backpack, focusing on Nancy. If there were tears involved, it was serious. Nancy didn’t do drama unless it involved her GPA. A cold knot tied in Kat’s chest. First Will, now Barb…

“Let’s call Mrs. Holland. Just to be sure she wasn’t sick today. ”

Nancy nodded, and the two of them headed for the payphones outside by the bus pickup. Kat handed her a quarter, and Nancy dropped it into the machine. She dialed quickly, and Kat heard Mrs. Holland pick up on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?” Mrs. Holland answered. 

“Hi, uh…Mrs. Holland. It's Nancy.”

“Oh, Nancy, how are you, dear?”

“Good, I’m good.” Nancy’s knuckles whitened around the receiver. “ I was just wondering…is Barb there?” 

“Mmm…no,” Mrs. Holland said, a pause stretching between them. When she spoke again, her voice grew quieter, uneasy. “She hasn’t come home yet.”

Nancy’s breath hitched, and she motioned for Kat to stand next to her and listen in. Kat huddled into Nancy, holding her breath. 

“But she did come home, right? After the Vigil?” Nancy leaned into Kat. 

“No, she said she was staying with you last night.”

Nancy froze. Kat could practically hear Mrs. Holland's suspicion crackling through the line. 

“Right, yes. She did,” Nancy threw Kat an exasperated look. “I meant, did she come home this morning? I think she left some textbooks and she was going to go pick them up.”

Nancy didn’t sound convincing at all by the time she finished that sentence.

“Oh, um, no, I haven’t seen her,“ Mrs. Holland’s tone changed. 

“Do you know what, I just remembered she’s at the, uh, L-library,” Nancy pulled the receiver away from her mouth and grimaced. 

“Nancy, will you please have her call me as soon as you see her,” Mrs. Holland responded, clearly concerned

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Sorry to bother you.”

Nancy hung up the phone, dropping the receiver like it burned. She stood there, fingers gripping the edge of the phone booth, blinking too fast. Kat knew, however, that Nancy’s mind was never still. Like a hamster in love with the wheel, it whirred with ideas nonstop. 

Kat thought through Nancy’s story, and that coiling sensation in her gut tightened, winding itself into a knot she couldn’t shake. This couldn’t be a coincidence. First Will, now Barb? She wanted to reassure Nancy, tell her everything was going to be okay. The words sat heavy on her tongue, but she couldn’t shake them. This was bigger than both of them. Bigger than Hawkins. And for the first time, Kat felt like they were standing at the edge of something they couldn’t see yet–but it was coming. Kat placed a hand on Nancy’s shoulder, squeezing lightly…an anchor to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

“I’m late. I should go meet up with Steve.”

Kat nodded. “Headed to the parking lot?”

The two went back through the school, the silence stretching thick between them. They were both deep within their head, thoughts careening like loose gears spinning and clicking to find an answer that wasn’t there. Every possibility felt scarier than the last. 

As they emerged onto the parking lot, Kat spotted a small crowd hanging around her car. Tommy ripped Jonathan’s bag off his shoulder and threw it at Steve. Within seconds his hands were inside, pilfering through it and slinging things to the ground.  Heat flared into Kat’

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kat said, sprinting across the parking lot.

Nancy matched her step for step until they reached the vehicles. Steve pulled something from the bag, but Kat couldn’t quite make it out. Just as they reached the car, Tommy looked at Nancy with a wide, creepy smile. 

“Well, here’s the starring lady.”

“What’s going on?” Nancy looked from Tommy to Steve.

Kat stopped between Jonathan and Steve, shielding him with her body. She could take a punch better than he could. Her fingers bit into her palms as flames flared through her veins. She didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes flicked to her, curious and assessing like someone watching a match catch flame.

“We really doing this again, Harrington?” she said, impressed she managed that much bite while winded from the jog.

For a split second, Steve actually looked surprised. Then it was gone, sliding into something lazy, cool, and untouchable. His gaze flicked to her fists, amusement tugging at his smirk. His eyes lingered on hers as he leaned back against his car. Fucking King Steve holding court. Unhurried and unbothered, like he was daring her to make the first move.

“Round two already, tiger?” he smirked, letting his gaze drag across her face, slow and deliberate. “Careful. Someone might think you’re starting to like it.”

Heat blazed up her neck as her stare flared to match his. The rest of the world crackled into white noise as she stepped toward him. Who the hell did this cocky, spoiled asshole think he was? 

“Jesus Christ, Kat, are you rabid?” Carol snapped. “Your creepy brother was spying on us last night. He was probably going to save this one for later.” 

Carol handed Nancy a photo from the stack, popping her gum. Before Kat could look, Steve pushed himself off the car, his shoulder dragging against hers. What, was that supposed to be intimidating? Pathetic. It just pissed her off more. 

“To answer your question, Kat, yes. Because you’re brother? He’s a grade ‘A’ creep.” 

Steve stopped inches from her face. She could smell his yuppie cologne and was that…Faberge? Her mother used Faberge on special occasions–when she needed a little extra hold. Somewhere beneath the anger, Kat felt the urge to laugh.  

"See," Steve said, keeping his eyes locked with Kat just a second too long. "You can tell he knows it was wrong. But, man…" He shook his head, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "That’s the thing about perverts. It’s just… hardwired into them. You know? They just can’t help themselves."

Kat bristled, her fists aching to punch that smug, cocky face, but something made her hesitate.  King Steve deserved every inch of her wrath, but the protective look in his eye stopped her cold. This wasn’t bullying, it was about protecting Nancy. And it pissed her off that she noticed.. 

What did you do, Jonathan?

Steve tore through a stack of photos, shredding them in half and scattering pieces like dead leaves in a storm. As they settled, dread coiled in Kat’s stomach, creeping up her throat.

Was Nancy…undressing?

She tore her gaze from the photos to Jonathan’s face, her pulse pounding.

What the actual fuck?

“So, we’ll just have to take away his toy.” Steve reached for Jonathan’s bag, pulling the camera from within. 

“Steve…” Nancy trailed off. 

“Not the camera,” Jonathan choked out.  

“Steve, no. Don’t-” Kat shot out a hand, grabbing his forearm. Kat was fucking livid with Jonathan, but this? This was too much.

Before she could react, Tommy shoved her. Hard. She barely caught herself, boots skidding against the pavement as he loomed over her. His fingers curled into fists as he drew back to swing. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Steve stuck his arm between, shoving between them. His gaze flicked between Tommy and Kat, jaw tight. He maintained his cool exterior, but Kat saw it for what it was–fear.  “Jesus, Tommy.  We're not doing this.”

Steve’s gaze raked over Kat before he clapped a hand to Tommy’s chest, easing him back just enough to force distance. With the fire out, he looked back at Jonathan.

“You’re right. Jonathan, here you go, man.” 

Steve stretched the camera toward Jonathan. For a split second, it seemed like he’d actually hand it over.

Then he let it go.

The camera cracked against the pavement, and everyone froze. 

“Let’s go,” Steve said, turning away from the scene. “Game’s about to start.” 

The rest of his asshole posse followed, but Nancy lingered. She threw Jonathan an apologetic look, then frowned at something on the ground. Slowly, she crouched, fingers brushing against it. Steve called after her. She hesitated, pocketing pieces of the photos before following Steve.

“Fucking assholes.” Kat shook her arms like she could snuff the anger burning through them. 

She stared at Jonathan like she’d never seen him before. Fury burned in her eyes, and he avoided her gaze as if it would actually set him on fire.

“Kat-”

“Car.”

She shook her head.

She didn’t wait. She climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door harder than she intended.

She couldn’t believe that she was about to agree with Hawkin’s biggest douche bag, but Steve had every right to be mad. So did Nancy and anyone else at that party.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

She didn’t give him space for an answer. She didn’t want one, and he didn’t try.

Silence fell between them like a great divide.

Chapter Text

And it’s something kind of peculiar
Something shimmering and white
It leads you here
Despite your destination
Under the Milky Way tonight
– The Church, “Under the Milky Way”

Kat could barely keep her eyes on the road. Thoughts whirled like a tornado inside her head. Everything felt like it was screaming. Her brain, the road, even the goddamn trees. 

Where the fuck was Will?

Why the fuck hadn’t Hopper found anything yet? Should she give him a piece of her mind? Rip into him until he actually did something?

Was he doing enough? 

Why hadn’t she heard from the adorable dweeb brigade? Even with Will gone, those little shits should’ve checked in by now. She missed them. So much her chest ached. 

And Jonathan—God. Jonathan.

What the actual fuck was he thinking?

Why was he even at Steve’s?
Was he into Nancy now?
Did he have even one functional brain cell?

No, he fucking knew. She saw his face.
He knew. He knew what he did.

Fuck this.

She gripped the wheel tighter.

She was exhausted. She could cry. It was right there, building behind her eyes.

Not now.

Later.

If she cried now, she might not stop.

Tires squealed as Kat peeled into a gas station about a mile from their house. She threw the car into the lot, white-knuckled, jaw clenched, voice colder than ice.

“Get out.”

Jonathan whipped his head toward her, but she couldn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the red brick wall of the gas station. One look, and she’d lose it on him. This was the only way. Somehow that voice grew colder, slower.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Jonathan stared at her for a beat, then unbuckled slowly. He opened the car door, dropped one foot on the asphalt, then another. Kat’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. That onyx ring dug into her finger, her only lifeline between fury and full on murder. He stared into the side of her head, throwing his book bag over his shoulder. He finally climbed out, slowly closing the door behind him. Anger, hurt, and disbelief rolled off him in waves. She’d never treated him like this before, and right now she didn’t give a shit about his feelings.

The second he stepped away from the car, Kat threw it in reverse and slammed the pedal with another screech of the tires. Just before turning on Cornwallis, she pumped the brakes and frantically grabbed at the interior pocket of her book bag, fingers closing on a small plastic baggie.

Yes, yes, yes.

Empty. 

Kat dropped her head on the steering wheel as her blood thrummed, whooshing in her ear with every pulse. That heavy, pulling sensation twisted its way through her stomach grasping, yanking, trying to drag her under. That familiar lump in her throat followed. She wanted to swallow it down, but instead red red-hot anger shot into her cheeks.

“FUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Relief.

Darkness.

Brief, but so sweet.

Oblivion. For five fucking minutes. That’s all I want. Is it so much to ask?

Kat’s eyes shot open as an idea struck, and she frantically reached into the book bag again. 

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down. 

She pulled out the wrapped gift Eddie left in her locker, fingers caressing the phrase that suddenly made sense.

                                  Take a fucking breather, Kat!
                             
She tore open the butcher paper, revealing a beat-up hardback copy of The Hobbit.

He knew. He fucking knew.

She flipped to page 69 and there it was–a small hallowed crevice just big enough for a handful of joints. She could kiss him right now. 

Opening the glove box, she rummaged around the console, then dug through her purse. Of course, the lighter was gone.

Kat reversed the vehicle again, tires screeching, and pulled into the same parking spot. She flung open the driver’s side door and marched around the car where Jonathan stood, having watched the entire ordeal without uttering a damn word. She glared at him so hard it was a miracle he didn’t burst into flames. He nearly flinched. Without pause, she reached for his book bag, opened the outside zipper, and grabbed a Zippo she knew would be there. She glared at Jonathan before stomping back to the car, his blank puppy-dog stare enraging her more. 

Once inside, she lit the joint and turned on the radio, blaring “Crazy on You” by Heart. She hoped Jonathan felt every drumbeat thudding in his chest. Tires squealed once again as she peeled out of the parking lot and onto Cornwallis.

The music was way too fucking loud.
And that’s exactly how she needed it. 

With every puff, Kat’s brain mellowed. The tornado dissipated, leaving a comfortable numb stillness in its wake. She drifted.

                A torn photograph rolling across the parking lot like a leaf.

                Twirling.
                Floating.
                Weightless.

                A leaf seized in an updraft like a lost balloon.

                Winding.
                Spiraling.
                Dizzy.

            A balloon dying at the edge of the Abyss like a ghost.

                Fading. 
                Slipping.
                Gone.
 
          A ghost in backwards transcendence, an ember rising from the ashes.

Kat exhaled. Eddie got her the good shit. The real good shit. The darkness couldn’t reach her here. Like being under the Aura of a Paladin. But Eddie wasn’t a Paladin, he was a goddamn Bard.

She giggled.

He needed a Bard hat. With a feather. A yellow one.
And a green hat. Green like the midsummer grass. Not this ugly mid-November brown.

Blegh.

The trees were brown. Seventies Brown. The Energy Lab Brown.

Wait. What?

Kat did a double take, heart lurching. How the hell did she end up here? She meant to go to the complete other side of town.

Another giggle.

Oops.

Shit. They have, like, security guards.

Oh shit. Shit.

She snapped upright, spine locked. Eyes forward.

One hand ten.
One hand two.

No.
Wait.
Too Uptight.

Wrist at noon.
Perfectly casual.

No, sir, I haven’t been smoking.

A giggle.

Okay. Here it is.
Driving by the gate to the lab.

Act. Natural.

Smile.

Smiiiiiile.

You did it.
Whew.

Oh Shit.

She looked down. The joint was still in her goddamn hand.

Wrist at noon.
Joint at noon.
High noon.
Perfectly casual.

Except she was holding proof she was high as balls.

Balls.

Another giggle.

Kat drove another ten minutes, soaking in the last rays of the Hawkin’s sun through the windshield. When was the last time she felt warm?

She pulled into the short driveway that led to the Floyds’ cattle yard. Across the brown field with brown cattle and brown trees blazed a gorgeous, orange sunset. God, was it beautiful. She hoped wherever Will was that he could see it. Feel it. She hoped wherever Will was, it wasn’t brown. Stupid ugly brown. Like Steve Harrington's hair.

Kat savored the sunset, soaking up every last drop of light and basking in every ember of warmth, long after the light was gone. Phil Collins bringing her home.

Eddie would give her so much shit for that.

Darkness loomed. The edges of her vision blurred like a picture just out of focus. Smears on the corner of her reality.

Sunlight traded for moonlight, and a lone cow wandered up to the fence line. Not a brown cow, but a milk cow–at least that’s what Will always called them. A gorgeous black and white creature, staring through the windshield. Through her.

At some point, she left the car. Her hand reached for the cow, across the tall grass and the rusted barbed wire. The cow sniffed once, then dropped its head for more grass. She grazed its head lightly, the rough hide beneath a comfort.

Easy. Simple. Warm.

The radio fell to static and back again, Joy Division weaving in and out. In the field, the cows huddled together, staring in the same direction. They lurched back in time together, reacting to something Kat couldn’t see. A distant chittering rang through the darkness–a noise Kat couldn’t place. The Milk cow looked up, shaking away from Kat’s hand to observe the herd. After a long moment, it let out a chilling “mooooooo.”

A warning.

Movement, just on the other side of the cows. Next to the lone oak tree.

Is that a person? Walking?
No. It’s…too slow. Too…gliding.
And tall. It towered over the cows!

Her pulse rose, palms clammy.  Something tingled, like tiny spiders on the back of her neck.

This thing couldn’t be a person. It moved wrong.

The cows panicked, moving and mooing together, seeking protection in the herd. Their startled cries sent a chill into the marrow of her bones. Something wasn’t right. This was more than the residue of a paranoia high. Her gut, that sturdy intuition that rebelled against injustice and fear, screamed one word inside her head.

Run!

She raced for her car, slamming the lock on the door as she closed it. One lone voice amidst the terrified herd screamed out in pain…then silence.

Moonlight pooled on the dashboard, occasionally drowned out by an orange streetlight. The heat blasted from the dash, but Kat shivered. Whatever happened in that pasture…it stuck with her, scratching the edges of her mind like a dissonant chord. The eerie chittering, the wrong way of walking, the silence. Kat cranked the radio knob to max, drowning the thoughts. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She didn’t even try. The Church thundered through the car, too loud, but enough to slow the tailspin and soften the edges.

Neon lights of the gas station slid through the car as she passed.

I was probably too hard on him…
….Wait. No. He deserved it.

Rage bubbled into her chest, but died quickly, stunted by The Good Stuff and sheer exhaustion. How many days has Will been missing now? And she’d slept only a few hours…the weight on her shoulders crushing and impossible to carry. There was nothing she could do. No action she could take. The idleness chipped at her brain, the cracks letting little streams of water in.

Turning off Cornwallis, Kat hit the dirt road to home. Only a mile to go, and she couldn’t figure out if that was too many or not enough. Maybe it was both.

A dark figure ahead moved from the middle of the road to the side, slowing to a halt the closer she got. That lump formed in her throat again, wondering if this is what happened to Will. The car stalled, pulling even with the man.

Jonathan?

Their gazes caught through the passenger side window, a thousand unspoken words bouncing between them. Kat reached across the seat and pulled the handle, pushing the door open. She didn’t wait for him to speak before leaning back in the driver's seat and placing her hands on the wheel.

Ten and Two.

She almost giggled. Almost. But that urge died, too. The door hung open as Under the Milky Way spilled out into the night. The trees leaned in, listening to the smooth chords Peter Koppes hung in the air, as if holding a breath. Despite the cold, the air felt sticky–heavy. That familiar sense of dread coiled in Kat’s stomach, and she knew trouble lay thick on the horizon. Or maybe Fate. All of this felt too messy to be designed…and yet, somehow, impossibly, it was. Threads bobbing, weaving, tangling like puppets on invisible strings.

Jonathan tossed his bag onto the floorboard, ripping Kat from her thoughts. He shut the door softly as the trees exhaled in relief. Some shit needed to go down here, but not now. She needed Jonathan, maybe more than she ever had, and somehow they knew.

The last notes of The Church filled the silence, closing the divide between them. Neither spoke a word, leaning into the somber, eerie tones until Kat pulled into the driveway. Her heart leapt into her throat, and goosebumps coursed across her skin. Every single cop car, Chief’s included, sat in their driveway, lights spiraling like a beacon home.

Chapter Text

Oh, oh, oh, oh
-   Led Zeppelin, “Dazed and Confused”


Kat shoved the car into park and ripped the keys from the ignition. Panic clawed up her throat, pulse thrumming in her ears. Her vision narrowed, the world slipping into slow motion. She jumped as Jonathan’s hand squeezed her arm, anchoring her to the moment. They both needed a second to stay in the before, the unknowing. That moment before Fate revealed whatever waited behind that front door and broke everything.

A moment of clarity. A crisp breeze. Flapping wings before the guillotine.

Kat met Jonathan’s eyes. Brown. Like hers. Like Will’s. Swimming in the same terror…

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

She broke their gaze in the hit of a cymbal crash, slamming the car door and launching into motion. Blue and red lights cast eerie shadows around them, illuminating the home she’d known her entire life in an otherworldly haze. Even the trees felt tall, daunting. Her stomach twisted.

What if he’s dead?

Kat shook her head hard, trying to dislodge the thought. It took root, heavy and certain. As good as spoken aloud.

Jonathan stayed at her side, their steps syncing as they reached the front door. She met his eyes one last time, a silent question passing between them. Everything felt too heavy. Like a bass turned too loud rattling bone.

He offered a small nod. To reassure. To say everything he couldn't. And she clung to it, desperate for hope she didn’t feel.

Dread coiled beneath her ribs as she threw open the door. Fear wound around her bones like vines–suffocating, pulling.

A dissonant synth chord held too long. Off-key. Unbearable.

Too many eyes. Staring. Pitying.

Callahan. Powers. The Chief.

Everyone looked at them, but Kat only saw her mom and the lost look on her face.

Just like that, Kat knew.

Jonathan brushed past her, eyes focusing not on the people, but on the hundreds of Christmas lights strung across the entire house. They stretched in every direction, crisscrossing through each room. But Kat could only look at him.

For a split second, she knew the worst news in the world, and he didn’t.
She wanted to protect him from it. Let him live in this moment forever. Preserve the cool breeze, the brush of crisp air, the flutter of wings.

She wanted to let him live in the moment before everything falls.

“A trooper found something in the water at the quarry,” the Chief said, his voice breaking through the static.

It was muted, like listening to the world through Jonathan’s headphones.

“Our working theory right now is that Will crashed his bike, he made his way over to the quarry and, uh, accidentally fell in. The earth must have given way.”

A pause.

“Joyce. Joyce? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

No. No. No.

Kat's hand flew to her mouth, the onyx ring digging into her cheek.

“No,” Joyce said, voice wavering. “Whoever you found, it's not my boy. It’s not Will.”

“Joyce,” the chief whispered.

“No. You don’t understand. I talked to him a half hour ago.”

Joyce ran to the cabinet, grabbing a string of balled-up Christmas Lights.

“He was here? Talking with these.”

No. Not the lights, Mom.

The Chief’s expression narrowed, his jaw firmly set. “Talking?”

“Uh huh,” Joyce nodded. “One blink for yes, two for no.”

She dropped the lights, moving toward the wall behind the couch. With a shaking hand, she pointed at the alphabet, a Christmas light hanging above each letter.  

“And then I made this, so he could talk to me. ‘Cause he was hiding from that…that thing.”

“That thing that came out of the wall? That thing that chased you?” The Chief asked, his voice gentler now.

“Yeah.”

Kat never took her eyes off Joyce. The floor felt unsteady, weakness sliding through her limbs. Tears blurred the edges of her mother’s face, but she couldn’t look away.

Those mannerisms and that voice felt too familiar, casting a sinking sense of dread into her chest.  She’d found her mom like this once before with that wide-eyed insistence, breathless hope, and blazing Joyce Byers fire. Back when her mom still believed Lonnie’s lies, when she clung to the safety of denial.

“Mom, come on, please…” Jonathan’s voice cracked as his gaze dropped.  He reached his mother’s arms.  “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“No, maybe he’s…” Joyce trailed off.

Her eyes shifted, landing on Kat.

Kat froze.

Joyce wriggled free of Jonathan’s grasp and stepped toward her daughter. Her hands found Kat’s shoulders, gentle at first, then tightening as she pulled her closer.

Whatever this was, Joyce needed her to buy in. To believe.

“It’s after him,” Joyce said again, her own fire reaching for Kat’s pyre, desperate to set it ablaze. “He’s in danger. We have to find him!”

“What exactly was this thing? It was some kind of animal, you said?” the Chief stepped closer to her, a hand hovering near her forearms.

“Uh, no, it was almost human, but it wasn’t,” Joyce’s voice drifted in and out as if remembering. “It didn’t have a face.” 

“It didn’t have a face?” the Chief’s voice fell, uneasy.

Tears streamed down Jonathan’s face as he turned from Joyce, his shoulders hunched under the weight of it all. He met Kat’s gaze once, grief pooling between them as the loss sliced through them both.  Then he ran, vanishing to his room with a slammed door.

Kat wanted to reach for him, to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay, but she couldn’t move.

“Listen to me,” the Chief said gently, easing Joyce toward the couch.

Joyce dragged her hands from Kat’s shoulders, an ice-cold fire burning in their wake.

“Listen,” the Chief repeated, somehow softer. “After Sarah, I saw her too. And I heard her. I didn’t know what was real. And then I figured out that it was in my mind. I had to pack all that away. Otherwise, I was gonna fall down a hole that I couldn’t get out of.”

“No, you’re talking about grief. This is different,” Joyce closed her eyes, breaking for a moment before somehow finding more strength.

“I know what you’re saying, Hop. But I swear to you I know what I saw.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Joyce’s eyes moved between them, clinging to the hope someone might offer a flicker of faith..

“I need you to believe me,” she said, eyes desperate.  “Please.”

Kat stepped toward her mother, reaching for her. That look…the pain threaded through every word…she wanted to believe. The certainty buried beneath her mother’s grief wrapped around Kat’s heart like a vice. Her whole body ached.

A rubber band is stretched too tight. Too thin. About to snap.

“I think you should go to the morgue tomorrow and see him for yourself,” the Chief said, firm but steady.

Kat halted, her hands barely grazing her mother’s. The word banged through her chest, the aftershock rattling her bones.

Morgue.

Because her brother was dead.

Morgue.

Because Will was gone.

Morgue

Because she would never see him again.

The rubber band finally snapped.

Days of emotional turmoil, of grief, of fear, of anger and rage. Of squashed hope.

A coffin nailed shut.

Her baby brother…

Will the Wise, the 12th-level Cleric, no-those-are-milk-cows was gone.

Kat spun on her heels and bolted through the door. 

She’d taken too many hits.

Her body screamed to keep fighting, to burn it all down, but her mind knew better.
No saving throw could stop this. This wasn’t a battle she could win. It was time to disengage.

So she fled.

He can’t be dead.

Her Bug.

The one person in her life she swore she’d never fail.

Slamming the door, Kat’s entire world narrowed to the car. Everything except that goddamn Ford faded away in a blurry darkness. The police cars, those red and blue lights, the sound of the gravel under her feet, even the half-sob escaping from her body dimmed into static. She dropped into the car. The keys shook in her hand as she jabbed them into the ignition, the engine sputtering to life.

Her body moved on pure instinct. No thinking, no second-guessing. It knew exactly what she needed to weather the storm. She yanked open the console, grabbed a mixtape written in handwriting she knew by heart. With trembling hands, it took four tries to jam the damn cassette into the tape deck. She hit play and cranked the volume to the highest setting as if raw noise could drown everything screaming inside her.


Will, Joyce, the morgue, the lights…

Throwing the car into reverse, she peeled out of the driveway. Motorhead’s “Overkill” pounded through her chest, the double drum beat thrumming in her skull. Kat’s mind jumped into the frenzy, her left leg bouncing with every pulse. Jaw clenched, white-knuckled at ten and two, she sped like a bat out of hell.

The levee threatened to crack as Kat fought every spiral, every intrusive thought, every ounce of grief. Thrusting a hand into her bag, she grabbed that damn book Eddie gave her and fumbled around the pages until her fingers felt that small hollowed out groove. She shoved one of the joints between her lips and clawed through the console for the lighter she stole from Jonathan. The longer it took, the more her vision blurred. Until the levee broke.

Her fingers closed around the zippo with the yellow smiley face and gripped it like a lifeline. She flipped the top, smashed the igniter, and brought it to her lips as she kept one eye on the road. 

Sparks.

She smashed it again.

More sparks.

Again.

Still just sparks. 

A barbaric howl tore from her chest like a war cry. She hurled the lighter across the car, hitting the top of the passenger dash. The lighter bounced into the windshield, chipping out a sliver of glass. She flung the joint after it, furiously scrubbing her face like she could erase every tear.

As “Overkill” faded into “Battery”, Kat screeched from Cornwallis to Kerley, punching the gas and leaving a trail of dust in her wake. Trailer after trailer whizzed by, her eyes searching for the key to her salvation. Her gaze locked onto his van and a sob broke loose. Tires peeled as she swerved into the driveway, skidding on the dirt road. The second the car stopped, she flung the door open and hit the ground running.  The gravel crunched under her combat boots, and she nearly slipped as she pushed off the door of the car and sprinted to the trailer.  She pounded up the steps, stopping just in front of the door.

No thoughts.

Kat pounded on the door, fighting for control of herself.

“Alright, just hold your goddamn horses!”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

She bit her tongue, using the pain to distract and ground. The door flew open and she froze, staring into those two brown eyes. Eddie’s eyes.

The good brown.

She couldn’t look away. His eyes weren’t a comfort, but a void. Somewhere to fall and forget. A softness flickered there. Concern maybe? Hope? Whatever it was, she couldn’t afford it. Not tonight.

The promise of relief and a place to hide from the grief sparked through her like a live wire. The intoxicating pull of going comfortably numb became irresistible.  Eddie raised an eyebrow, missing the full picture. He locked in on her body language. The electricity, the heaviness in her breath, the look in her eyes, but still failed the insight check.  Yet, Kat felt how close he was to rooting out the truth. He always just knew.

Kat’s Compendium of Bullshit.
There was a reason he was the author. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed him.

Now or never.

Kat launched through the metal door and into Eddie Munson’s arms. She crashed her mouth into his, frantic and starving for oblivion. His lips met hers, but something in him stalled, just for a breath. Her fingers dug deeper, yanking him closer in a silent demand she knew he’d fold to. He leaned into her touch, giving in. His arms folded around her, one gripping her waist, the other knotting in her hair like he was afraid she’d disappear. The touch sent her spiraling. The scent of smoke, weed, and leather smothered her in exactly the right way, and she let it pull her under.

One moment, they were on the threshold, the next Kat’s back slammed against the inside of the door. Eddie cradled her head, protecting her from the impact, but that jolt reverberated through the rest of her body in a delicious pulse.  Both hands knotted the fabric of his Dio shirt in tight fists as she tugged him closer. Her mouth opened, inviting him in. The more she gave herself to this, the longer she could hold the grief at bay.

No pause.

No stalling.

He seized the opening, tongues sliding, claiming. His cold rings skimmed across her skin, each touch sparking against the ache in her chest. She clung to it. Something to ground her, to hold on to.  He kissed down her jaw and into the curve of her neck, breath hitching like he needed to pause. Like he wanted to memorize every second. Heat flushed through her, flooding every nerve and burning out every thought except the need to stay here. Kat let the rest of the world fade into static.

She slipped her hand under his shirt, nails digging into the skin of his back, leaving half-moons in their wake. She wanted to feel something bite back.  Eddie exhaled, shaky and soft. The sound slithered down her spine like smoke, thick and intoxicating.

It was dizzying.

Slow.

Like spinning.

Falling. 

Jimmy Page’s riff in “Dazed and Confused” spiraling her into a haze of chaos until the frantic beat swallowed her whole.

With every brush of skin, the grief blurred.

Not enough.

She needed to vanish completely.

In a frenzy of clumsy hands and frantic pulls, Kat tore the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Her fingers tangled in his hair, raked down his back, her lips trailing desperate kisses under his jaw. Each soft touch of her lips tamped the grief down like dirt on a grave. He gripped her thighs and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him, fusing herself to anything but reality.   She shrugged off the green army jacket in two jagged moves, shedding her protective armor that had taken too many hits.

More.

She yanked the Zeppelin tee over her head and let it fall. Her nails dug into his back again as Eddie pressed kisses from the base of her neck to the front of her chest, stopping at the top of her bra. He dragged his gaze to hers, their brown eyes gluing together. The emotion in Eddie’s glare, those goddamn eyes that always saw more than she wanted to show. He saw the grief. He felt it.

No.

No thoughts.

Kat smashed their lips together again, her hands gripping, pulling him in.  She needed the frenzy, she needed to spin, she needed to drown.

Eddie pulled back, his lips parting to speak, but her mouth was already on his again, sealing off the question before it could ever cross his lips.

He melted into the kiss again, Kat taking a mile for every inch he relented. Her lips grazed his neck again, her hands drifting down from his chest and onto the cold metal belt buckle. In one smooth motion, she unhooked the buckle and reached for the zipper.  Eddie’s skin quivered with her touch. She kissed him again, submerging.

Eddie's eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tightening as something in him cracked. He deepened the kiss, as if he needed one last taste. She felt his body shift, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. He dipped his head back, breaking the kiss slowly, like it hurt to stop.

“Kat..” his voice barely more than a breath.

No. 

She chased his lips again, but he pulled back and met her gaze.

“Kat,” he said, placing her gently back on her feet. His hand cupped her cheek with unbearable tenderness. “What is this?”

Deafening static roared in her ears.

She shook her head hard, like she could outpace it. Her breath stuttered, ragged and fractured. Tears broke loose, uncontrollable.

Still, she thrashed for the surface, kicking against the undertow of grief.

He couldn’t see her like this.
She wouldn’t let him.
She had to hold it together.

Kat fought against the pull with every ounce of her being. Kicking, until the air caressed her face. She wouldn’t succumb to grief. She wouldn’t let it drag her under.

He was dead. Will was dead. Her baby brother was dead.

She failed him. She broke her promise. She couldn’t reroll.

Kat clawed her way to the surface, arms on fire, legs trembling with the weight of her sorrow. It was too much. 

She latched to Eddie’s shoulder, the last buoy before the deep took her. But it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t break the undertow.  Her legs buckled, and Eddie caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her slowly. He wrapped his arms around her like a shield, like he could give her advantage on the saving throw.

Where there had once been cracks, now there were gaping gashes, splintered and raw. Water poured in from every direction. Tears gushed, unyielding. She buried her face in Eddie’s shoulder, forehead pressed hard into his skin. The crushing weight in her chest won.

“H-h-he’s dead .”

It’s all she could say. And he understood.

Kat didn’t want to swim any longer.

She didn’t want to tread.

She wanted to drown.

So, she let go and sank.

Something between a scream and a sob ripped from her throat–jagged, raw. Eddie tangled a trembling hand in her hair, pulling her closer and gently rocking. He buried his cheek against her head, his tears dropping onto her shoulder. Eddie didn’t try to pull her back to the surface. He held her tighter, sinking with her into the dark.

Chapter Text

From out the cruel and treacherous night
Something wicked this way comes
To steal away my brother’s life
Something wicked this way comes
I can never say goodbye
– The Cure, “I Can Never Say Goodbye”

A goblin stampede trampled through her skull, then doubled back for her spine just to finish the job. Her head throbbed, pulsing through her puffy eyes and landing somewhere behind her jaw. God, her legs. It felt like she ran a marathon in her dreams, and someone forgot to tell them it wasn’t real.

I’ve had hangovers that weren’t as bad as this.  

Her fingers found the bridge of her nose, rubbing like she could scrub fog from behind her eyes.

Where am I?

The edge of a nightstand blurred into view, cassettes littering the surface: Metallica, Iron Maiden, Dio, Accept. Next to those sat a double-sided ashtray with guitar picks on one side and a couple of joints in the other. Her heart stuttered, a tightness coiling in her chest. Throw in a d20 and it’d be Eddie’s whole brain cracked open on a table.

She smiled, but it barely had time to register before her stomach tried to crawl up her throat.

The night came back in flashes. He’d held her while she sobbed, fingers tangled in her hair like he could somehow keep her together. If he couldn’t give her advantage on the saving throw, then he would simply follow her into the dark. No words. No thoughts. Just existing in the depths with her so she wouldn’t be alone. A tight, warm feeling fluttered through her chest, but chilled to ice as she remembered everything else .

The images tumbled out like a dice on a tabletop: ripping off his shirt, slamming into that metal door, her mouth on his.  God. They’d made out before. Drunk, high, laughing too loud. But last night? That had heat. Intention.  He’d been into it. So much that he almost didn’t stop her in time. She had her fingers on his stomach, thumb on that belt buckle– fuck.

Her eyes flicked to his hand, resting lightly on her stomach,  then to the shirt underneath it. Hellfire club? He must have thrown it on her at some point because she’d definitely been half-naked.

That’s it. I’m launching myself into the sun.

Her best friend. Of course it had to be him. The boy who always followed her into the dark, only to drag her out of it again. He looked so peaceful for once in his goddamn life, and part of Kat wanted to memorize the glory of a quiet, non-chaotic Eddie Munson.

But things were different now.
She’d messed everything up.

Kat wanted the noise, not the meaning.
But Eddie, goddamn him, wanted the meaning.

She shimmied gently from under his arm, contorting like a pretzel until her feet kissed the carpet. Tossing a quick prayer to Pelor for advantage on stealth checks, Kat channeled her level-thirteen rogue from the most recent D&D campaign and skulked around the room. High stakes marked each step as she dodged the clutter and chaos. Every item was a damn landmine as she tiptoed around clothes, magazines, and D&D shit scattered like booby traps.

Shoes, pants, and bag all secured.
Success.

One hand on the doorknob, she pulled it gently and threw a glance back at Eddie. He hadn’t moved, one hand resting right where she’d been.  She finally forced herself to look away, but something bright and pink caught her eyes.

God. Dammit.  

There it was. Her keys and that stupid little troll keychain Will gave her for Christmas, sitting there like it hadn’t just ruined her entire exit strategy. He’d painted it to make it look like her old D&D character, Glory the Barbarian. She had a black warpaint line across her face.  Usually, it was intimidating, but today Glory was laughing it up.

Fuuuuuuck.

Sighing, she turned back and replayed the entire scene in reverse, beginning with another silent prayer to Pelor. She slinked across the landmines and nearly wiped out an old Rolling Stone with David Bowie on the cover.

Jesus, Eddie.

The mess was chaotic, wild, and full of weird shit. Just like him. She snatched her keys off the nightstand and made the mistake of looking at him again.  He’d rolled over into the space she left, hair across his face and arm resting on her pillow. Something warm curled in her chest, but something colder coiled around and dragged it down. Resonance and mortification. Two sides of the same coin, and it was spinning in mid-air. That’s how it always was with her–anyone’s fucking guess.

She tore her gaze away and marched for the door. This time, she didn’t turn back.

The front door closed with the kind of experience gained from years of sneaking in past curfew. She leaned against the door, sighing as the cool metal pressed into the back of her head. Didn’t fix the headache, but it did mock her for what happened on the other side of it. 

At least there were no conversations. No awkwardness or fumbling words. Just a Pelor-blessed perfect escape.

But those images fluttered back in as her body remembered what her mind desperately wanted to forget.

Her nails in his back, breath against her neck, tongue on her throat…all on the other side of this door.

Kat’s stomach flipped violently enough to make her move.

She launched herself off the door, making it to the bushes just in time to water them with whatever the fuck was left in her stomach. She didn’t even remember the last time she ate.

She groaned and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of Eddie’s Hellfire shirt. God, she definitely had to wash this before giving it back. 

But then I have to see him again.

Fuck.

Kat turned, keys digging into her palm as she stalked to the Ford. A strange sensation crawled down her spine, prickling the hairs on her neck. She didn’t need to turn around to know she was being watched, but she did anyway. The gravel shifted beneath her feet as she slowly turned toward Eddie’s trailer. She froze as her eyes locked with Wayne fucking Munson, Eddie’s uncle. Who worked nights. And probably just got home from his shift. Sitting on the opposite end of the porch, a goddamn audience member to her entire breakdown. 

Forget the sun. It's too close. I want to launch straight into the nearest black hole and implode.

Wayne watched her, a flat expression on his face. The silence lingered far too long. Awkward. Torture.

“Mornin’ Kat,” Wayne finally said, lifting his coffee cup to her.

She knew damn well there wasn’t coffee in that mug.

“Sleep well?”

For fuck’s sake. 

“Y-yes. Mr. Munson,” she hesitated, remembering the multiple times he had asked her to be less formal. “Uh, Mr. Wayne. I mean Wayne.”

He smirked. She wanted to die. Like, actually die. Sable would have never failed this perception check. She would have startled him, dagger in one hand, peeled apple in the other.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go now,” she pointed to her car. “Have a nice day, Mis-Wayne.”

Her brain screamed warp fucking speed, but her body was stuck in snail-miles-per-hour. Gravel slipped beneath her boots, and she nearly ate shit, but somehow by the Grace of Pelor or pure spite, she stuck the landing. Kat dove into the Ford, slammed the door, and peeled out with enough dust to cover the entire Munson porch in shame.

The further she drove, the quieter it got. The noise in her head, the bile in her throat, the shame parade with Wayne Munson in the grand marshal float–it all thinned.

Time lost meaning somewhere between Eddie’s trailer and the morgue.  Kat didn’t remember the drive, just the cold coil of dread gnawing at her chest. From the moment she stepped into that place, it felt nine shades of wrong.

First, it was the lights.
The fluorescent hum pulsed through her brain like a drill, vibrating down her spine and setting every nerve on edge.

Then came the smell.
Bleach. Too much. But something else lurked just underneath.  Something too clean, desperate to scrub away the scent of death.

And it was way too fucking cold.
Not like the cold snap that hits Hawkins every January, but something unnatural that settled into bone.

She yanked the green army jacket tighter around her chest and shivered.

Forget the South Pole and icebergs.
She could dump Lonnie’s sorry ass here, and he’d freeze to death in five minutes. 

Throat tightening, stomach whirling, Kat somehow found the strength to follow her mother down the long hallway and into the morgue. She could feel Jonathan’s eyes looking everywhere but her…she couldn’t look at him either.

Honestly, she didn’t even feel real.
Her hands didn’t feel like her own.
Those black combat boots might as well have been on another person’s feet.

The fluorescent drone lit up her skull like static, and everything around her played out like it was on a fuzzy tv screen.

“Please wait here behind this glass, Mrs. Byers,” the coroner instructed.

Joyce nodded, and Kat fell into place on one side, Jonathan on the other. What remained of the Byers family stared through their own reflection in the too-clear glass, waiting to identify Will.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she slid her fingers through her mother’s and ignored the sting behind her eyes. With her other hand, she pressed a thumb to her index finger, expecting the cool metal sensation of the onyx ring digging into her skin.

But it never came.

She glanced down and noticed a faint white line where the ring usually sat. She must have lost it last night. At Eddie’s.

Movement through the glass pulled her gaze as the coroner opened the square metal door where Will now lay to rest. The edges of reality blurred as the metallic rollers echoed down the hall.  A sharp clang rang out as the wheels reached the end of the track, and Kat jumped.

Her vision tunneled to the morgue tray, to the white sheet hiding something her mind refused to accept.  Her breath caught in her throat. The sheet somehow made him look so tiny, so much smaller than she remembered. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and her knees nearly buckled. Her mom squeezed her hand, grounding Kat back to the moment. She had to be strong. She had to be there for her mother. She’d just lost her youngest child, her baby, her Will.

The coroner pulled back the sheet, and Kat’s entire world cracked apart. The buzz of the lights filled her skull until she couldn’t tell where they ended and she began. She wasn’t in her body anymore. Kat simply existed as a bystander, watching it all from far away.  And that wasn’t Will. That was someone else’s brother. Someone else’s son.

Too pale, so pale he was blue. Huge dark bags under his eyes. Like that Halloween when he dressed as a vampire–except worse. Way worse. This wasn’t makeup. This was…lifeless.  He looked like he was sleeping. Peaceful, almost. Except the rise and fall of his chest never came.  The one she memorized from all the nights she checked on him. Those nights when Joyce worked late. When she swore she’d do whatever it took to protect him from all the bullshit she'd endured.

Kat pressed her fingers into the sill of the glass pane, a half-inch wide piece of plaster somehow keeping her from crumbling. Somewhere behind her, Jonathan retched. Then came the sound of his footsteps pounding down the hallway.

Out.

She wanted out, but she couldn’t move. 

Her stomach lurched, throat filling with a feathery sensation.

“He has a birthmark on his right arm? Can you show that to me, please?”

Her mother’s voice sounded distant, like she was speaking to her from another time. It was calm, firm, together. She didn’t sound like Kat felt, like she was falling apart. 

Kat tore her gaze away from Will– dead Will–and looked at her mother. Tense forehead. Jaw locked. Eyes sharp and unblinking. That look. The one Kat only witnessed a handful of times. When Joyce hit a crossword wall in the Hawkins Post . When the Jeopardy answer hovered just out of reach. Or when she picked apart Lonnie’s lies about where he’d been last night.

And now, that same fire flickered in her eyes again.
The look Joyce wore when she was ready to fight for someone she loved.

Joyce asked for several identifying marks and scars before Kat’s brain caught up.

Suddenly, her mother yanked her hand away and stormed down the hall.

The coroner followed, clipboard and calling after her.

Kat didn’t move at first. Her brain rebooted, limbs lagging. As soon as the feeling returned to her feet, she bolted.

“I don’t know what in the hell that is, but it's not my son! That is not my boy!” Joyce shouted.

Her eyes locked with the Chief’s. Then Jonathan’s.

What in the actual fuck was happening?

Joyce stormed through the entryway and out into the parking lot, both kids chasing after her.

“Mom! Wait!” Jonathan pleaded, wrestling into his jacket as he ran after her. 

Joyce hustled down the sidewalk at full speed. Jonathan didn’t look at Kat. He just dove into the car and tore after their mother.

Kat laced her hands on top of her head, as if it would calm the flurry of thoughts whirling inside. 

Why was her mother arguing with the coroner?

Why was she storming off?

None of this made sense.

That body looked like Will, but her mom didn’t accept it.

And Kat, God help her, believed.

That wasn’t the grief of someone in denial.

That was the fire-eyed certainty of a woman who knew her son was still out there.
And whatever was on that slab?
It wasn’t Will.

The Chief stood behind her, silent, watching as Jonathan bailed out of the car at a stop sign and took off after their mom on foot.

Great.
As if they weren’t already the talk of the town.

Not that she gave a shit.

But still.
She didn’t want things to be harder on them than they already were.

And this?
This was worse.

“They always like this?” the Chief asked, sliding a cigarette between his lips.

Kat sighed, hands still laced on her head. 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Figured as much,” the Chief said.

He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowing like he could see through all the noise inside her head.

“Here.”

She turned just as he held out a cigarette.

Kat didn’t ask questions. She knew an olive branch when she saw one. She took it, stuck it between her lips, and waited as he flicked the lighter. 

For a long time they stood there, shoulder to shoulder on the coroner’s steps, letting the smoke seep through their chest while watching the Byers Family Spectacle on Main Street.

Fifteen minutes later, the Chief disappeared back inside the coroner’s office, and Jonathan circled to pick her up.

Kat dropped into the passenger seat, head falling back against the headrest. She’d never been this tired in her life. Not even at Nancy’s eleventh birthday party when Ally, Barb, Nancy, and Kat pulled an all-nighter on pure sugar and pre-teen gossip. None of them slept until they’d all gone home the next day.

This was different.  Heavy lids, burning eyes, and a headache brewing in her temples–she needed rest. And probably some water. Maybe food. Definitely food.

Pressing her thumbs against the bridge of her nose, Kat massaged as hard as she could. Excruciating, but helpful. Her vision gained a little clarity.

Time for episode eighty-seven of whatever the fuck soap opera her life turned in to.

More drama than fucking Dallas.

Dark bags hallowed Jonathan’s face, creating wrinkles around his eyes. He looked exactly how she felt. All of this was too fucking much. She didn’t want to deal with any of it.

Couldn’t a girl just smoke way too much and sleep for five years?

“Spit it out, Kat,” Jonathan said, eyes fixed on the road. “You’re staring at me. I know what that means.”

Kat imagined beating her head on the dash. The first few hits would be hurt, maybe a bloody nose if she angled just right, but the rest of them would be nice and soothing until she blacked out.
She raked a hand across the dash, seriously considering it.

“You’re gripping the steering wheel like it took your lunch money,” she said flatly.

God, she did not want to have this conversation.

“And you’re pissed at Mom,” she added. “You’ve got to give her a break.”

There it was. The thing that needed to be said, but would definitely start a fight. Exhaustion weighed down her chest, pulling on her arms. Everything ached. Running on empty would be a blessing compared to this. There was nothing left in the tank but dust and regret.

“Oh, come on, Kat. You can’t possibly believe this?”

He turned to look at her, flicking his gaze from her to the road.

“She’s shutting down! She’s refusing to believe Will’s d-dead, you saw the lights, you saw how she’s been acting, she’s fucking lost it!”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes sparked with that same fury that burned in their mom.

Something clanged through Kat’s chest, breaking for her brother.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, like when they were little and she could still solve all his problems.

She didn’t respond right away, letting the silence linger.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Measured.

“You didn’t see her, Jonathan. That stubbornness, that fire, the wheels were turning. Mom is trying to figure something out. I thought it was denial at first…like when Lonnie started his bullshit. But it's not. It's different. Whatever she thinks is going on, she believes it.”

“She’s delusional, Kat,” he said, voice quiet.

She would have preferred if he yelled. She hated his quiet, collected anger. It twisted behind his eyes and pressed down on his ribs like it had weight. Jonathan didn’t do explosions, that was her thing. He simmered. But for once, she was scared he might boil over.

“And while she’s falling apart, it's us holding shit together, as-per-fucking-usual.”
 

She sighed. He wasn’t wrong.
A sharp pain stretched across her forehead and into the back of her neck. Probably a tension headache. 

The dash started to look really enticing again.

“I know it looks like that, Jonathan. I know it does. Trust me,” she said soft but firm. “But I don’t think she’s shut down. I think she feels like she’s fighting for Will’s life.”

But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

A rock had settled in her stomach since the night Will went missing.

That it never left.

It wasn’t something she could shake. Or explain.

Just a gut instinct.

The same one that told her to defend Jonathan against those fucking mouth-breathers Tommy H. and Steve.
But this was deeper. Like it lived in her bones.

The same instinct she trusted when she raged–when the fire burned so bright it nearly consumed her.

She felt his eyes boring into the side of her head, the guilt bubbling up in her throat before she even met his gaze.

“Kat, no,” Jonathan said, ripping a hand off the wheel and grabbing hers. “You c-can’t.”

His voice broke, taking every ounce of Will Kat had left. The rawness in it cracked her wide open, flooring her chest with pressure she couldn’t hold back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning his eyes back to the road. “I am. But I need you. I can’t lose you to this madness, too.”

She gripped his hand in hers, squeezing so tightly she didn’t know whose bones would crack first. There was so much she wanted to say. She wouldn’t leave him to do this alone. She wouldn’t break. She had his back, always. No matter the stupid shit he’d done. They were blood. And with Will….gone….they needed each other more than ever.

But words wouldn’t come.

Only tears.
Only Jonathan grounding her.
Keeping her inside the boat.

“We’ll get through this,” Jonathan said, his voice shaky but sure. “For Will.” 

Chapter Text

Aint nothin’ gonna alter the course of my destination
I know I’ve got to find some serious piece of mind
Or I know I’ll just go crazy
But now I spend all my time lookin’ all around
For a man that’s nowhere to be found
…’Cause I’m a wrathchild
– Iron Maiden, “Wrathchild”

The Cure's "All Cats are Grey" pulsed low and steady as Kat pressed her forehead to the steering wheel and let the hypnotic beat lull her. Jonathan loved this song, and boy, did she get it. Something about those drums...God, she could sleep right here in this car.  She didn’t have the strength to get out, much less walk fifty feet to the front door of The Taco Shack. Not after spending the entire day planning Will's funeral.

She took a divide and conquer approach with Jonathan, and somehow they got it done. If one person told her, "Excellent choice," she might scream.   Kat considered becoming one with the steering wheel, just meshing herself into it, all Christine-like. She wouldn’t murder people so much as just haunt them lovingly. She’d always change the radio to a Madonna song when Jonathan was driving. Or Kenny Rogers. She would definitely hold the brakes while he pushed the gas. Classic sibling shit.

But instead, she would pull her ass out of the car, grab her mom’s favorite fast food, and hope to Pelor she'd eat something. Usually, this worked. Despite how down her mom might be with work bullshit or Lonnie bullshit, the Taco Shack tacos were fucking magic. The Byers brand of a greater restoration spell. These tacos got rid of curses, shitty boyfriends, and even a month of unpaid bills once. Her mom always rolled her eyes when Kat called them enchanted, but she knew Taco Magic when she saw it. The smile always came right after she called Kat's theory ridiculous...then added extra cheese in a little ritual to make sure the shitty boyfriend stayed gone.

The scent hit her before she opened the door–ground beef, green onions, and that fucking to-die-for cheese sauce. A rumble shook through her stomach and her mouth actually watered. She still hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Who the hell knew. She’d been running on coffee and sheer spite.  Another growl rumbled from her stomach in protest. t.

Alright, alright. Food now. Got it.

Walking into the Shack felt like stepping into that one aunt’s house who never quite got her shit together, but somehow made everything feel like home. The kind of place where nothing matched, the radio was always too loud, and you never left hungry. It was chaos wrapped in a warm hug, held together by cracked linoleum and stubborn optimism.

The cracked vinyl booths hadn’t changed since the Carter administration. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering in that one cursed corner booth, where half the bulbs were always dead. No matter the hour, “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell was always playing. Kat swore the place sat frozen in time.

She stepped toward the counter, her boots sticking slightly with each step. Behind the counter, a teenage employee with a greasy visor slightly askew and thousand thousand-yard stare punched buttons on the register. It was Milo, a sophomore with a tragic mustache attempt and a look that said he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Welcome to the Shack, what can I get you?” he mumbled in monotone, punching keys on the register like they’d insulted his mother.

Kat leaned against the counter.

“Wow. The enthusiasm is overwhelming. Really adds to the experience.”

Milo finally looked up, his eyes widening slightly.

“Oh, hey, Byers. Almost didn’t recognize you without the signature death glare.”

Her lips spread into a tired smile. She didn’t hate that all of Hawkins High knew her for that face.

Somewhere behind them, the door chimed.

“Almost? Damn, I am off my game.”

“Yeah, well,” Milo grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You drop the glare, and suddenly I’m forgetting how to do my job. What can I get you?”

“Milo, make my day. Tell me you have Rosa’s special.”

He glanced at the kitchen, frowning.

“We only have those on Tuesdays…” he trailed off after a moment, watching Kat’s face fall. He thought for a moment, then punched in some keys. “But, we can rig the system. And there we are.”

“Milo, I could kiss you. You’re a saint.”

He blushed and lit up at the same time.

“Tell Bert to burn a couple of them for me. He’ll know.”

“I’ll tell him personally,” he said, ears turning slightly pink under that ridiculous hat.  “That’ll be seven-fifty.”

Kat pulled open her crossbody, rummaging through for the simple black wallet her mother gifted her at last Christmas. Pens, D&D notebook, pamphlets for Northwestern, Chemistry book, but no wallet.

Dammit.

She dropped the bag, letting her shoulders sag forward for a moment.

“One sec, Milo. Wallet is in the car.”

Kat turned sharply, sighing. Just another step between her and delicious, greasy magic tacos. She only made it two steps.

WHAM.

She collided with someone tall and solid, chest to chest. Her shoulder slammed into muscle, and her bag slipped, nearly yanking her off balance.

“Shit, sorry,” she muttered, stepping back and raking the hair from her eyes. “Wasn’t looking.”

“No worries.”

The reply was low and a little surprised.

And a little too familiar.

Kat’s eyes snapped up, her whole body stiffening. She did not have the energy for this. Not tonight.

There stood King Steve in all his post-basketball practice glory. Hair freshly tousled like he’d styled it with the air conditioning in his BMW. Aviators pushed up into a tangle of brown. Perfectly smug.

Why was this dude fucking everywhere all the time? Like a damn cold, she just couldn’t shake.

Her jaw clenched before she could stop it.

“Oh,” she said flatly, softness gone like smoke in the wind. “You.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the lack of Byers sass. Something flickered behind his smugness. Like maybe he’d clocked the dark circles under her eyes, or the way her normal intimidating stance drooped.

“You forget your wallet?” Steve asked with an innocent shrug.

She turned just enough to glare.

“It’s none of your business.”

He shrugged, stepping up to the counter with casual arrogance.

“I think you made it my business when you body checked me on your way out. Didn’t know you moonlighted as a linebacker, Byers.”

He rubbed his chest for full effect.

“If I’d known it was you,” she muttered, “I’d have aimed lower.”

A low chuckle slipped out before he could stop it, his shoulders relaxing just enough to betray him. For a second the smirk slipped, like the real Steve poked through minus the crown.

“There she is. Thought you’d lost your edge.”

“I will key your car with my eyeliner.”

Steve stepped past her and dropped a crisp ten on the counter like it was nothing.

Kat blinked.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

“Chill, Byers. It’s tacos, not a kidney.”

Her mouth opened to object, but Steve beat her to it.

“Too late,” he said, flashing the kind of grin that always made her want to throw something. “Call it a truce. Temporarily.”

“For walking?” she said, not even realizing she’d taken a step closer to him.

“For making it a contact sport, yeah.”

They stared each other down, and Kat could feel the heat rise in her chest, dropping like a stone into her gut.

Great. Now I’m mad and hungry.
The inner barbarian in her let out a soft roar. Glory’s party always fought major battles just before dinner time. Hangry Glory was truly a thing to behold, and she was stalking in her cage.

Milo set the bag on the counter like it was ticking, afraid it might explode if he got too close.

“Order up,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Kat stared at Steve a moment longer, trying to read his face. Something about his expression was…different. No peanut gallery. No smug high fives from Tommy H. Just Steve, standing there like he didn’t know why he’d done it either.

God, why did she want to shove those two ridiculous strands of hair from his face? How were they always perfectly in place? It infuriated her so much that her hand twitched.

She snatched the bag off the counter without looking.

“Thanks, I guess,” she said, pausing for a moment.  “Nice to see you can be a decent human being without your two little chihuahuas barking at your heels.”

Kat caught a glimpse of Steve’s mouth dropping just as she turned for the door. A smirk spread across her face.

Shock.
Now that was a look she liked on his face.

She pushed the door open, feeling the cool night air on her face.

“Kat, wait!” Milo called from the counter. “You forgot your cheese cup!”

She died. Right there on the threshold to the Taco Shack. Her soul left her body and ascended directly into the arms of Pelor.

After a moment, she turned slowly like a horror movie villain. She marched back across the tacky tile where Steve was now leaning against the counter, arms crossed looking smug as hell.

“Not a fucking word, Harrington,” she hissed, grabbing the sauce with barely contained violence.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve replied, but his smile said everything.

Kat narrowed her eyes.

“One peep and I will throw this all over your car.”

Steve laughed again, softer now, and that dumb smile followed. She hated that smile. Like her being unhinged was…

Was he entertained?

Flames licked against her spine, heat blooming across her cheeks.

“We both know you wouldn’t dare waste Rosa’s cheese sauce like that.”

Kat glared at him for too long, a comeback failing to pull through the fog of exhaustion. She exhaled in a huff and spun for the door, boots squeaking on the sticky tile. He was right, and they both knew it. She would never waste Rosa’s cheese sauce on a war crime–no matter how good his car would look covered in white gloopy queso.

She pushed into the night air, not stopping until the Taco Shack and the very stupid, very brown hair was in her rearview. The drive home was one long spiral of regret, repressed emotions, and that smug fucking smile. By the time she’d pulled into the driveway, she’d already rewritten the argument twice and imagined three different ways to key his car.

She killed the engine and snatched the bag of traitorous tacos from the passenger seat. They reeked of cheese, spice, and moral compromise. God help her if they didn’t taste as good because he paid for them. 

Her eyes fell on the book buried beneath coffin pamphlets, a stack of funeral receipts, an early application for Northwestern, and…

The Hobbit .

Her heart sank, finger shooting to the naked band where that ring should have been.

Nope. Not today’s problem.

Ripping her eyes away, she gathered the mess and headed for the front door. Gravel crunched beneath her combat boots as she nearly smacked a thigh right into an Oldsmobile with a racing stripe down the front.  The hood gleamed through a fresh layer of dust, somehow still managing to look smug.   Who the fuck did they know that drove this poser shit? God, she was out of it. Tacos. Sleep. That was it. That was the night.

Deep breath. Wake the fuck up. Put on the fake smile–she’d had it on all day anyway–and go. Anybody from town could be here checking on her mother.

“I’m back,” she announced, pushing open the door. “I brought ta-cos.”

Kat’s stomach dropped clear through her body, through the floor, through the crust of the Earth, and straight into the 7th circle of Dante’s Inferno. Red hot rage bubbled up her throat, into her head and crackled like lightning into the back of her skull.

Hell fucking no.

Sitting on the couch with his arms wrapped around her mother sat the devil himself. Lonnie goddamn-cheating-piece-of-shit Byers. Might as well add father of the year somewhere in there too. Fuck the icebergs. Fuck the South Pole. She might just end it all right here. 

“There’s my little Kit Kat!” Lonnie rose off the couch, arms outstretched.

Pure fire licked the edges of her vision, narrowing her gaze to only him. The bag crinkled as her hand tightened around it, her knuckles draining ghostly pale. Jaw clenched. Head buzzing. 

Lonnie took three steps toward her and stopped. If looks could kill, he’d be in forty-seven pieces on the floor. Fuck, maybe more. Ants would be able to take him out of here piece by piece. She knew that face was the only reason he didn’t take the rest of them.

Kat turned back toward the door, weighing her options.  She could bolt. Her hand half-turned the knob already.  But fuck she was so goddamn tired. And she needed to make sure her mother ate. And she really just wanted to lie in bed and disassociate for the rest of her life.

Fuuuuuuuuck!

The door closed with a precision click, almost silent. When she whirled around, her smile was too big, voice too high pitched.

“Oh, there’s my little asshole father! Man, I can’t believe he’s finally here… only five days after his youngest son went missing. Tacos?”

She leaned into that shit-eating grin spreading across her face. If all she had left in the tank was dust and regret, then by fucking Pelor, he was going to regret this. Across the room, Joyce slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and betraying the tiniest traitorous laugh.

It fueled Kat like gasoline on a bonfire.

“I hope you don’t mind, Dad . Kat-tastrophe strikes again. I didn’t get enough tacos,” she said, walking toward the kitchen, tone so biting, smoke wafted behind her. “That’s the thing about the prodigal parent, though, isn’t it? You never know when he’s going to return. ”

She dropped the tacos, the pamphlet, and the mess on the kitchen table with a satisfying thunk. Immediately turning to the cabinet, she grabbed a stack of plates and set them down next to the Taco Shack bag.

“I know you’ve probably come to expect your kids to do without…so you could do whatever the fuck you want,” she said, piling tacos onto a plate, still wrapped. “But frankly, Dad, I don’t give a shit.”

She ignored his gaping mouth, that stunned, useless expression. Crossing the room,  she handed the plate to her mother. Joyce’s body shook, trying not to die laughing on the spot. Kat kissed her mother's cheek softly.

“I got extra cheesy sauce. Even convinced Milo to make Rosa’s special because I know that’s your favorite,” she said softly, giving her mother’s shoulder a small squeeze.

Then, with the turn of a heel, she passed through the kitchen, snagged a taco for herself, and strolled to her room.

Tacos. Headphones. Sleeping until she was thirty.

As she shut the door, she heard Lonnie’s outburst.

“You haven’t been hard enough on her. She’s still a fucking degenerate. I can’t believe you let her talk to me like that.”

“Clearly, you don’t know your daughter that well,” Joyce said, the pride in her voice unmistakable. “If you think anyone can tell her what to do, well, I’d like to see them try.”

Kat sank into bed, popped on her headphones, and smiled.

The next morning, a smothering fog clung to the edges of the house. It was thick, heavy, choking. Bleary-eyed, Kat sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel, combing through her hair. In two hours, they would bury Will. The finality of it all… There was a casket. A burial plot. They’d ordered a goddamn headstone. Yet, none of it felt real. That stone-cold instinct in her gut slammed against her ribs, refusing to be ignored.

She pressed her thumbnail into the white line on her index finger, craving that bite. That ring was a sacred item, an anchor when the world was too much, and now it was gone.  She hadn’t even had time to consider all the places she might have lost it. She threw a quick one up to Eladath, the D&D god of peace, and hoped like hell it would turn up somewhere. Without it, she felt like an untethered ship drifting blind in the dark.

Kat slipped on a simple black dress, laced up her Converse, and brushed her hair one last time. She stared in the mirror, seeing all the little features in her face that reminded her of Will. All the Byers shared those damn brown eyes that could pierce through your soul and into another dimension–a familial superpower. She swore her mother’s eyes possessed some ability to detect lies. There were other similarities too. There was the hair, and that unbearable, infuriating softness.  Will offered it to everyone. Always the first to do something kind, to share anything he had, to make everyone feel loved and welcome. Kat was different. Only a few people ever saw that softness in her. They had to earn it, but it was there.

“Ready?” Jonathan asked, attempting to finish his tie while standing in the doorway.

Kat watched him fumble for a beat too long before stepping in.

“Almost,” she said, grabbing the tie. She pulled it off in one smooth motion and tossed it on her bed. “Better. Too formal. Will would roast you so hard for wearing that.”
“Yeah, he would.” Jonathan smiled, the sad one that never reached his eyes.

“Let’s go, kids,” Lonnie ordered gruffly, passing through the hall. “Now.”

Kat rolled her eyes at Jonathan, sticking her tongue out behind Lonnie’s back. Kat giggled, turning it into a cough when Lonnie caught her gaze.

Fuck him.

By the time they reached the cemetery for the graveside service, the morning fog burned off into a cold, sunny day. The whole town turned out, but the only three who mattered stood just across the casket from her. They’d all given her a sheepish wave, but the second Last Words were spoken, Kat bounded over to the Nerd Brigade. She squeezed them all so hard they complained about ribs and broken bones. Her heart both soared and felt completely empty, their smallness reminding her so much of Will. But something gave her pause, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She’d known these three doofeses since before Will was even in kindergarten. Hell, she’d practically helped raise the little shits. Dustin, the brilliant but emotional one, usually wore his heart on his sleeve. Lucas was their fire, their fighter. The one who held it all in until it exploded. And Mike? Mike was their DM, not necessarily their leader, but their Paladin. The voice of the party. While he often spoke for the group, she knew they followed the rule of democracy, and Mike wore that honor with pride–and incessant complaining. Every single one of them sat there with dry eyes. They were looking around. Whispering. It was almost as if they expected Will to turn up for the next campaign at Mike’s tomorrow.

Before she could subject them to a Byers-level interrogation–who ate the last piece of pizza, who forgot to put all the board game pieces up, who broke mom’s hideous wedding vase (seriously, you deserve a medal)--the crowd descended. Drowning in hugs, smothered in “I’m sorry” and “we’re here for you.”  Kat gagged, absolutely suffocating within thirty seconds.

A hand tugged hers, pulling her away from the fray.

“Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Walk forward until I tell you, then we’re running.”

Kat grinned as she looked up at Eddi, his eyes lit up with that familiar chaotic gleam. Her heart stuttered one sharp beat, then dropped as the weight of memory clawed up from the deep. Fortunately, he didn’t give her much time to wallow.

“Alright now, Byers, run! Run! The horde is relentless!”

Hand in hand, they ran through the graveyard, not stopping until their feet hit the Cornwallis sidewalk. He led her to his van, opening the door for her without a word, not speaking they were settled inside.

“I believe you are now safe from the mindless masses. The NPCs have been reset, and you are now free to walk the streets of Hawkins again.”

He smiled at her. While everything he said was pure Eddie, she could see it. The sheepishness, the tension, the tiniest part of himself that he was holding back from her.

I am such a fuck up.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eye.

He didn’t say anything, a heavy silence passing between them. An awkwardness that had never been there before. 

“Eddie, about the other nigh-”

“No, no. Uh-uh,” he interrupted. “What do you mean? I don’t even think I’ve laid eyes on you, Byers, since… last week. Sunday night? Band practice? You told us how much our cover of Wrathchild sucked. ”

Kat couldn’t help but snicker. God, leave it to Eddie fucking Munson to clock her in 3.4 seconds and sweep it all under the rug. He knew she would ghost him, so he gave her the out. He knew it would be up to him to smooth it over. It wasn’t fair, but he fucking knew.

“I actually just wanted to give you this.”

He dropped the braided silver and onyx ring into the palm of her hand, then looked into her eyes. Soft and searching, hoping for the meaning . Oh god. That look that could see through her. Was this just a brown-eyed thing?

“I knew you would need this. I didn’t want you to be without it, even if things between us got…weird.”

Eddie watched her face, a sad smile saying everything all at once. She knew that smile. It was the very same one he wore when he’d spend hours on a villain, only for the party to blow through him in two rounds. Disappointment.

She slipped the ring on her finger and pressed her thumb into it. Warmth spread throughout her body, like being wrapped in a comforting blanket.

“Eddie, I…”

He reached for her gently, staring at their joined hands, thumb tracing the ring like a grounding charm.

“Kat, it’s okay. Scouts' honor,” he said softly. “Just, don’t let it get weird. Deal?”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over.

“Deal.”

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Eddie kicked Kat out of the van at her place. She gave a lazy wave as the van peeled down the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. She coughed, then giggled, still riding the edge of the high. They’d ended up at Jeff’s. His parents were conveniently out of town for the weekend, so the whole Hellfire Club showed up with drinks, snacks, and the really good shit. Corroded Coffin brought their guitars with a mission to melt faces. And, God, it was exactly what Kat needed. Surrounded by her favorite people, she almost felt…normal. Giddy.

Of course, Eddie had an ulterior motive. Always did.  He knew better than to leave her alone, and better than to be alone with her. The temptation to spiral, to drown in someone else, was still there. And if Eddie wanted the fun, without the meaning, she would have lost herself in him in a heartbeat. God, part of her still wanted to. That kiss, the way his hands tangled in her hair, the way her mind went blissfully silent when his lips were on her neck–

It felt good. Too good .

But he wanted the rest. And she couldn’t give it. Not when he meant it. Not when it might break him. So? They partied. And danced. And drank. And smoked. She tripped over the gravel, giggling again.

Shouting cut through the cool night, sending goosebumps down her arms. Kat froze, listening to the voices.

“You weren’t here for Will! You’re just here for the money!” Joyce’s voice cut through the air like a knife, brittle and furious.

“No!”

“Admit it! You never cared about him. You never did!”

“Jesus, Joyce! It was his funeral today! Do we have to do this right now?”

Lava surged through her veins as rage climbed her throat,  pounding behind her eyes. Her hands, balled into fists, shook.  Kat’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything except his voice. Every word scraped down her spine like nails on a chalkboard.  The years of Lonnie screaming at her mother, blaming everything on her or the kids, rose like bile in her throat.

“Don’t act like you gave a shit!” Joyce yelled. Fierce. Raw.
A pause. Lonnie’s silence was always the worst part. That space where he assessed, read the other person like a fucking book, and spat the cruelest manipulated truth he could muster.

No .
This wasn’t going to happen.

Not here .

Not now .

And not to her mother.

Kat sprinted down the driveway. Her boots skidded on the gravel. She slammed into the porch column, splinters slicing into her palm. She ignored them.

Let him say one more fucking thing .
She ripped open the metal door, slamming it into the wall.

“You heard her, Dad. Get out.”

“You need to learn some manners. You’re not going to talk to me like that,” Lonnie said, stepping forward and puffing up like he was still the biggest man in the room.

“I’m not going to say it again,” Kat replied coolly. “Get. Out.”

“You’re such a fucking disappointment,” Lonnie spat, pointing at Kat but getting in Joyce’s face. “She’s like this because of you. No discipline. Jesus fucking Christ, Kathleen, you smell like a goddamn forest fire.“

Kat’s eye almost twitched. He knew how much she hated that. Calculated move.

“Disappointment?” Kat echoed, her voice low and laced with venom.

She stepped between Lonnie and her mother.

“Because I turned out just like you?”

Joyce flinched, but she didn’t say a word.

“You need me. You both do. Maybe it's too late for you ,” he sneered at Kat. “But I can still help Jonathan. He needs a real man to look up to.”

A bitter cackle erupted from Kat’s throat. But it was Joyce who spat back.

“Oh brother! We haven’t needed you for a long time!” she said, face reddening.

“Oh yeah? Well, I wasn’t here, and look what happened. Will’s in the ground.” 

Something snapped behind Kat’s eyes like a rimshot echo in an arena. Iron Maiden’s “Wrathchild” blasted in her ears like a fucking anthem. Her vision tunneled, locked on Lonnie. She moved before she even knew what she was doing.  She snatched his bag, slammed it against his chest, and shoved him to the door. Forget fucking icebergs. She was going to kill him right fucking here on the living room floor.

“Lonnie, take your shit and get the fuck out.”

Despite the rage roiling in her veins, her tone was quiet, cold, and calculating.

“And if I ever see you again, I’ll take Grandpa’s 380 and fucking end you on the front lawn.”

He turned to Joyce, eyes wide with fury but also fear . Joyce nodded once, eyes narrowing as she stepped beside Kat. She didn’t put an arm around her, just gently stood at her side, shoulders barely brushing. Lonnie wobbled, taking a step back, then another. He grabbed his keys and stomped for the door, flinging it open.

“You think you’re tough now, huh? You’re just a fucking screw up!” he shouted over his shoulder. “You’re gonna end up in jail. Mark my words. And you won’t have me bailing you out either!”

Kat didn’t wait for him to finish. She slammed the metal door as hard as she could. A picture nearby fell off the wall, clattering to the floor. They both stared at it, frozen. As if it were the only thing anchoring them to Earth.

Neither moved until Lonnie started the car and peeled down the driveway, horn blaring.

Joyce turned to Kat, wrapping her arms around her in a bone-crushing hug. Kat melted into her, the tension unraveling from her body in waves. The grief, the fear, the boiling rage…all of it floated away. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled freely as so many unspoken words passed between them.

“Kat,” Joyce whispered, gently cupping her face. “You are nothing like him. You hear me? You are absolutely nothing like that man. You are fierce. You are brave. And you love with your whole heart.”

Chapter Text

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
– Depeche Mode “Enjoy the Silence”

Lonnie’s car faded into the distance but still, Kat didn’t let go. Arms wrapped tightly around her mom, chin buried in her shoulder, that crackling rage softening into something quieter. Something sadder. Joyce’s hands rubbed up and down her back as Kat trembled, muscles aching with every shake.

“I’m sorry,” Joyce whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to get pulled into that again.”

The guilt bled through Joyce’s words. She didn’t say it, but Kat could feel it in her voice, her touch, the way her eyes didn’t quite meet hers. Her mom swore it would never come to this again, that Kat wouldn’t have to fight her battles–especially with Lonnie. Every time she broke that promise, the shame ate her from the inside out.

“No,” Kat said. “You don’t apologize for him. Not anymore.”

A heavy silence settled between them. The kind that only comes when everything has been said, and the raw truth of it brushes against bone.

Joyce gave a small, tired nod. “Come sit.”

They moved together to the couch, her mom grabbing the faded yellow afghan from the back of the couch and spreading it over the legs. Kat curled into her mother, resting her head on her shoulder. Joyce took both Kat’s hands in hers and kissed the top of Kat’s head before letting her cheek fall against her hair.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Just sat. The alphabet mural her mom painted on the wall tugged at her even when she didn’t look at it, like some otherworldly connection she couldn’t see. Sable would describe it like a Tarokka card reader worth her weight in gold, one with true affinity for how the Threads of Fate connected us all. The ones we couldn’t see, the ones yet to pass, and even the ones existing on another plane, tethered and knotted.

In front of them, the cool November air slipped through the badly patched hole in the drywall. Jagged pieces of wood and drywall littered the floor, results of Joyce’s hasty axe job. The axe rested on the coffee table like some out of place relic of the apocalypse.

Still, they didn’t move. Kat snuggled into her mother, willing the rage to subside. Those words to Lonnie hadn’t been a threat, but a promise. She meant every one of them as if they were a hex on both their souls. And her mother knew it. Was even proud of her for it.

Kat closed her eyes as Joyce’s thumb gently caressed the back of her hand. Her mother knew that protective fire and exactly how hot it burned. Slowly, the blaze burned to a flicker, then an ember.

All the while, Kat processed. None of this made sense, and she wanted to unweave every damn thread and pick it apart until she could see the entire fucking string.

She felt three things in her gut:

1. Her mom witnessed something. This started with the lamps in Will’s room. Then, the night the Chief found Will’s body…

An image of Will’s corpse flashed across her vision, but she pushed it out. No time for that now.

She picked up the thread again.

What had Mom said? Once for yes. Two for no.

Her mom believed she’d spoken with Will. Then at the morgue, she was adamant that it was not Will. And that fire…that fury…Kat knew the tone, the expression, the heart behind every single word. That was her mom fighting for Will.

2. Jonathan and Nancy disappeared immediately after the funeral together. They’d barely shared five words with each other since Kat and Nancy’s friendship dwindled. Running off together? Bullshit.

3. The boys. The Nerd Brigade didn’t cry. Not a single goddamn tear at the funeral. They gossiped. Snickered, even. At some point in her life, she’d witnessed every single one of them cry over something–skinned knees, bike accidents, D&D rules. They grew up like siblings, and shit happened. Kid shit happened. Especially with those four…and Dustin? He had that face. The smug one where he delighted in knowing something others didn’t. God, she really needed to teach him a poker face before he got older.

Every thread tugged in a different direction, but they all led to one thing. A giant fucking knot.

“What the hell happened?” Kat asked, eyes still focused on the patch.

Joyce didn’t answer right away. She sighed heavily, dropping Kat’s hands and pulling away just enough to look her in the eye.

“It’s going to sound crazy,” Joyce said, her voice wavering. “I mean it. You’ll probably call Jonathan and have me committed.”

Kat stayed silent, taking one of her mother’s hands back in her own and squeezed lightly. A comforting nudge that said try me.

“I swear. He was so close. H-he was right there,” Joyce said, eyes locked on the wall like she could still see it happening. “I knew he was alive. Will was right there, Kat. Our hands were almost touching.”

“There was something between us. A barrier or something?” She paused, her voice catching. “And he-he was scared. Terrified. I told him to hide.”

Kat nodded, her eyes studying her mother’s face.

Joyce seemed lucid. Grounded. She spoke from memory, not fantasy. She knew Kat probably wouldn’t believe her, but spoke the truth anyway.

“I can’t feel him anymore,” Joyce said, her voice cracking. “H-he was there, and then he was gone.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Kat felt the edges of her own vision blur.

“I know. I know how this sounds,” Joyce said softly. “But I heard this chittering noise and…”

A cold drop slithered down Kat’s spine as her mind worked to connect the pieces. Every time she focused on one, the others blurred like a kaleidoscope turning too fast.  The edges meshed together, making it almost impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Something pulsed in her brain, lurking just out of reach. Like maybe she’d failed her perception check while something hid in the shadows, waiting for advantage.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Mom. I believe you saw something.”

A light flickered behind Joyce’s eyes. Relief, but also hope.

“Do you remember when we lost Grandpa? And we swear he haunts that stupid Thanksgiving turkey wearing a pilgrim hat? You said it sounded stupid, but you could just feel it. You were smoking in the kitchen and the radio kept turning itself on. And always to that old ass song he loved. The ‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’ one.”

Joyce nodded slowly, but raised an eyebrow.

“All three of us said we believed you, but none of us did. Jonathan wanted to give you a hard time about it as a joke, but Wi–” Kat’s voice slipped, “Will told him to go easy on you.”

Her mom opened her mouth in defense, but Kat spoke first.

“But, then on Thanksgiving Day, you and I were in the kitchen and the boys were setting the table. You grabbed a cigarette, and we all witnessed it. The radio flicked on right in the middle of that damn song. We all just stood there like idiots pretending we hadn't been calling you crazy five minutes ago, except Will.”

Kat smiled.
“Will just said, ‘see?’ What a kiss ass.”

Joyce and Kat both laughed, light tears falling down their cheeks. Kat glanced toward the kitchen, where the ominous turkey watched from its perch on the windowsill, still judging.

“That thing is haunted as hell. It happened to me when I was home alone one time and snuck one of Dad’s beers out of the fridge.”

She placed both her hands on Joyce’s shoulders.

“The point of all that is…I believe you. Something isn’t right about all this. I feel it too.” 

Joyce’s eyes searched Kat’s face for a long moment before tears pooled in her eyes. She pulled her daughter into a hug so tight Kat swore it cracked a couple ribs and smushed her soul. Joyce’s relaxed into Kat, melting. Those shoulders, tense and at attention from the first moment they realized Will was missing, dipped.

“I believe you,” Kat said again.

Their eyes flicked toward the patched-up wall. Neither of them knew what that meant, but it was enough for tonight.

The crisp fall air lingered through the house the next morning. Kat shivered through the night despite the number of blankets she piled on. The cold seeped through skin and bone, chilling from the inside. Her brain buzzed all night, bouncing from fact to possibility. Kat couldn’t explain how she knew, but she did. Every single thread of this connected together into a single string. She would figure out this puzzle, even if she had to force the pieces into place.

She promised she wouldn’t get lost in the madness, but here she was with bells on, holding a goddamn welcome to crazy town sign.

God, Jonathan is going to be pissed.

Grabbing the coffee mugs from the kitchen, she settled on the couch next to her mom. She handed off one mug and sipped the other.

“Get any sleep?” Kat asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really.”

“Me either.”

Kat looked around. Jonathan’s shoes weren’t by the door. Neither was his jacket.

“Where’s Jonathan? Did he come home?”

Joyce raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes into that mom look. The one where truth was not an option, but the only possible answer.

“He ran off with Nancy after the funeral yesterday. Right after you took off with Eddie.”

She buried her face in the coffee mug and avoided her mother’s gaze. That tone. That implication. That nose poking around. She wanted to dish on the Eddie 411, full report with footnotes.

Nope. She was taking that secret straight to the grave, tucked into the lining of her coffin. No resurrections. No reincarnations. Not even if the world were on fire.

“Um,” Kat didn’t pull her face from the mug. “I should…go find Jonathan. Make sure he’s okay.”

Kat placed her mug on the coffee table, turning to give her mother a quick kiss on the top of her head.

“Kat…” Joyce warned, but Kat steamrolled it.

“You should rest. I know there’s all this, but if we want to figure it out, you have to be fresh.”

She jetted to her room, yanked on a pair of ripped jeans, and a Cure shirt that didn’t totally reek of weed. Snagged her green army jacket from the door and pulled it on mid-stride.

On her way past Joyce, she dug a granola bar from her pocket and tossed it to her.

“The whole thing, Mom!” Kat yelled over her shoulder as the door clicked shut.

Kat pulled her jacket tighter as she stepped onto the porch. The chill in the air felt bitter, almost as if it somehow soured. And it was too quiet. Despite the sun stretching across the horizon, the birds were quiet. Her boots hit the porch, wood groaning her weight.

Leaves rustled in the trees overhead as two squirrels darted along the branches, chasing. Acorns fell to the ground, rolling to a stop near the edge of the drive. Kat watched them for a moment, but then she heard it. One squirrel turned to the other and-

Chhhhrrrrrrrrk Chrrrk ch chrkkk.

Her heart stopped mid-beat.

That sound.

The coffee in her stomach hardened to stone. She froze underneath that oak tree as the memory slammed into her:

The fence.
The cold.
Joy Division.
Static.
That cow.
Chittering.

What had her mom said? She’d heard chittering when she axed the wall. Kat heard it too, the night she got high as a fucking weather balloon.

Her body moved before she could think. She bolted to the car, wrenched the door open with a curse and jammed the keys into the ignition. “Ace of Spades” blared from the stereo as Kat peeled out of the driveway, kicking up gravel behind her.

The Floyd’s cow pasture. That’s where this started.

The car skidded to a stop in the same spot she’d parked before, dirt flaring up in a low dusty cloud. She cut the engine and slammed the door behind her, chest pounding as she stepped into the stillness. A soft breeze shifted the grass across the field as the scent of cow and manure filled her nose.

The field looked…the same except for one difference.

The lone tree stood in the middle of the pasture, but unlike that night, the cows stood on the opposite side of the pasture. They were crowded into the farthest corner like they were trying to escape the land itself.

Kat grabbed the rusty barbed wire fence, parted the middle two wires, and slipped in between. Her boots hit the muddy ground with a muted thud.

The field stretched in front of her. Nothing moved.

Except her.

Step by step, she crossed the grass. Heart hammering. Breath fogging in the cold air.

About halfway through the field, next to the lone oak, she saw it.

A patch of tall light-green grass, bent in half and stained a dark rusty brown.

Not mud. 
Blood.

Kat crouched low, pressing two fingers to it.

Dried.

Her eyes flicked forward to a patch of mud pooled beneath the trunk of the oak tree.  A single print indented in the mud, half-dried. It looked like a chicken footprint, but huge. Larger than a grown man’s.

Kat traced the edges with her finger.

Whatever caused this was clawed. And heavy. Her eyes drifted to her own footprints left behind in the mud. This strange one sank so much deeper.

Goosebumps prickled across her skin as she stood. Her lungs tightened, and a single thought repeated in her head on instinct.

Run.

But she didn’t. She stared across the field, wheels turning as more of the threads untangled from the knot. How many cows had there been that night? She was high as balls that night, but she knew there had been more. Close to forty?

There were barely more than thirty crowded into the fence corner.

Whatever this thing was, it had an appetite.

And Jonathan knew something.

Nancy too.

That was the only explanation for them running off together. For Jonathan not coming home last night.

Now Kat knew something, too.

And when she found Jonathan, she was going to kill him.

But first, she had to find him.

Kat slid back into the driver’s seat, slamming the door harder than she needed to. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Jonathan couldn’t hide from her. She knew his game, knew exactly what he was thinking. Whatever information he found, he hid it from her and her mom in some misguided attempt to keep them out of it. Or maybe to keep them safe. Knowing Jonathan, it was both.

Bullshit.

And to share it with Nancy? That fucking stung. 

She’d hunt every street, every hang, even the Wheelers' goddamn basement until she could drag the truth out of him.

She flicked the play button as the opening tones of “Shadowplay” by Joy Division rang through the car. The bass line thudded through her skull like a second heartbeat, steady and relentless. It soothed her, gave her something to anchor to. The cymbal crashes cleared her mind, giving her space to think, to breathe, to untangle whatever the hell Jonathan and Nancy were up to.

Thoughts fired faster than she could catch them, hamster running the wheel fast enough to spark.

An hour later, she was still circling downtown Hawkins, scanning for her mom’s car.  Jonathan took it yesterday and vanished. That stone in her gut, that intuition, told her he was fine, but he was up to something. And Jonathan Byers didn’t do up to something unless there was a reason.

Kat processed, breaking it down fact by fact.

First, Nancy should be mad at Jonathan about the photos. But she wasn’t.

God, Jonathan.

Kat cringed at the memory of the picture.

Two, Nancy didn’t say a word to Jonathan about the photos. She’d been focused on something....

Kat replayed the scene in her mind second by second. What had Nancy done that seemed so out of place? There was something Kat thought was strange.

The photo. Steve ripped up a photo and littered it across the ground. Nancy picked up pieces and shoved them in her bag. What could have been in them? It was the night Barb went missing…

That was it!

Another thread untangled from the knot.

Nancy and Jonathan knew enough to link Barb’s and Will’s disappearances. The borders of the puzzle were together, but a lot of pieces were still missing. She just needed to find these two dumb asses and get some answers.

Searching Main Street, Kat’s gaze raked across the movie theater, bright orange spray paint catching her eye.

ALL THE RIGHT MOVES - Starring Nancy THE SLUT Wheeler

What in the hell?

Flames. Not rage, but calculating, exhausted fury fueled fire up her spine and into her head. Nancy may not be her best friend anymore. But this? She didn’t deserve this.

Too.
Fucking.
Far.

Kat knew before she saw them. That blue jacket and stupid brown hair could only belong to one person, egged on by the other two members of the Idiot Brigade. Teeth clenched, thoughts racing, she drove across the street and parked. By the time she got to the theater, Steve, Carol, and Tommy H. were heading into the alley next door.

Why was it always them?

Kat’s flames simmered into a controlled burn. The barbarian protector, the one who stood between Jonathan and bullies, who stood between her mother and Lonnie, didn’t show up to this fight. That would have been a mercy. Instead, they were about to meet the rogue. The stealth emotional assassin that wielded daggers of insight and honesty. Specialty? Sneak attack damage right to the heart. She didn’t strike with a war cry. Instead, she found the cracks already existing and slipped through. A whisper, not a scream.

She watched the trio saunter down the alley. Tommy leaned in, spray painting the side of a building, while Carol giggled at his side. Steve stood a few feet back, tossing a can of spray paint between his hands.  They all had their backs turned to her. She had advantage.

Not even.

Kat marched to Steve, thanking fucking Pelor she made the stealth save.

Thoughts calm.
Focused.
Target acquired.

He never saw her coming. Standing with one hand on his hip, the other holding a bottle of spray paint at his side, he didn’t have time to react. 

Kat ripped the bottle from Steve’s hand and waited.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. She looked at him. Really looked. Wanted him to feel every second before the hit landed. Wanted to watch it register. She wanted to look into his eyes as she spoke, wanted to clock every word, every stab.

Steve whirled around, mouth open, eyes furious. Kat held his gaze. The Byers' brown-eyes superpower activated. Hurt and anger flared, but there was something else lurking. Sadness?

She didn’t give a fuck.

“Do you even have any brain cells left inside that pretty little head of yours, Harrington?”

Steve flinched, his jaw flexing as he took half a step back. Like he took a dagger between the ribs.

A crit hit.

“Oh well look what the cat dragged in…” Tommy started, stalking toward her.

Kat faced her palm to Tommy, but never took her eyes off Steve. She tossed the can to the side, not even bothering to look.

“What, cat got your tongue, Harrington? Because you are blowing it with the best girl in Hawkins with this bullshit.”

His mouth opened and shut, like a comeback was just in reach, but slipped. 

“That’s what I thought,” Kat said. “She deserves better.”

She turned on her heel, the victor of a battle Steve didn’t even know he was in.

Chapter Text

Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
- Depeche Mode "Enjoy the Silence"


Kat smiled like she’d just eaten the canary–and she had. Harrington stood in the alley, words caught in his throat, eyes burning into the back of her head. She not only dethroned King Steve, but she eviscerated him in two sentences. Crit hit, max damage.

But why did this victory feel so hollow?

She should have felt electric. Instead, a surge of something bitter buzzed up her spine and settled in her chest like static seconds before a lightning strike. It was that same weird feeling she’d had in the Taco Shack. Being mean to Steve Harringinton was just another day. He always fucking deserved it. Hell, he deserved it now more than ever. But this jolt, like she’d been shocked by her own spark, sat heavy in her limbs.

If he deserved it, why did she feel…disappointed?

For a second, she saw who he could be without the alpha show for his little pack. She’d been low, and for whatever the hell reason, he noticed. He bought her tacos for fuck’s sake.  And now here he was, dipping right back to their level without a second thought.

Anger flared again, and she tossed a look over her shoulder just to see the dumb look on his face one more time. She knew exactly where to stab those daggers. He couldn’t make that saving throw if he had advantage, lucky dice, or divine intervention from Pelor himself.

Good.
Maybe he’ll pull his head out of his ass.
He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as–

“Nancy?” Steve’s voice sliced through her victory.

The smugness curdled in her chest.

Nancy Wheeler stood at the edge of the sidewalk, arms crossed, eyes glassy. Kat knew that expression. Hurt underneath, but blazing fury on the surface. She’d witnessed it only once, and boy. That had been a day.

Nancy's eyes cut straight through her and fixated on Steve. He blinked, jaw flexing once before her gaze turned him to stone. He didn’t move a finger, eyes locked on Nancy.

Kat froze, heartbeat loud in her ears as she stepped back against the cool brick wall. Realization crashed through her like a cymbal hit. She’d charged in like this was her boss fight, daggers drawn, snark locked and loaded. But this wasn’t her quest. Hell, it wasn’t even her campaign.

Maybe, for once, Kat needed to let someone else swing. This was Nancy’s fight. She deserved to stand up for herself. 

Nancy walked forward, sharp and certain.  She squared off with Steve and slapped him across the cheek.  A loud SMACK resonated through the alley, and Kat flinched.  She didn’t expect Nancy to throw the first punch, no matter how much it was deserved.

“What is wrong with you?” Nancy asked.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Steve said, leaning in. “I was worried about you.”

He paused for a moment, eyes searching Nancy’s for something. An excuse? A lifeline? Clearly, Steve felt betrayed, and whatever answer he found in Nancy’s gaze was the wrong one. Kat watched the hurt flicker across his face, raw and deep, before icing into something colder.

“I can’t believe that I was actually worried about you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you,” Carol replied, stepping next to Steve. “You don’t want to be known as the lying slut now, do you?”

Jonathan pushed down the alley, stopping somewhere between Kat and Nancy.

“Speak of the Devil,” Tommy said as he eyed Jonathan and grinned like the dipshit he was.

“You came by last night?” Nancy asked, clenching her jaw.

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Does she get a prize?” Carol dug in. 

“Look, I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t like that.”

“What, you just let him into your room to study ?” Steve asked, something raw cracking behind his words.

“Or for another pervy photo session?” Tommy jeered. 

Kat took a step, fists clenched, but Jonathan’s arm shot across her shoulders.

“We were just–”

“You were just what?” Steve asked. “Go ahead. Finish that sentence.”

His voice dropped as he moved closer to Nancy. The coldness of it slid down Kat’s spine.

“Finish. The. Sentence, ” he said, bitterness cutting through each word.

Nancy shook her head, lips pressed tight.

“Go to Hell, Nancy.”

Jonathan stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her arm, urging the retreat.

“You know what, Byers? I’m actually kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer, but I guess you’re just a little screw-up like your father,” Steve said, shoving Jonathan. “Oh yeah? Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Then his gaze snapped to Kat. The fury in his voice turned venomous.

“Yeah, that house is full of screw-ups. You know I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised.  Just a bunch of screw-ups in your family. Your mom, your sister….”

He let the next words hang, a brutal blow to the gut.

“Honestly? I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother.”

Kat blinked. Her jaw locked. Fists twitched, slow and deliberate, like every muscle in her body just rolled initiative.

“Steve, shut up!” Nancy yelled, but it was too late.

Heat ripped through her head, detonating behind her eyes with a blinding crack. The world tilted, and darkness blurred the edges of her vision.

No, he motherfucking didn’t.

The faint sound of Will’s laugh echoed through her rage, a vision of him thrashing his head to Metallica in the car, fists in the air, screaming the words to “Whiplash”.

Kat’s fists curled, knuckles white, arm swinging. Two steps and she would rearrange his goddamn face. But Jonathan rushed past her in a blur, brushing her out of the way.

One step.

Two steps.

CRACK.

Her brother, Mr. They're-Not-Worth-It Byers, punched Steve Harrington square in the jaw.  Steve stumbled into a wooden pallet, dazed. He touched his face, blinking at the blood on his fingers. Then lunged, tackling Jonathan into the hood of a car and throwing him to the ground.

“Steve!” Nancy shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the excited chanting of the Idiot Brigade. “Stop! Steve, knock it off!”

Her feet were stuck, body frozen, eyes on Jonathan. Who the hell was this? That fire? The violence? This was her . Not her brother.

She’d never seen this side of him. Not like this.

And yet, beneath the shock, something warm swelled in her chest.

Pride .

She wanted Joanthan to kick his ass. Some part of her wanted Steve to bleed .

“Get off of him!” Carol screamed at Jonathan.

“Kick his ass, Steve!” Tommy shouted.

“Get in there! He’s gonna hurt himself!” Carol yelled. 

Tommy lunged for Jonathan’s jacket, but Kat was faster. She threw her weight into a sharp shove that knocked Tommy sideways. He stumbled, arms flailing, and crashed into the side of an air conditioning unit with a loud metallic rattle.

“Hey! Get out of here, get out of here!” Steve barked.

Steve shoved Tommy back with a grunt, all heat and fury. Then he turned, hand shooting out, and Kat braced for the same blow.

But his hand met her side, steady and restrained. Just firm enough to shift her back a few steps, like she was something fragile in the blast radius.

Her breath caught.  That was…precise. Careful. In the heat of the moment, he’d taken time to escort her out of the way. The confusion scrambled her footing worse than a nudge and she threw a hand out to the brick wall to steady herself.

What the hell?

She barely had time to process. Jonathan’s fist slammed into Steve’s cheek, splitting the skin deeper and spraying blood onto the pavement.

Steve swung back, knuckles colliding with Jonathan’s jaw.  But Jonathan didn’t flinch. He stepped in close, fist cocked, and drove it into Steve’s gut. Steve buckled, legs giving out as he dropped to the ground with a harsh grunt.

“Jonathan! Stop it! You’re going to hurt him!” Nancy yelled, yanking at his jacket.

He didn’t stop.

Jonathan dropped to his knees, hauled Steve up by the collar, and landed another brutal hit. Steve’s head snapped to the side, a thick groan caught in his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat whispered, frozen.

Another hit.

And another.

Jonathan’s fists flew fast and fierce into Steve’s face, covered in more blood with every swing.

This was more than a fight over a girl. Jonathan unloaded every ounce of pent-up rage into each punch. 

Kat’s stomach dropped. She needed to push her body into action, but what could she do?

Then Steve's eyes locked with hers, bloody and dazed.

Just for a second.
Just long enough.

She sprang into action.

Her arms wrapped around Jonathan’s chest, dragging him back. He was thrashing, and it took all of her weight to wrestle him away from Steve. His fists still twitched, aching for more. But she didn’t let go.

“Enough,” she snapped, her voice hoarse but firm. “That’s enough.” 

A cop car screeched into the alley, red and blue lights washing over the chaos. Two officers spilled out, shouting commands no one heard.

Kat’s head turned toward them as Jonathan ripped free from her grip and lunged again. His fist crashed into Steve’s jaw with another sickening thud.

“He’s had enough!” Tommy shouted, grabbing the back of Jonathan’s collar.

Jonathan whipped around and shoved him hard. Tommy stumbled back, arms flailing, eyes wide.  

Jonathan turned back to Steve, arm cocked for another blow, but it wasn’t Steve beneath him anymore.

It was Kat.

Her knees slammed into the pavement, kneeling against the side of Steve’s chest, shielding him from the next blow. Her hands shot up, catching Jonathan’s wrists mid-swing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, grip trembling.

“Jonathan,” she said, voice crackling but firm. “Stop.”

Jonathan’s eyes met Kat’s. Confusion then betrayal flickered across his face. He saw her. Registered her choice. But it wasn’t enough. The fire still burned too hot, and she’d just fanned the flames with treachery. He tore free, arms swinging. An officer lunged toward him, but Jonathan was already mid-strike in a barbarian frenzy. His fist slammed into the cop’s jaw.

Kat felt Steve stir.  One arm flopped across her legs, a dead weight tethering them to the chaos. His eyes blinked open, unfocused, finding hers. Her hand brushed his. The softness of it caught her off guard, yanking her out of the adrenaline haze. He wasn’t some smug, untouchable idiot anymore. He was a guy injured on the ground, down to his last few hit points. His face was a wreck. Bloodied, bruised, already swelling. Steve Harrington was a grade-A asshole, no question. But this? This was too far.

Kat shifted her weight, still bracing against Steve, and slid a hand under his arm to lift him up. 

 “Playing nurse now? Get the fuck off him,” Tommy said with a shove.

She toppled backward, palms scraping against the loose gravel as she caught herself. Pain flared up her wrists. 

“Let’s go, man.”

Tommy grabbed Steve, pulling him to his feet.

For just a breath, Steve met her gaze. Something flickered behind the blood and swelling, unguarded and curious. His head tilted, just barely, like she’d slipped and showed her poker hand, and he knew how to call her bluff. Whatever passed between them felt like a silent conversation in a language neither of them spoke, but somehow left her exposed.

Then he turned and ran.

Kat’s gaze dropped to the pavement. Blood pooled on the concrete, and her stomach turned.  She could still see Steve’s broken face lying there, still hear the crack of knuckles against skin, and couldn’t explain why that familiar pang of guilt echoed so loud in her ribs.

She hated him five minutes ago.
Now she’d just saved his ass?
From Jonathan?

What?

The whiplash twisted her head in a disorienting flash before something tugged at her arm and yanked her back into the moment.

“You, too. Let’s go,” an officer said, hauling her upright. “We’re all taking a nice little ride to the station.”

Chapter Text

Cryin’ won’t help you,
Prayin’ won’t do you no good
When the levee breaks, mama,
You got to move.
– Led Zeppelin, “When the Levee Breaks”

Kat didn’t know who authorized the Motley Crue concert in her head, but she sure as hell didn’t sign off on the Tommy Lee drum solo. Head throbbing with every heartbeat, she dropped her head onto Officer Callahan’s cool metal desk and ignored the funky stale fry smell.

First, everything that happened with Will, followed by the rest of this Pelor-forsaken week, and now this. Was this some karmic cycle? Did she commit war crimes in a past life? Touch a cursed object?  Every time she tried to catch Jonathan’s eyes, he would look at his bloody, scabbed fists. Or toss Nancy a nervous glance. The one time she managed to grab his gaze for a second, Kat’s stomach dropped through the floor. Ice cold betrayal.

Jonathan didn’t let people in easily, but when he did, it was for keeps. If you were part of his party, then he’d ride-or-die for you. That’s how all the Byers siblings rolled. But break the code or betray the party? Good luck getting back into that castle. Jonathan loved hard and held onto grudges even harder.  Not that she didn’t deserve it. That move to protect Steve… she’d sided with the Empire and sold out the Rebellion. Lando double-crossing Leia and Chewie at Cloud City. 

Her interference in that fight hadn’t even been about Steve, though. Not really. She wasn’t going to let Jonathan blow up what was left of their family. Imagine one son believed dead, the other in jail? All because some rich asshole suffered a little heartache? Fuck that.  The smug bastard could take a few well-deserved punches.

But there was more to it than that. Jonathan didn’t stop. He went too far.

Then Steve was just there, covered in blood, dazed, and barely conscious. Their eyes locked on for a second, then she was kneeling next to him. The decision to shield him from Jonathan had been a reflex. Nothing more. Except, something had flickered in her chest, something she couldn’t name and didn’t want to even try. She’d felt…exposed.

Kat’s stomach flipped.

Nope. Off track.

This wasn’t betrayal. This was the goddamn opposite. If Jonathan couldn’t see the truth in that then he could join Dante in hell. 

A bitter taste flooded Kat’s mouth, and her stomach groaned. Rage bubbled to the surface, and she clenched her fists. None of them would be in this mess if Jonathan and Nancy hadn’t decided to go all Hardy Boys meets Nancy Drew and solve this thing on their own.

What if something happened to them?

She pictured blue, lifeless Will lying on the slab in the morgue again, her mind adding in two more tables with Jonathan and Nancy all sliced up from that…thing. Her hands shook as a chill spread through her bones.

Kat lifted her head just enough to see Nancy whisper something and hold an icepack to his temple. Jonathan smiled with that look. Were they together? The golden girl and the outcast. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t.  Not with this migraine settling in.

And since when did Jonathan keep secrets from her? Especially something this big. She wanted to wring his stupid neck.

Fuck this.

Kat pulled herself from the desk, rising to her feet. The edges of her vision darkened as her head thrummed in time with her pulse.

Fuck Tommy Lee for always being on beat.

She cut a slow circle around the desks in the middle of the bullpen and came to a stop right in front of Jonathan and Nancy.

“So, are we just skipping to the part where I had to find out from Steve Fucking Harrington that there’s something going on between you two?”

Kat gestured between the two of them like she was connecting dots on a crime board.  Nancy lowered the icepack and looked away.  Jonathan stared at the desk, jaw clenched.

“At least Harrington put up a goddamn billboard,” she snapped, voice cracking on the last word. “You couldn’t even send a carrier pigeon?”

The silence thickened as words struck bone.
Neither of them moved.

“Alright, since you two bozos refuse to talk to me, let me lay it all out.” Kat leaned forward onto the desk, voice low and dagger sharp.

“I saw the creature. Monster? I don’t fucking know.  Whatever it was, I saw it.  Mom saw it. I’m guessing you two did too.  Am I getting close?”

She let the accusation hang, a rope swinging on the gallows. Nancy looked at Jonathan, caught his eye for a half-second, then dropped her gaze.

“And instead of looping me in–or doing literally anything that made sense–you two decided to take this thing on yourselves?”

“Kat…” Nancy started, but her voice trailed off. No words came.

“You sound like the Chief,” Jonathan muttered, finally looking at her. His handcuffs rattled with the movement, but Kat didn’t flinch.

“Yeah? Well, someone in this town has to start asking the right fucking questions.”

“And you think that’s you? Funny. Sure seemed like you were on the wrong side back in the alley.”

Her eyes narrowed. Anger flared hot in her chest. The fucking audacity to take the high horse as if he hadn’t nearly pummeled Steve to death.

“I was protecting you!”

“Protecting me? From what? Finally giving Harrington what he deserved ? You heard what he said!”

“From doing something you can’t take back. From turning into someone you're not.”

From turning into me .

She thought it, but the words didn’t pass her lips. Jonathan’s jaw clenched, Byers' fire flickering in his eyes. He shoved himself to his feet, handcuff chain rattling.

“You don’t get to decide who I am!”

“What if something happened to you two? Mom couldn’t take another hit,” she said, voice cracking raw. “ I couldn’t take it.”

Jonathan’s eyes softened, the flame still burning at the edges.

“You’re not the only one who gets to protect people,” he said, voice low and bitter. “You think you’ve got a monopoly on self-sacrifice? You’re not the only one scared of losing people, Kat.”

He stepped around the desk, closing the gap between them.

“You think you’re some big invisible shield, but you’re flesh and bone like the rest of us. Martyrs might go down in a blaze of glory, but at the end of the day? They’re dead.”

Words caught in her throat like glass, sharp and unmovable. She jammed her thumb into the onyx ring, willing the sting of tears away. She swallowed once, but her eyes didn’t blink. She didn’t look away.

The silence between them burned.

He wasn’t wrong.
She knew it.
He knew it.
But she would never admit it.

The chime above the door sounded, and their mother’s voice floated across the bullpen.

“Hey,” Joyce said, striding toward them. Her eyes bounced between the three of them, clocking the anger still radiating in the air. “Kat? Jonathan? Wha- What happened?”

Joyce’s eyes dropped down to his handcuffs, then back again.

“Why is he wearing handcuffs?”

“Well,” Officer Callahan started, voice soaked in condescension, “your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why.”

“Take them off.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Kat knew that look–raw Byers fury. The same fire that raised her, burned her, made her. Joyce was seconds from detonation, and Callhan stood dead center in the blast zone.

“Take them off,” she said. Not a yell, an order.

“You heard her,” the Chief said, stepping into view. “Take ‘em off.”

Officer Powell stood from his desk and crossed the room, a large box in his arms.

“Chief,” he said in a tight voice. “I get everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.”

The officer placed the box on the desk in front of Jonathan with a loud, metallic clunk.  Joyce, Hopper, and Kat all leaned forward, peering into it.

Kat felt the Chief’s gaze hit her like a spotlight. She met it for half a second, then looked away. She didn’t know what was in the box either, and he clocked it

A lump rose in her throat as she scanned the contents.

Weapons. A bear trap. Propane. Nails.

So many goddamn nails.

She didn’t even want to guess what they were for.

Godammit, Jonathan.

This wasn’t a recon mission.

This was the final encounter.

Nancy and Jonathan planned to finish the campaign.

“What is this?” Joyce said as she reached into the box and sifted through its contents.

“Why don’t you ask your kids?” Powell said, eyes sliding to Kat. “We found it in their car.”

Joyce’s gaze snapped to Kat. Once glance was all it took. Whatever sixth sense moms had for sniffing out the truth, Joyce Byers had double.

“Jonathan?” she asked quietly.

“Why are you going through my car?” Jonathan asked, avoiding Joyce’s gaze.

“Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” Hopper asked, leaning onto the desk. “My office. All of you. Now.”

“You won’t believe me,” Jonathan said.

The Chief leaned closer, eyes sharp.

“Why don’t you give me a try?”

Twenty minutes later, they all piled around Hopper's desk in stunned silence as Nancy and Jonathan filled the gap.

“So how does this involve Barb?” Kat asked, finally turning toward Nancy.

“She didn’t just disappear. She was taken. By the faceless…thing.”

Kat didn’t respond right away. Her brain was still playing catch-up.

Will. Barb.

What a fucking mess.
And Barb!

Her heart ached. Her eyes shot to Nancy, trying to comprehend what she’d been going through since that night at Steve’s party. Probably the same hell Kat had been living through over Will. She fought the urge to hug Nancy, but damn was it strong.

Hawkin’s Golden Girl and Perpetual Outcast on the same team again. Fate definitely had a sense of humor.

And this monster. What the hell even was it?

Fear stretched in her chest. It moved in the night Will went missing, and made itself a nice little nest. Didn’t seem like it planned on moving out anytime soon. Not with the knowledge that it had been hunting them all along.

She’d seen it out near the Energy Lab.
Barb was taken by it at Steve’s. 
Her mom saw it in their home.
In the wall.

And Will was stuck somewhere with that thing.
Barb too.

Kat shivered.

Now it all made sense. Why Jonathan disappeared. Why Nancy looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Why her mother had been so sure. Why she had fought so damn hard for Will.

The hole in the wall.
The lights.
The alphabet.

Literal writing on the wall.

And they hadn’t told her.

They weren’t just chasing a hunch, they’d found the damn monster. And her mother had seen the thing up close. They could have lost her just as easily as Will.

Kat covered her mouth with both hands, glassy eyes darting from Jonathan to Joyce. Her mother reached across the space between them, grabbing her arm like she’d already drawn the conclusion and filed it away.

“So you kids thought, what,” the Chief started, staring at Nancy and Jonathan. “That you’d take care of it yourselves?”

Jonathan nodded, but didn’t say anything. Nancy stared at her feet. The chief shook his head.

Kat didn’t even need to look at her mother to know it was coming. She felt the energy shift before a single word left Joyce’s mouth. She was already half out of her chair.

Here we go.

“You two, outside. Now.”

The Byers gathered just outside the Chief’s office. Kat and Joyce stood shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed and staring at Jonathan.

Kat didn’t speak. She knew better. This was her mom’s arena.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jonathan apologized, hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall.

Kat clocked the stance immediately. Hands buried, eyes down, leaning like the weight of the guilt might fold him in half. He’d done it since he was old enough to lie.

Joyce didn’t bite right away. That was the worst part. She just stood there, silence stretching too long, her gaze boring into him.

“What, you’re sorry? You’re...sorry?” Joyce’s voice rose, then broke in the same breath. “That’s not good enough, Jonathan. Not even close. Not even in the ballpark.”

“I know,” he said sheepishly. “I know.”

“I wanted to tell you,” his eyes drifted to Kat. “Tell both of you I just-”

“What if this thing took you, too?” Joyce cut in. “You risked your life. And Nancy’s.”

“I thought I could save Will…” he whispered. “I still do.”

Kat’s heart cracked. She stepped closer to him, drawn in by that damn protector instinct. Someone got hurt, or cried, she moved.

“This is not yours to fix alone,” Joyce said, looking from Jonathan to Kat. “Or, yours.”

“You both act like you’re all alone out there in the world, but you’re not.” Her hands landed on their shoulders, grounding and fierce. “You’re not alone.” 

Kat nodded.

“I know,” he said again, softer this time.

“Goddammit, you two.”

Joyce pulled both of them in, arms wrapped tight, anchoring them like she always did.

Tears spilled from Kat’s eyes, her mother’s voice cracking right through her. They’d all gone about this the wrong way. They tried to spare each other’s pain, only to build walls instead.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled in grief and guilt and love. Another Byers Family Spectacle, fully on display.

“Cool, cool,” Kat muttered, voice thick as she pulled back. “Love that we keep emotionally combusting in front of law enforcement.”

Loud voices echoed down the hallway as the Chief’s door creaked open behind them.

“Stay here,” Hopper ordered, brushing past them.

They nudged toward the edge of the hallway, peeking around the corner.

“Where is the Chief! I want to speak to him!” a woman shouted, voice sharp and furious.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down,” Office Callahan intervened.

“Name and badge number. Both of you!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Hopper asked.

“Chief…” Officer Powell began, trying to intercept.

“These men are humiliating my son!”

“No, no, no. Okay. That’s not true,” Callahan defended.

“There was some kind of fight, Chief,” Powell added.

“A fight? A psychotic child broke his arm!”

“A little girl, Chief,” Callahan said, pinching his fingers together. “A little one.”

“That tone! Do you hear that tone?” the woman snapped.

Hopper sighed, already over it.

“Take a statement. We’ll see what we can do.”

“So what did this girl look like?” Powell asked, turning toward the boy.

“She had no hair, and she was bleeding from her nose,” he said. “Like a freak!”

“What did you just say?” Hopper turned. “About her hair.”

“Her head’s shaved,” the kid replied. “She doesn’t even look like a girl. And she can…do things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Like, make you fly. And piss yourself.”

“Was she alone?”

“No. She always hangs out with those losers.”

“What losers?”

Nancy had stepped into the hallway and locked eyes with Kat. Somehow, without uttering a word, they knew. 

Those little shits. Of course, they hadn’t cried at Will’s funeral.

They already knew Will was alive.

Kat’s brain clicked into gear. Those geniuses. The Adorable Nerd Brigade was smarter than all of them and already moving ten steps ahead.

God, she loved them. She was still going to kill them on principle, but they’d at least get a hug first.

The Chief walked back to the hall, rolling his eyes at their little circle. Kat felt a laugh bubble up in her chest, but kept it inside. He should’ve known no one was going to listen to him.

“We need to find your brother,” he said, looking at Nancy. “Anyone got any thoughts?”

“Yeah…” Kat said, grin blooming. “I know how to find them.”

Chapter Text

Swear allegiance to the flag,
Whatever flag they offer,
Never hint at what you really feel.
Teach the children quietly,
For some day sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stood still.

– Mike + The Mechanics, Silent Running .


Kat barreled through the front door like Glory the Barbarian storming the gates of Candlekeep Fortress. Boots pounded against warped wood floors as she veered hard around the corner and tore down the hall toward Will’s room. The fate of the Adorable Dweeb Brigade, Will, Barb, and hell probably even Hawkins itself, depended on that damn walkie-talkie.

Blankets flew. Comic books scattered. She upended a box of dice, scattering colorful polyhedral shapes across the floor in all directions. 

Nothing.

Kat straightened, eyes scanning the room.  Where the hell was that Walkie? He never parted with it for long. Lamps still surrounded the bed where Joyce first communicated with Will through the lights. Her chest tightened with guilt. She didn’t believe her mom then. Neither of them had. Some part of her believed Will was lost…gone…and her mother drowned in grief and exhaustion.

She tripped over a lamp cord, sending it to the floor with a spectacular crash. Glass flew across the floor in several pieces as Jonathan appeared in the doorway.

“Careful,” she barked.

Jonathan nodded, stepping into the room and shuffling through items on his bookshelf. Kat felt the tension the second he entered. They may have found a truce for now, but what happened in the alley with Steve was far from over. Kat shoved it down.heart

“When Will gets home, he’s getting a two-day grace period max before this entire disaster zone is his problem. He’s officially turned into you, by the way,” Kat continued.

Their eyes locked.

When.

Not if.

They both smiled, and for the first time in days, it almost reached their eyes.

Jonathan dropped to his knees, tossed aside the remaining blankets, and shoved his hands under the bed. A baseball, a monster manual, an old box of crayons, and several notebooks Will used for sketching clattered across the floor. One notebook opened to a picture of Will the Wise, in full cleric gear, casting fireball. Elation bloomed in her chest.

Will was coming home.

“Got it!” Jonathan shouted as Hopper and Joyce walked through the doorway with Nancy on their heels.

“Well, call ‘em!” Hopper ordered.

Jonathan held the walkie up to his face, but dropped it again, his eyes meeting Kat.

“You’re their favorite,” he said, holding out the walkie. “You’ve got the best shot.”

Her heart felt full enough to burst, but heavy enough to sink at the same time. If anything happened to those kids…

“Dustin?” Kat asked, fighting to keep panic from her voice. “This is Kat. Are you there? Over.”

She gripped the walkie tighter, pressing the button so tight that three horizontal grooves imprinted into her thumb.

“Mike? Lucas? This is Kat. You there?”

Static crackled through the room as her hand shook.  She glanced at Hopper and Joyce. God. If this didn’t work…if they couldn’t find them…

“Red Five,” she said. Not a question. A command. “This is Twin Sun. Dagobah Protocol. I repeat, Dagobah Protocol.”

Silence.

She shrugged, trying to get a grip on the rising panic in her chest. If anything could get their attention, it’d be that damn code. The one they’d come up with on a sugar high during Will’s Birthday sleepover, but had sworn–to Pelor himself–to only use in “emergencies of the highest order.” They made her repeat it five times until it was perfect. Back then, it felt like indulging their delusions of grandeur, but now she clung to it like a lifeline.

The static drug on as Hopper sighed. He looked at Nancy, about to speak, when a voice crackled through the walkie.

“Holy shit. She used it! She actually used the code!” Dustin’s voice burst through the speaker, garbled but intelligible.

Kat grinned.

“Shhhh. He’s trying to talk!”

Lucas. Kat looked at the walkie as if she could see them.

“Message received, Twin Sun. Red Five Copies,” Mike said, voice loud and clear. “Coordinates for rendezvous?”

“Homebase,” Kat answered, eyes welling with tears. “And get a move on. We’ve got some serious dice to roll.”

An hour later, Kat paced the front porch, swirling that metal ring on her finger like the talisman it was.

Those little shits better be okay.

The thought spun in a loop.

Originally, the code meant the kids would high tail it to Home Base–the house of whoever used the code–but then Hopper heard it. The steady thrum of helicopters whirring overhead.

A government search party.

So, new plan. The kids would wait in the Junkyard, and Hopper would go to them. Forty minutes had passed, and Kat’s stomach felt hollow. Every helicopter pass made her flinch, the rhythmic hum looping overhead like a soundtrack for her gear.

Great. Now my anxiety has a theme song.

The last twenty-four hours had been complete chaos. She tried to sort through it, file it away into pieces she could handle, but there was no box big enough for monsters from another dimension.

This was some real Creature from the Black Lagoon shit. This thing could slip between worlds like walking through a door. Nancy went to this other dimension, and Jonathan barely pulled her out before the door or gate to hell–whatever it was–disappeared. Nance nearly became trapped in that place, too.

The thought pinged in sharp and uninvited. If Nancy had gotten stuck in that place...maybe she’d be there right now. With Will. Watching his back, fighting like hell to keep him alive. Not stopping until they got back home.

Kat squeezed her eyes shut. The thought was selfish and cruel. Nancy didn’t deserve that, but goddammit if part of her wished Will had someone with him.  Maybe he’d found Barb.

She massaged her temples, digging her thumbs into the bridge of her nose. God, her brain hadn’t ached this much since learning Heron’s Formula in Geometry last year. At some point, she’d gone to bed and woken up in a fucking Stephen King novel.

The roar of the Chief’s jeep broke through the spiral as her stomach pulled into her throat. She dug the onyx ring into her finger and stared down the driveway at the puff of dust barely visible through the setting sun. Minutes turned to hours until the Jeep broke through the trees and turned into the drive.

Kat sprinted, meeting the Jeep the second it stopped, and three adorable nerds climbed out.

“Oh my god, Kat! You used the code!” Lucas said, palm out for a high-five.

“Kat! I’m so sorry. We wanted to tell you, but Mike said you’d freak out and try to stop us–”

“Because she would have!” Mike cut in. Then he looked at Kat.  “No offense.”

Kat nodded at every word, her stupid eyes leaking. She yanked each of them into a bone-crushing, soul-smushing hug. Her heart was almost full.

“You’re smothering us,” Mike said, muffled.

Her arms tightened around them in a defiant squeeze, not letting them go until they all protested.

“You’re lucky that’s all!” she reprimanded.

“Mike!” Nancy raced off the porch, enveloping her brother. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, turning back to look at a girl with a shaved head standing in Nancy’s old dress.

“This is Eleven.”

The girl with superpowers.

But she looks so small.

Kat smiled. If Hopper’s suspicions were right and this girl really did escape that lab…Kat couldn’t even imagine what she’d been through.

“I’m Kat. Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t extend a hand or move toward Eleven. Just smiled and let her decide what kind of contact she wanted, if any. This girl looked so tired. Not like she stayed up too late, kind of tired, but the kind that was etched on your soul.

“We call her El for short,” Mike added.

Everyone stopped moving, turning to look at the horizon where two choppers fell into shadow against the sunset.

“Everybody. House. Now,” Hopper ordered.

They all filed through the door. More tears leaked from her eyes as she clocked each of the boys rushing to Joyce, swarming her with hugs and shouting information so fast it all tumbled out garbled.

“Hey!” Hopper yelled, closing the door. “One. At. A. Damn. Time.”

A few minutes later, they all assembled around the living room, watching Mike scribble on a piece of paper. A pang of longing echoed in her chest and dropped like a stone into her stomach. How many times had she watched Will sit on the floor at that very coffee table? Coloring, playing board games, sorting dice into perfect piles.

She wiped her face.

“Okay,” Mike began, “In this example, we’re the acrobat. Will, Barbara, and that monster are this flea.”

Kat caught Jonathan’s gaze, but he looked away. She sighed. No time to deal with his attitude now. There were more important things at hand. But, goddammit. She’d probably be paying for that decision in the alley the rest of her life.

“And this is the Upside Down where Will is hiding. The only way to get there is through a rip in time and space.”

“It’s like the Shadowfell,” Dustin added, eyes drifting to Kat. “The rip is like a gate to another dimension.”

“That we tracked to Hawkin’s Lab,” Lucas said.

“With our compasses!” Dustin beamed, still watching Kat. 

She’d bought those compasses for them last Christmas. Just a thoughtful gift at the time, but now she’d unknowingly handed them a map to hell.

“So, what, the compasses tracked the gate? Like it has a really strong electromagnetic field?” she asked.

“Exactly!”

“Is this gate underground?” Hopper asked, looking at Eleven.

“Yes,” El said quietly.

“Near a large water tank?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen it,” Mike said, piecing it together. “You’ve seen the gate.”

Joyce reached for Kat’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“Is-is there any way that you could reach Will?” she asked softly. “Maybe talk to him somehow?”

“And Barb too?” Nancy added.

El nodded.

Minutes later, everyone huddled around the small kitchen table, the air thick with anticipation. Eleven settled at one end, Mike next to her like a quiet sentry. Joyce sat opposite, her hands clenched in her lap. Kat stood behind her, placing a steady hand on her mother’s shoulder, a silent anchor. Joyce reached up and covered it, their fingers lacing together in quiet solidarity.

White noise hissed from Will’s Walkie, seeping into the kitchen like a suffocating fog. Tension coiled through the air, winding tight around each of them as all eyes fell on Eleven.  The radio static crackled on and off, garbled and ghostly. 

Kat’s mind flashed to the night in the field with the cows and the man that walked wrong. Where the sound of Joy Division bled in and out through static like a haunted memory. God. All along, she had been that close to Will and never knew.

The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Eleven said softly, tears welling.  “I-I can’t find them.”

Kat’s hand clenched around her mother’s like a lifeline, trying to keep herself tethered. For just one second, she’d let herself believe. The hope left a hollow ache in its stead.

Eleven rose, and Kat caught the thin line of blood trailing from her nose. 

She gently untangled her hand from Joyce’s and moved around the table, keeping her voice steady.

“C’mon, El. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Her tone was gentle, but it didn’t leave room for argument.

The girl nodded.

Kat motioned for her to follow, the weight of the room still pressing between her shoulder blades as they stepped down the hall.  

“Here you go,” Kat smiled, nudging the bathroom door open. “Washcloth’s on the shelf, there. Soap’s on the sink. Take your time.”

Eleven nodded again.

Kat turned to leave, but paused, drawn back by something in El’s expression. Kat recognized the bone-tired stare, rimmed with defeat at the edges. She wore it too often herself.

“El? It’s okay,” Kat said softly. 

She moved to close the door, but a small hand caught her sleeve.

“I can do it,” El said, her eyes flooding with something that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I can find them. In the bath.” 

Chapter Text

And if you go chasing rabbits,
And you know you’re going to fall,
Tell’ em a hookah-smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call.

– Jefferson Airplane White Rabbit

Kat wrinkled her nose at the gym’s musty smell. She hated this place on a good day. Now, with the world teetering on edge, it felt suffocating. She held half-taped swim goggles in one hand, a roll of duct tape in the other, and bit through a strand with her teeth. She dropped the roll into her lap and raised the goggles to the lights, checking for bleedthrough.

Behind her, Lucas and Dustin argued about the water as they fiddled with the temperature. A garden hose ran across the gym floor, where Nancy controlled the taps from the utility closet.

Geez, these two bickered like an old married couple half the time.

“Should we take her temperature?” Dustin asked, eyes shooting over to El.

“Why would we need her temperature?” Lucas asked, waiting for the thermometer to rise to temperature. “We can just make it 98.6.”

“What if El doesn’t run at 98.6?”

“You’re overthinking this.”

“This is precision science, Lucas. One degree off and it could blow everything. We don’t know how her powers work.”

“Precision science? We’re in the high school gym with a water hose and a kiddie pool.”

Dustin sighed.

“A little warmer!” Lucas yelled at Nancy, shaking his head. His voice bounced off the gym walls, and Dustin groaned.

Kat rolled her eyes, but giggled anyway.

God, she’d missed them.

A few minutes later, Dustin pulled an egg out of the water and tossed her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Kat nodded back. Maybe it was precision science, but somehow the Adorable Nerd Brigade pulled it off.

Eleven and Joyce joined Kat at the pool’s edge, and she handed over the goggles.

“Thank you for everything you’re doing for my brother and Barbra,” Kat said.

“And El?” Joyce began, “If anything happens or if you get scared, I’m here right here, okay?”

Eleven nodded and stepped up to the pool. Kat noticed the way Eleven’s face changed. Her lips drew together in a line, and her hands tightened into a ball. Bravery bled from her bones, but Kat could see the fear hidden between them. It crackled just under the surface, waiting for a moment to spring free. The kind of fear that mirrored Kat’s own. A deep fear that slithers when you see something horrifying you were never meant to. That deep, soul-sick kind of fear that rewrites everything you know about the world.

She’d felt the edges of it that night in the Floyds' pasture. 

But the night Hopper told them Will died…she’d known the full weight and depth of it then. Fear deep enough to drown.

Eleven settled into the bath, leaning back into the float as Nancy’s dress surrounded her like a pink cloud. If it wasn’t for those ridiculous goggles on her head, she’d almost look like she was soaking in the last of the summer sun.

Kat knelt at the edge of the pool between Nancy and Joyce. She squeezed her mother’s shoulder, then focused on Eleven. The lights in the gym flickered.

“Barbara?” El’s voice was thick, jagged.

A rock fell into Kat’s stomach. Nothing good would come from that tone.

Kat snatched Nancy’s hand, bracing for something she already knew in her gut. The lights flickered. El’s breathing hitched.

“Is Barb okay?” Nancy asked, clinging to Kat’s hand and inching toward El. “Is she okay?”

“Gone. Gone. Gone!”

El repeated the phrase over and over until Joyce reached into the pool and grabbed her arm.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothed. The same tone Kat heard a million times after knee scrapes and head bumps. “I got you. It's okay. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you.”

Nancy’s eyes were glassy, a few tears breaking the dam. Kat drew closer, wrapping an arm around her. Memories flickered through her mind–walks home from school, hours spent in Nancy’s room gossiping about everything that happened at the Snow Ball. There had been a time when the three of them were inseparable, but now they’d never be in the same room again.

And if Barb was dead, then Will could be too.

Her gut protested. Will is alive. Will is alive. That unshakable intuition screamed the truth, but warned her there wasn’t much time. She leaned into Nancy, her eyes drifting back to Eleven.

“Castle Byers,” El said softly.

Kat’s eyes shot to Jonathan, unspoken fear passing between them. He had to be alive. He had to be. He…he was.

“Will?”

The lights in the gym flickered once. Kat’s pulse raced, thrumming through her ears.

Alive…alive…alive…

That’s all she could think. One word on repeat. Her theme song narrowed down to a single line…a single word.

“You tell him I’m coming,” Joyce said fiercely, her grip on El never wavering. “Mom is coming.”

Kat locked eyes on her mother, drinking in that Byers' determination, the promise she would tear through hell itself to bring him home and make their family whole again.

“Hurry.”

Then a voice crackled through the Walkie in Dustin’s hand. Small. Fragile. Achingly familiar. A sound she never thought she’d hear again.

Will.

Her chest split open with relief and fear.  He sounded weak and broken, like when he’d wrecked his bike the first time he’d taken it out on his own and crashed. But he was alive. She hadn’t failed him. Not yet.

Jonathan reached toward Nancy, stacking his hand over theirs, grounding them all in the fragile, desperate hope that hung between them.

Will was alive.

Hopper didn’t waste a beat. He was on his feet, the Byers dragging behind him. Metal doors clanged as he pushed outside. Kat’s stomach lurched. She knew his play, and it terrified her.

“So this fort. Where is it?”

“In the woods behind our house,” Joyce said.

“He used to go there to hide,” Kat added, eyes flicking between Jonathan, Joyce, and finally Hopper.

He really was going in there alone.

“Great. Now get back inside!”

Hopper opened the jeep door, pausing just long enough to make sure they obeyed.

“What?” Joyce strode toward him. “Are you insane?”

Hopper scoffed, jaw tight.

“If something happens to me, if I don’t make it back…”

“Then I’ll go. You stay. Are you kidding me?” Joyce snapped, stepping toe-to-toe with him. Somehow, despite being shorter, she seemed taller, fiercer.

“He’s my son, Hop. My son,” she said, pointing to her chest. “I’m going.”

Her eyes drifted to her children.  Jonathan shook his head, but Kat’s eyes never wavered. Her mom was marching straight into the fire, and she had to hold it together. Like she always did. Like she always would.

“I need you both to stay here. Watch the kids,” Joyce’s voice softened, but there was steel underneath. The tone dared them to even think about arguing.

“No, Mom,” Jonathan protested. “I can help.”

Kat felt the sting behind her eyes, but she blinked it back. Joyce’s resolve never wavered.

“You have to stay here, Jonathan. Please.”

Joyce pulled him into a hug, but her eyes found Kat.

“Kat,” she said, voice cracking. “You are in charge. Stay here with the kids. They need you.”

She wanted to argue, to insist, but Will needed them. Hopper and Joyce were going behind enemy lines, straight from the frying pan into the fire.

So she didn’t argue. She nodded. Joyce broke away from Jonathan and grabbed her shoulders. For a long, silent heartbeat they exchanged every unspoken word.  This wasn’t a temporary promotion. It was a what-if, in case of, and if anything happens to me.

No.

A single tear welled and dropped down Kat’s cheek.

“Home by midnight or you’re grounded,” Kat whispered, arms wrapping around her mother. She felt two years old and eighty all at once.

Joyce nodded, a single tear gleaming.

“Joyce!” Hopper’s voice cut through the moment.

He met Kat’s for just a beat. A whole conversation happened in the blink of an eye, unspoken but acknowledged. A promise. He would protect them with his life.

“Come on, Joyce. Let's go!”

The jeep engine roared to life, tires crunching over gravel.

Time to roll initiative.

Jonathan and Kat stayed behind, silence thick around them. They watched the Jeep’s taillights fade into the distance as the silence filled with the weight of everything drifting between them. Words hovered at the edges of Kat’s tongue, but none would come.

“Jonathan…”

Her eyes searched his face for an apology neither of them knew how to voice. The fighting, the anger, the betrayal–this wasn’t the usual Byers sibling dynamic. “Please forgive my ultimate betrayal. I swear to Pelor it was actually for your best interest, not because Steve the douchebag Harrington didn’t deserve every punch,” was a hell of a lot heavier than “Hey Doofus, do the dishes before mom gets home or I’ll frog your arm again.”

He nodded once. Acknowledgement without forgiveness. He heard her. He wasn’t ready yet.

Understood.  

The gymnasium door slammed behind them as they walked into the lobby. Kat’s gaze drifted, landing on Nancy slunk down onto the floor, back pressed into the wall. They moved to her side, the silence stretching between them.

“We have to go back to the police station,” Nancy finally said, voice calm but shaky.

Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed the grief she tried to mask over Barb.

“What?” Jonathan asked, bewildered.

“Your mom and Hopper are just walking in there like bait. That thing is still in there. We can’t just sit here and let it get them, too.”

Kat’s chest tightened. Her focus snapped to Nancy.  Beneath the good girl exterior, past the perfect grades and jock boyfriend, beyond the girl who never refused a dare at a sleepover, the best friends who made matching friendship bracelets for their school bags–the connection still sparked. Iced over, maybe, but not gone.

“You want to hunt it,” Kat said. “Distract it.”

Nancy looked at Kat, determination burning just under the surface.

Kat blazed brightly for those she loved, all fire and dancing flames burning so hot they were blue at the edges. But Nance? She simmered, careful and precise, letting her flame flare when the stakes were highest. Everyone assumed they were total opposites, but they weren’t.  Kat and Nancy carried the same spark. It just ignited at different temperatures.

“I want to finish what we started,” she said,  her voice sharp and unwavering. “I want to kill it.”

The plan was set. Grab the monster-hunting supplies from the station. Set a trap for the monster. Distract while Hopper and Joyce saved Will. Phasers set to kill.

Kat threw open the front door to her house, ushering Jonathan and Nancy through. He dropped the heavy box of supplies on the coffee table with a metallic rattle. Nancy stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes pouring over every strand of de-bulbed Christmas lights, to the ransacked items on the floor, finally landing on the alphabet wall. She wasn’t judging. She calculated, strategized…planned.

Slamming the door shut, Kat moved toward Nancy. Somewhere in her chest, the Nancy box she’d compartmentalized all their memories into tipped over, spilling Bowie, slap bracelets, and the kind of memories made at sleepovers lit by lava lamps and fueled by secrets. Now that they were temporarily on the same team again, Kat felt lighter. At least this felt right with the world. They’d always been a good team from board games to pranks on the boys…and now they were moving and thinking like a unit again.

Just maybe they could pull this off. 

Kat didn’t question why all the bulbs were out of the lights. Not after everything she’d seen in the last few days.

“Lights first?” Kat asked, already moving to the pile of bulbs discarded in a chair in the living room.

“Then Jonathan and I can start the bear trap,” Nancy said with a nod.

Kat moved fast, every step calculated, every flick of her wrist precise. Sweat tickled her hairline, the sound of the half-working clock on the mantle ticking away. Hopper and Joyce were walking blind into the lion’s den. This had to work. They had to bait that thing and keep them safe long enough to grab Will.

There were no rerolls. No saves. This was it. The final battle. They either crushed it or got crushed. Kat could feel the weight of it all in her hands–the bat, the hammer, the long nails. She’d throw every ounce of herself into this fight, give them every advantage she could conjure, no matter the cost.

Her hands ached. The bulbs were endless. Hundreds? Thousands? Her mom had really gone all in. 

Jonathan plugged in a strand, and the house lit up like a Christmas tree. Perfect.

Jonathan lugged the bear trap into the hallway in front of her door. Nancy followed, nails in hand, but Kat couldn’t stop staring at it. One wrong step, one twitch of the wrong toe…and the whole plan would blow up in their faces. Every beat thrummed through her like a dungeon boss fight soundtrack. Mario vs. Bowser.  Which reminded her…

“Hey, Jonathan?” Kat called after him. “Sir Shellington is behind the door. Please move him.”

As much as she hated to admit it, she would be eternally crushed if she lost him to an inferno he didn’t deserve.

Nancy peaked her head around the corner from the hallway, eyes falling on Kat in a grin.

“You still have Sir Shellington?”

Kat turned red. She’d adopted Sir Shellington, a green stuffed turtle with mismatched eyes, at the Fall Festival years ago. First prize from the Ring Toss and to this day the only thing she’d ever won–besides verbal sparring and every trap Eddie ever plotted in D&D.

“She still sleeps with it when she watches scary movies,” Jonathan mocked.

If looks could kill, Jonathan would have exploded into smoke and ash. Kat glared at this smug face, mentally rolling initiative and throwing daggers at his head.

“Okay, Morrissey, let’s reel it in and focus, or I’ll tell Nancy about the night of your eighth-grade graduation.”

Nancy arched an eyebrow, eyes bouncing between the two.

The smugness fell right off Jonathan’s face.

“Kat, no. You wouldn’t.”

His voice was small, the fear in his eye palpable. He absolutely knew she would.

“Your choice, sunshine,” Kat said with a smile.

Nancy locked eyes with Kat, tossing a look that said you have to tell me later. 

She grinned, kneeling at the coffee table as Nancy disappeared back into the hallway. She could hear Nancy call Jonathan ‘sunshine' and she laughed. Her work there was complete. 

Kat pulled the long nails from the cardboard box they retrieved from the police station, then reached for the Louisville Slugger resting against the couch.  A random gift from Lonnie years ago–a last desperate attempt to get him into something “normal.” Kat rolled her eyes.

The chasm that settled between Jonathan and Kat in the alley felt a little smaller now, but it didn’t keep the what-ifs at bay. None of them wanted to admit the stakes. The terror crept into Kat’s core like a slow, electric guitar in a minor key--the beginning of “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane. The repetitive drum driving the dissonant tones of fear through her chest. 

The onyx ring scraped across the surface of the bat as she reached for the first nail. Bracing it against the coffee table, she drove it in with a heavy, deliberate hit. Another. And another. Each jagged point bit into the wood like a promise forged in fire, carrying the weight of Will, Barb, and every hollow ache carved into her family since the monster took them.

Kat wasn’t a Paladin, but in this moment, she was a holy warrior. Excalibat wasn’t just a bat. It was the manifestation of her promise. Every nail a line of defense, every strike a declaration that the monster would feel the consequence of its terror, and she would not fail. 

When the last nail sunk into the wood, Kat dropped the hammer and gripped the bat with both hands. The weight settled into her bones. Heavy. Balanced. Deadly.

Excalibat, magic weapon +1.

Cold air crept through the boarded window, biting at her neck. Leaves rustled outside as a heavy wind blew, sending goosebumps across her arms.

You’re in charge.

The trees echoed her mother’s words in a soft, haunting whisper.

Nancy’s voice drifted from the hallway, where Kat heard the bear trap snap into place.

Those lives were hers to protect. The realization hung heavy in her chest.  Shaking hands gripped the bat, pressing that onyx ring into her index finger as if a thin piece of metal could vanquish fear. They were walking into a boss fight they weren’t leveled for.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down.  She needed focus. Strategy. Her best dice.  Closing her eyes, she drew in a sharp breath.  When she opened them, she wasn’t just Kat anymore. She was Sable. And Glory.  Every D&D character she’d ever played, every part of herself forged in battle and bullshit, fused into one. Every piece of herself that knew how to fight.The girl who turned chaos into victory. The one who shielded the party with her last hit point. The reason Eddie prepped fifteen contingencies and still lost.

No more reacting. No more waiting. No more playing by Upside Down’s rules.

Kat cracked herself open, struck the match against her ribs, and set herself ablaze.
That thing had taken the wrong boy. Threatened the wrong family. Haunted the wrong town.
And tonight? It would fucking burn.

“Woah,” Nancy said, walking up to the bat, her finger tracing the jagged nails like she could see them embedding into the monster’s flesh.

“We’re ready,” Jonathan said, his eyes darting between them, worry softened into resolve. A mirror of her own.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” Kat commanded. Plans failed if the steps weren’t nailed down. A lesson drilled into every new Hellfire member. Just like Gareth last semester, taking on that Kraken solo. Kid had heart, but it wasn’t enough. His character died spectacularly.

“We lure it straight into Kat’s room. And–”

“Don't step on the trap,” Kat cut in. “One toe on that thing and you're served up like the last slice of pepperoni on pizza day.”

“Wait for the yo-yo to move,” Jonathan added. “That’s the signal. Trap’s set.”

“Then we burn it to the fucking ground,” Kat finished, pulling the zippo with the smiley face from her jacket. 

“It’s solid,” Jonathan confirmed, nodding.

Nancy remained quiet, eyes flicking between the siblings.

“It’s time,” Nancy said, pulling three knives from the coffee table and holding one out to each of them.

Kat dropped the lighter into her pocket and set the bat down. No turning back. Do or die.

Rage coiled in her chest, tight and hot, but fear tried to smother the flames. Her gaze flicked to Nancy, then Jonathan. If either of them fell, she’d never forgive herself. No DM to fudge rolls. No cleric to revive them. This was a boss fight of life and death.

No.  Not while she was still breathing.

“This is it,” she said, her voice steel. “Final boss, no re-rolls.”

They nodded, each of them holding one hand in front of them and palming the blade of the knife. If this fucking thing wanted blood, then they would give it to him.

Blood for fucking blood.

“On Three,” Kat continued.

“One.”

“Tw-”

“You don't have to do this,” Jonathan said to Nancy, voice faltering.

“Jonathan,” Nancy whispered, breathy but firm. “ Stop talking.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Three!” Kat roared, slashing the knife across her palm.

Nancy hissed sharply as her blade met skin.. Jonathan hesitated a heartbeat, then closed his eyes and carved his own. Three blades. Three drops of blood. Three soldiers forged in fire.

They stared at each other, the silence thick and suffocating. Kat’s eyes flitted around the room, searching for any sign of the Demogorgon. No lights flashed. No walls–how had her mother described it? Melted? Morphed? Jonathan and Nancy mirrored her, stepping back, eyes darting wildly. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Just the heavy, stretched-out silence, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

A knock pounded through the house like the frantic bass beat in “Blue Monday” by New Order. Sharp, frenzied, chest rattling. Nancy jumped and grabbed onto Jonathan’s arm. Kat glared at the front door, a cocktail of dread and irritation. Of course someone decided to make a social call five seconds before shit hit the fan.

“Kat?” the muffled voice ripped through the quiet. “It’s me, Steve! Listen! I just want to talk.”

What the fuck?

Kat flicked her eyes to Nancy and Jonathan, both frozen. This couldn’t be real. Steve fucking Harrington, of all people, was darkening their doorstep. Now?

She marched to the door and cracked it open, poking her head into the gap. Her eyes locked with Steve’s, her fury crashing against the relief washing over his face–like he didn’t expect her to open the door. Her rage faltered as she took in his crusty, swollen face. Busted lip, gash down his nose, cheek absolutely pulverized.  She should have felt victorious, seeing him wrecked like this, but it only made her stomach turn.

Jonathan really fucked him up.

Steve Harrington. On her porch. Like he had the right. Her mind blinked. Why the hell is he here? Why now? Part of her wanted to demand an explanation, to push him off the step and shut the door for good, but another, uninvited part of her wondered what he could possibly say that mattered.

There wasn’t time to think about that. The danger of the Demogorgon was still breathing down their necks, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to gamble her life–or anyone else’s–for Steve Harrington. Even if he looked like he’d been run through a meat grinder and somehow still managed perfect hair.

That should be an ad for Faberge.

“Yeah, that’s great, Harrington. No one cares. Go away.”

She moved to slam it, but he pushed back, locked in some opposite tug-of-war.

“Kat, listen,” his voice wavered.

The King of Hawkins High nervous on her doorstep?

Am I dead? Is this hell?

His voice, that soft, vulnerable expression, the lack of a smirk on his face…it all caught her off guard, and she couldn’t look away.  He was being sincere.

“I messed up. I’m not trying to start anything, I just- I really messed up,” he punched his hand against the door frame, just enough to make his point. “I want to make things ri-” his eyes dropped to her bloodied hand, watching the droplets trail down the wooden door in a slow, steady line.

She didn’t move, her mind still processing his words. Something behind his eyes crumbled. Whoever was at her doorstep was not King Steve.

Was that concern? For her?

Yeah….no.

He could fuck right off.

Yanking her hand back, she shoved the door harder.

“Time to go, Harrin-”

“Are you okay?” he cut her off, voice softening as he forced the door open and stood just inside the threshold. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer to the nearby lamp and shoving her palm underneath it for a better look.  “This looks bad. What happ-”

“Steve?”

Steve’s hand tightened around her wrist as he whirled toward Nancy, brow furrowing. His eyes ping-ponged between them until his gaze landed on the blood dripping from Nancy’s palm. His mouth opened, but nothing came. His gaze swept past them to Excalibat, the Christmas lights, and the alphabet painted on the wall.

He looked like he walked into a nightmare.

Kat jerked her hand free, but the pulse of his concern lingered. She shook it hard, as if she could rid herself of the feeling.

Jonathan stood at the edge of the hallway, frozen. A blessing from Pelor that he somehow kept his cool. Kat needed every ounce of her attention on Steve, who was two seconds from a Grade ‘A’ freak-out.

The more Steve took in, the more he seemed to unravel. His eyes widened and face drained of color, like the truth of something wicked raked its claws down his spine. His chest heaved as his breathing shallowed.

Yep. He was one failed con save from losing his shit.

“What the hell is this?”

“Steve!” Nancy called, “Now is not a good time.”

“Nance, what is going on. Did they hurt you?”

Kat rolled her eyes. Of course, that was his first assumption.

Jonathan moved toward Steve, but Kat intervened. She knew that look, and they didn’t have time for this Fast Times at Ridgemont High bullshit. They needed to make sure Hopper and Joyce were safe to get Will.

“Listen, Harrington. I’m not asking,” Kat bowed up against him, pushing a hand into his chest. A drop of blood fell onto his green Henley. “You have to leave.”

“What is that smell?” Steve asked, ignoring her hand and brushing past her toward the hallway. He sniffed. “Is that gasoline? Kat? What the f-”

“Steve?”

They both swung towards Nancy, who moved without a second thought. In one smooth motion, she grabbed Lonnie’s revolver off the coffee table. Her eyes were sharp and unflinching as she cocked the gun and leveled it at Steve’s chest.

“Get out.”

Chapter Text

Pounding out aggression,
Turns into obsession,
Cannot kill the battery,
Cannot kill the family,
Battery is found in me

- Metallica, Battery


“W-w-wait,” Steve stammered, eyes widening in shock. “WHAT?”

A gun.
Nancy had a gun pointed at his chest.

It should’ve sent Kat into hysterics, but it didn’t. Someone had to keep it together before that thing dropped on their heads.  

Steve's eyes clung to hers, wild and pleading, as if she could anchor him to reality. But she couldn't give him that. Her stare was flat, unreadable, and the absence of compassion jolted him as hard as the gun aimed at his chest. 

She couldn't afford to soften. He was a liability, and every life in this room balanced on her keeping focused. Nancy made an extreme call, but if it got Captain Clueless out of here, then Kat would back it. They couldn't waste time on distractions. Any second the lights could flicker, and they'd be monster meat. 

His face fell, gaze flicking from her to the barrel. The look he leveled at her wasn't just fear, it was accusation. The hurt there was sharp enough to make her flinch. 

But what did she owe Steve Harrington anyway? By her account, she'd paid her dues in the alley. Saved his ass and bought Jonathan's grudge for it. In fact, he owed her. But somehow here she stood trying to save his ass again despite his inability to take a fucking hint. 

God, we do not have time for this. 

“You have five seconds to get out of here,” Nancy ordered, taking a step towards him.

“I-is this a joke?” he stammered, voice pitching higher. The closer Nancy got, the higher his hands went. “Put the gun down.”

Kat’s eyes scanned the room, forcing herself to ignore the heat of his stare. The stillness pressed in, too heavy and too quiet.  Steve’s babbling was going to get them killed.

I’ll be fucking damned if my death certificate reads: Cause of death: Steve Harrington wouldn’t shut the hell up. 

“I’m doing this for you,” Nancy said, low and cold, clicking off the safety.

Kat finally cut her eyes back to him. 

"I'd listen to her if I were you, Harrington." 

She gave him the Joyce Byers special, the look their mom gave them whenever they acted out in public. It promised one more wrong move, and there'd be hell to pay when they got home. 

"Kat? You can't be serious!" 

Then it happened.

One bulb blinked out. Then another. 

Across the room, several more flickered. Kat’s pulse synced with the rhythm, every flash a jolt of adrenaline to her system. The lights chased each other in a slow strobe across the wall, a message spelled out in a code only her body could read.

It’s here.

“Uh, Nancy?” Kat said softly, inching her way toward the coffee table where Excalibat leaned against the edge. 

“Three…” Nancy began, her gaze still locked on Steve. “Two…”

“No, no, no. Nancy, wait! H-hold on!”

“Nancy!” Jonathan yelled, finally grabbing her attention. 

“Where is it?” Nancy asked, turning away from Steve.

Kat’s gaze never strayed from the ceiling as she reached her fingers back, grasping Excalibat from the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jonathan grabbing the same axe their mother used to hack through the wall a few days ago.

“Anybody got eyes?”

The three of them shifted in sync, backs pressing together, weapons raised. Shadows stretched long across the walls, twitching with each flicker of the lights. The air between them hummed with electric dread.

“I don’t see it,” Jonathan answered, his voice rising.

“Why can’t we see it?” Nancy asked, voice no longer steady.

Kat’s pulse hammered in her throat.

“See WHAT?” Steve asked. “Hellooooo? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going-”

The ceiling exploded.

Wood splintered, drywall rained down in a cloud of shrapnel, and the Demogorgon dropped through like a living nightmare, tearing out of the sky. Its chittering screech split the air, raw and inhuman, rattling the floorboards beneath their feet. Kat’s arm flew up against the debris, her knuckles white around the bat, eyes wide as a silhouette unfolded to its full height. Before them, nine feet of teeth and claws eclipsed the light.

Nancy fired the revolver, the blasts deafening in the small room.

One.
Two.
Three.

The creature didn’t flinch.

The bullets sank into its flesh like spitballs against armor, only making it angrier.

It turned slowly, peeling its face open petal by petal, and revealed row after row of jagged teeth.

Jonathan yanked Nancy by the waist and pulled her down the hall. Kat cursed, grabbed Steve’s hand, and ran like hell. He stumbled after her, clunky and off balance, all elbows and panic.

“Jesus, Harrington. Aren’t you a jock? Fucking MOVE!”

She didn’t wait for him to find his footing. Behind them, the Demogorgon chittered, the same awful sound from the Floyds' field. The one that made the cows bolt.

Bile rose in her throat as they turned for the hallway. They were in deep shit.

Nancy vaulted the trap with Jonathan right behind her, axe clutched tight. Kat sprinted for it, heart hammering.  She snapped her head back. Harrington was still behind her, frozen and wide-eyed, like his brain hadn’t finished loading.

“Jump!” she shouted, never letting go of his hand.

Her boots cleared the trap, arm stretching to keep him tethered. He stumbled after her, legs flailing.

“Oh my God! Oh, My God! Oh, my God!” he yelled, clearing the jaws of the trap by inches.

The landing was sloppy. He crashed into her, shoving them both into the paneled wall with a bone-jarring slam. The impact rattled her ribs. His shoulder pressed into hers, pinning her against the wall with his breath ragged in her ear.

Ugh.

Pelor had to be punishing her for that incident with Glory and an orphanage at the end of Eddie’s last campaign. Sure, no orphans were technically harmed…but they were definitely more homeless.

“Move it!” she snapped, shoving into his shoulder. God, it was like literally being stuck between a rock and a hard place. She forced just enough space to slither around the corner into her room, hauling him through behind her.

Jonathan slammed the door as they crossed the threshold. For a heartbeat, they all stared at it, bracing as if the Demogorgon might tear it off the hinges.

Kat glanced down, realizing her hand was still tangled with Steve’s. Again. The sight jolted her into action. She yanked free like he was cursed, thrusting Excalibat into his chest. She wasn’t careful with the nails. The weight thunked against him, her side-eye daring him to drop it.

He grabbed the bat on reflex, hands tightening around the grip. Whether he wanted to or not, Steve Harrington just rolled initiative. His eyes dropped to the bat, flicked to the door, and landed on Kat.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?” his voice cracked, climbing an octave. “What the hell was that?”

“Shut up!” the trio snapped.

Where was King Steve when she actually needed him? All swagger when he’s making life hell, and dead weight in a crisis. Figures.

Outside the monster screeched, claws thudding against the floor as it prowled. Kat snapped the Zippo to life, flame trembling at the edge of her vision. Nancy leveled the revolver. Jonathan hefted the axe.

And Steve? Steve hovered too close. His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned forward, listening to the thudding sounds of the Demogorgon.

“What’s it doing?” Nancy whispered, eyes locked on the door.

“Stalking,” Kat murmured, pushing back into Steve just enough to buy some breathing room. It also conveniently put her squarely in the blast zone if anything ripped through that door.

All eyes locked on the yo-yo strung across the back of the chair. The cheap plastic disc with a stupid yellow smiley face stared up at them, a tripwire between survival and slaughter. If it moved, the trap was sprung.

Time stretched thin, every second dragging. The lights gave one violent buzzing jolt, then steadied again. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating, pressing into their lungs until the house itself held its breath.

Not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse.
The thought slipped through Kat’s head, nearly drawing a laugh.

“Do you hear anything?” Nancy whispered.

“No,” Kat said, snapping the Zippo shut with a click. Her eyes scanned the ceiling. “Where the hell did it go?”

Jonathan opened the door first, axe in hand. Nancy followed, gun at the ready. Kat pocketed the lighter and yanked the bat from Steve’s hands. He released it without protest, his eyes bouncing between them like he just saw into a world he didn’t even know existed.

They crept into the hallway single file. Each step landed soft and careful as they edged around the bear trap, eyes darting over every shadow for a glimpse of the Demogorgon.

“This is crazy,” Steve muttered from the back. “This is crazy. This is actually crazy. THIS IS CRAZY!”

As they rounded the corner toward the kitchen, Steve lunged for the phone hanging on the wall, jabbing 9-1-1 with frantic fingers. Kat ripped it out of his hands and hurled it across the room, just like the spray can back in the alley.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Steve barked, eyes wild.

“It’s going to come back!” Nancy snapped, stepping forward, revolver steady. “So you need to go.”

“Right now, Harrington,” Kat said quietly with a glare. Steve may have seen the angry barbarian rage, the calm seething fury of the rogue, but this look was a multiclass of all the anger she’d ever shoved down. Kat in her purest form.

Steve staggered back a step, then another, eyes flicking between their weapons and the door like a cornered animal. Without a word, he bolted, yanking the front door wide. Kat was right on his heels. She slammed it shut the instant his foot cleared the threshold, the echo cracking through the silence.

Steve enters initiative, Steve flees combat.

Kat rolled her eyes, dragging her focus from the door and back to the lights. One flickered, then another, until the entire house strobed like an underground rave.

“It’s back!” Kat yelled, eyes darting wildly for movement. She raised the bat, tightening her grip until that onyx ring crushed her finger.

“Where is it?” Nancy asked, desperate for somewhere to aim the gun.

“Come on. Come on, you son of a bitch,” Jonathan chanted, gripping the axe.

“Eyes?” Kat asked.

The trio pressed back to back, the room pulsing from darkness to light. Every shadow became the monster, every flash a threat.

“No! Where…” Nancy trailed off.

“Come on!” Jonathan yelled.

The lights strobed again then blinked out, plunging them into suffocating darkness. For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but their ragged breathing. Then the ceiling above Kat shuddered, splintering, before the Demogorgon crashed down right in front of her.

Of course, we got the monster from an alternate dimension with a signature move.

“Kat!” Nancy screamed.

Nine feet of nightmare unfurled to its full height. The monster took a step towards her, chittering. A predator closing on prey.

Kat locked in.

She squeezed the grip of Excalibat, feeling its weight and mentally balancing it for the swing. Her fingers flexed once. Her boots shifted shoulder-width apart, and she never took her eyes off the ball.

No hesitation.

No Fear.

Just pure rage.

Flames flickered up her back as she locked eyes with the mouth of hell.

You messed with the wrong fucking family.

Kat swung the bat into the Demogorgon’s shoulder with every ounce of pain and rage she’d swallowed since it took Will. This bitch wasn’t taking anyone else.

Skin tore beneath the nails with a satisfying rip, and Kat reveled the feel of it beneath her fingers. The monster chittered, reeling back as she ripped the bat free. Black blood trickled from the punctures, dripping to the floor.

“Hurry.”

She could hear Will’s voice coming from Dustin’s Walkie.
Small.
Weak.

He needed her, and she would never let him down again.

Kat swung, landing a second blow to the Demogoran with a barbarian yell. The bat sank into its shoulder with a crack, buried so deep the wood quivered in her grip. She tried to pull it free, but the bastard wouldn’t budge. The damn thing was stuck.

She yanked again. The bat loosened, but it was too late. The Demogorgon spun, wrenching the bat from her hands. It lunged.

Claws slashed across her chest, four jagged points slicing through skin like butter. The pain lit her nerves on fire, but she didn’t scream. She gritted her teeth and dug in.

Kat Byers wasn’t going down without a fight.

Blood bloomed beneath her fingers as she raked a hand across the slash, pooling red into her green army jacket.

Down a few hitpoints, unarmed, and still staring hell right in the face.

Put that on my tombstone.

The Demogorgon turned, giving her the perfect breath to get the bat back in her hands. She grazed the grip before the second attack hit her chest. This one landed deep.

The impact knocked her backward with a strangled gasp, the breath tearing from her lungs as pain shot across her body. Fabric split. Skin sliced open. More blood gushed, trickling down her abdomen.

Kat’s boots skidded on the floorboards as she stumbled, one hand grasping her chest, the other breaking her fall.

The Demogorgon ripped the bat from its arm, the bat bouncing as it clanged to the ground and rolled out of reach.

With a chittering screech, the Demogorgon stalked the distance between them.

It pounced, one claw slamming into her chest, the impact forcing all the air from her lungs. The other stabbed into the floor beside her head, nails tapping the wood in a sick rhythm.

Kat’s heart jackhammered as intense pain exploded across her chest, the feel of her bones groaning against the Demogorgon’s weight making her nauseous.  Above her, the Demogorgon's face opened like some grotesque flower, petals blooming with teeth.

Not like this.

Rage surged past the pain, scorching through her veins. She flung her arm wide, hands scraping the floorboard. Fingertips brushed against the sharp point of a nail, but it wasn’t quite enough to grip.

Almost…there.

“Hey! Hey you!” Jonathan screamed, voice drenched in panic.

The Demogorgon ignored him,  lowering its head toward Kat, sniffing something ancient…primal.

Fear.

Thick ropes of spit dangled from its gaping maw, as it salivated over its prey. The drool slicked down her cheek and onto her lips, the stench of rot and blood hitting the back of her throat. Her stomach lurched as bile clawed up, choking her on the scent of death.

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch!” Nancy screamed.

The revolver popped as she fired once. Twice.

Click.

The gun jammed.

Jonathan swung into its back with the axe, but slipped in the pool of Kat’s blood, barely scoring its thick hide. The Demogorgon didn’t flinch, focused on its prey.

It pressed deeper into Kat’s chest, dragging one claw down her cheek in a slow, deliberate scrape. Blood trickled along her jawline, the metallic scent feeding its fury. The Demogorgon roared. Its gaping maw filled her entire field of vision as the sound vibrated through her skull and down her spine.

Air tore from her lungs as a loud crack resonated through her chest, ribs buckling beneath its weight.

She couldn’t scream.
She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t breathe.

Rage. It's all she had. She focused on fury, embracing it as she blocked the pain and swallowed it down. This thing wouldn’t take her. Not like this.

Kat reached one final time, fingers stretching and desperate for the bat.

Her only chance.

She grunted, shoving her heels into the floor for one more reach.

Her fingertips hooked a nail of Excalibat…
…then it was ripped from her grasp.

A white Nike with a red logo landed next to her head.

One step.
Another.

Then…

Air.

Glorious, crushing air surged back into her lungs as the weight vanished.

When her vision cleared, Steve fucking Harrington stood over her, swinging Excalibat with wild, brutal force.

He slammed it into the Demogorgon, ripped it free, and struck again.

Each hit landed with a grunt, raw and relentless. A flurry of swings followed, furious and calculated

King Steve finally showed up.
The only thing between her and a gruesome death.

Nancy rushed to her side, but Kat couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He didn’t flee.
He didn’t disengage.
He fucking hit the Demogorgon with a full goddamn sneak attack!

“Get up!” Jonathan yelled, voice cutting through the static as he and Nancy hauled her to her feet.

Pain screamed through her chest.
Her breath rattled in short, broken bursts. She doubled forward with a sharp cough, each jerk of her body stabbing like a hot knife between her ribs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She let the pain crash through her, but only for a second. Just long enough to taste the edge of it.

Then she shoved it down like she’d done her entire life.

There would be time to suffer later.
Right now, she had to get her head back in the game.

Steve twirled the bat once in his hand, nails glinting in the flickering light, daring the Demogorgon to move. He swung again and didn’t stop until the monster stumbled backward into the hallway, screeching in retreat.

Kat’s chest soared despite the searing pain. He forced the Demogorgon back, step by step, until…

SNAP

The bear trap slammed shut in a wet, metallic crunch.

The monster shrieked.

“It’s in the trap!” Steve shouted. “He’s stuck!”

Kat didn’t hesitate, sprinting down the hall. Her legs almost gave out, but the adrenaline was too loud. She just needed one second longer. Just enough to burn the bastard. 

She slid to a stop in front of Steve. One flick of the Zippo, and she dropped it onto the gasoline. Flames roared to life, racing toward the monster in a burst of orange and white.

Heat flared across her skin as Steve’s arm locked around her waist and yanked her back from the blaze. Her feet barely skimmed the floor, a cry escaping her lips, swelling into a full, broken moan as her ribs lit up in agony.

Its high, inhuman scream tore through the roar of the inferno as flames curled around its body.

No one moved.
No one breathed.

They watched in stunned silence as the fire raged, painting the hallway in flickering orange and shadow.

Jonathan was the first to look away. He stumbled back, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and yanked the pin. The chemical smell came before the smoke, acrid and suffocating, enveloping them in a thick smog. 

They coughed in unison.

Air scraped down her throat in thin, pathetic sips. Her breathing turned shallow, her lungs fluttering. Kat’s vision blurred, the edges falling dark. Her knees gave out a second later, buckling beneath her

Steve caught her.

One arm still locked around her upper waist, he pulled her tight against his body. She could feel his chest rise and fall against her back. The other hand clutched the bat, gripped tight and ready to swing.

A living shield.
For her.

As the smoke thinned, Jonathan clung to the extinguisher. Nancy swapped the jammed gun for their mom’s axe, white-knuckled and shaking.

“Where did it go?” she whispered.

“No…” Jonathan muttered. “It has to be dead. It has to be.”

Kat’s eyes flicked to the bear trap. A strip of blackened flesh sizzled on the metal like goddamn fajitas. It was the last thing she saw before dropping to zero hit points and falling limp in Steve Harrington's arms. 

Chapter Text

“Let my love open the door 
to your heart.”  
- Pete Townsend, Let My Love Open The Door
                                               
Endorphins were a fucking lie. Or adrenaline or whatever the hell part of the endocrine system it was. The one that let moms pull cars off babies or some shit. Where the hell were hers? She didn’t even need to pull cars off babies. She just needed to stand on her feet and not pass out in front of Steve Fucking Harrington. Yet, here she was.  Down for the count and no idea if they even won.   

And what was that noise? Like a cassette warping mid song when the mechanism got hung and all the tape stuff got ripped out and tangled. Hell, it was almost the sound of the air conditioner in the Ford in the middle of summer when it sputtered to keep up.

A thousand knives stabbed inwards as she breathed, ribs grinding, wounds bleeding, lungs seared raw from the extinguisher’s smoke. Each breath was shallow and fractured.

Oh.

That would be me.

Great.       

At least I know what it feels like to have one hp now. Although I might not even be conscious. So.. maybe I have no hp. Cool. I’m finally making death saves, and Eddie isn’t even here to gloat.  He always warned me about tanking when I'm a goddamn fighter class. Maybe I should start listening.

Kat inhaled another ragged breath, too shallow.  She felt movement behind her. Someone was kneeling and…breathing? Her head rose and fell slightly in a steady rhythm.  Had Steve gone down with her?

Not a good look. 
At least I’m half-dead.
You can’t die from mortification if you’re already dead…right?

“Kat,” Jonathan said, rushing to her.

Welp. That meant she wasn’t leaning up against him then, and unless Nancy’s hands had grown double in size…

She was propped up against Steve Harrington’s chest.

Forget the sun, forget the blackhole. Just launch me into another fucking dimension. I hear Barovia is nice this time of year.

“Her breathing is shit,” Steve said, his voice reverberating right into her skull. “That thing might have broken a few ribs.”

“That's a problem, but look at her chest. The blood.” Jonathan dropped to his knees, dumping a mess of supplies on the floor. It sounded like something heavy. Maybe their first aid kit that hadn’t been touched since the Fourth of July incident three years ago? Lot of help that would be.

Tugging on the edges of her jacket, his face tightened as the fabric peeled away. The front of the green army coat revealed two slashes, one deeper than the other, and soaked crimson.

“She’s gonna be more pissed about this jacket than being sliced like a side of beef,” Jonathan muttered mostly to himself.

He wasn’t wrong. That jacket had been with her through thick and thin. Longer than most friendships, even. Her chest screamed, but it still managed to ache a little deeper at the thought of losing it.

Steve rolled his eyes, she could feel it. A silent shake of his head followed, like she was somehow still being a pain in the ass while bleeding out.

Fingers prodded her chest as Jonathan assessed the injuries, each movement another jolt of searing pain. She’d never take screaming for granted again.

“She’s bleeding too much. Here–” his voice shook as he shoved something into Steve’s hands. “Press these over the gashes, but keep the pressure on her sternum and avoid the ribs. If they’re broken, you could puncture a lung.”

Steve's heartbeat thudded behind her head, hammering as he caught sight of the wound.

Shit. Must be bad.

Steve leaned over her for a better look. That damn yuppie cologne he always wore, smoky vanilla with a soft musk, hit her nose and her stomach lurched. He hovered over her shoulder, hands hanging just above her chest, like he was afraid one wrong move would finish what the Demogorgon started.

She felt three small movements like he was mentally counting down, followed by a sharp inhale.

With the next move, white hot agony lanced through her chest, burning through every nerve. His hold was firm but careful, palms steady even as the towels darkened fast.  Her blood soaked through, creeping onto his skin.

“Jesus, Kat,” he muttered.

“Is she okay? This damn thing…” Nancy’s voice wavered as her boots tapped across the floorboards. She fumbled with the revolver, still trying to unjam it. “Just tell me she’s–”

Her words fractured into a gasp.

“Y-you need more towels,” she said finally, her voice trembling.

Her footsteps faded fast, the echo heading down the hall toward the bathroom.

Jonathan tore through the first aid kit, rattling bottles and scattering things across the floor. Whatever he found there clearly wasn’t enough. His breath hitched, panic surging.

“Shit. She needs stitches, o-or fuck,” he yanked something out of the kit and flung it.  “She needs a hospital.”

His hand dove back in, desperate, shaking.  Like maybe if he kept looking hard enough, a healing potion would be buried at the bottom.

Kat wanted to reach out. Put a hand on his shoulder. Ground him like she always had since they were kids. But every breath was splintered glass. Her ribs screamed. Her body wouldn’t move.

“God, Kat...” Jonathan’s voice cracked. “Why is it always you? You always–”

The words collapsed, choking off halfway.

He dropped back onto his heels, hands limp, like he’d lost a fight with whatever was holding him together. His eyes stayed locked on her, wide and terrified, like he was already losing her.

“Keep your head in the game,” Steve said, voice too steady for someone drenched in her blood. But Kat could feel it, his hand, pressed firm to her ribs, was trembling.

“There’s a butterfly bandage there,” he added. “Should help the gash on her face.”

Jonathan didn’t answer. She only caught the frantic shuffle of supplies. If he agreed, he did it silently, jaw clenched, shoulders hunched, and practical to the bitter end.

And it wasn’t like they could call an ambulance. What would happen if people saw this place? There was only so much Hopper could explain away.

Pressure lifted from her chest as Steve brushed hair back from her injured cheek. She felt the sticky pull where his touch skimmed the edge of the gash. A throbbing sting ripped across her face, a new layer of pain on top of everything else.

Shit. That was deep. It was going to scar.
At least it’d look metal as hell.

Somewhere nearby, Nancy's boots ticked across the floor, growing steadily closer.

“More tow-” Nancy’s voice dropped suddenly, and Kat felt the towels land near her wrist.

“The lights! It’s back!”

Steve’s arms tensed as Jonathan jumped to his feet. Nancy shuffled nearby, the revolver clicking loud and fast before finally cocking into place. Damn, she was good.

Metal scraped across the floor as Jonathan grabbed the axe.

But Steve didn’t move away. He pulled Excalibat closer. She could feel the edges of nails prickling her shoulder. His other arm tightened around her, drawing her deeper against his chest. The pressure from the towels never let up, his hand still firm over the wound, steady even as her blood continued to soak through.

Nope. Absolutely not.

She was not a damsel in distress, waiting to be protected and saved. Everyone had been fawning over her for ten minutes. Nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds too long.

And if she let anything happen to Jonathan…

Kat drew every ounce of resilience left in her bones, forcing herself toward consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, leaden and uncooperative.

I. Will. Not. Die. Leaning. Against. Steve. Harrington’s. Chest.

She tossed a plea to Pelor, a good word to Oberon, and an oath of promise to Tymora, goddess of luck. After rolling all those ones, surely she had something for them.

Kat pictured Will’s laugh, Jonathan’s quiet smile when he thought no one else was looking, her mother’s relentless will. She pulled it all inward, channeling it straight into her core.

Her eyes opened.

Light bled through first, but not the jagged strobe from before when they faced the Demogorgon. This was something softer. A muted glow, pulsing gently against the dark. Her blurred vision clung to it, chasing its rhythm until the haze gave way to shape.

Steve’s face came into focus, bathed in shifting bands of color. Soft reds, cold blues, a wash of green that ghosted over his cheekbones like some warped northern lights.  And all of it unreal, like she’d slipped into another world where Steve Harrington’s face was the last thing tethering her to consciousness.

“I-I don’t think that’s the monster,” Jonathan said, distant now. Maybe close to the front door? “I think that’s…Mom.”

The lights twinkled one by one.

“Jonathan?” their mother’s voice whispered through the silence.  Almost like it slipped through a place where the veil between dimensions thinned.

Did she have Will? Did she make it in time?

That stone in her gut rolled as a thousand thoughts flooded her mind. Will had to be okay. More than anything else. More than a few cracked ribs. More than a little–okay a lot–of lost blood.

She reached for her intuition, desperate for a flicker of the truth, but it felt like wading through syrup. Every signal dulled. The ache in her ribs drowned out everything else, dragging her toward unconsciousness like a riptide in slow motion. 

Kat stirred, mustering every ounce of strength she had left. All she managed was a twitch. Barely even that.

Steve must have felt it. His gaze dropped to meet hers. No smug grin, no lazy smirk like he had the world in the palm of his hand. His face was a mess. Bruised jaw, dried blood crusted along one cheekbone…Jonathan really had done a number on him. 

Except the hair. Always the damn hair. Perfect in a way that defied the laws of nature. Even half-dead, she found herself running through conspiracy theories: secret product line, pact with the devil…whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. She shelved the thought, but barely. His eyes stole the rest of her attention.

Wide, soft, searching. Not fear. Not smugness. Something quieter, heavier, like he was seeing her for the first time–or terrified he almost saw her for the last.

Last time they’d been like this, Steve was the one bleeding out while she planted herself between him and Jonathan. Now the roles reversed, and he was the wall holding her up. Only he looked relieved. Like her fluttering eyes gave him permission to breathe again.

He didn’t flinch. Just kept staring like the second he looked away, she might vanish.  When he finally breathed, the grin slid back into place, practiced and cocky.

“Welcome back, Byers,” he said, all smug bite on the surface, but his voice cracked with something softer underneath.

What dimension was this? Because Steve Harrington just spoke to her like he actually gave a damn.
 
The car ride to the hospital was hell. A blur of street lights, stabbing sensations, and nausea.

Jonathan drove like he was in the Indy 500, jaw clenched and knuckles white. Every few seconds, he’d bark something over his shoulder, asking about her breathing or if she was still conscious.

In the backseat, Nancy hovered on her left, fingers pressed just below the lowest rib to stanch the bleeding. Steve sat on her right, one hand clamped down on the deepest part of the gash across her chest. His palm was warm, steady, but damn it still hurt like hell.

The sleeve of his green Henley soaked so much of her blood, it looked almost brown. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of it–she was usually fine with blood. She’d bandaged her brother's wounds hundreds of times, but this was different. This was her blood. And there was so much of it.

At least the flow slowed to a trickle, but the damage was done. Her entire torso throbbed, drowning the world in a low, pulsing static.

Nancy’s hand never wavered. She didn’t tremble, she didn’t pull back.

“You’re okay, Kat. Almost there.”

But everything sounded like she was underwater, muffled and distant.

Steve didn’t say anything.  He just kept his hand right where it needed to be, jaw tight, eyes bouncing between the road and her wounds.

The silence between him and Nancy could be cut with a knife. Kat could feel it pressing in on her like a second set of injuries. Dying tonight might have been preferable to third-wheeling Steve and Nancy post-breakup.

Kat’s head lolled slightly, just enough to nudge Steve’s arm. “You should’ve let me drive,” she rasped, voice rough and slurred. “Would’ve been smoother. Jonathan can’t drive for shit.”

Steve blinked, caught completely off guard. For a second, he just stared. Then, a shaky breath escaped him, and a smile broke across his face.

“I think she’s going to be okay,” Nancy said, voice laced with relief.

Up front, Jonathan scoffed, glancing at them in the rearview.

“Well then, what does that say about you?” Jonathan quipped, a smile sneaking in. “You taught me to drive.”

The ER smelled like antiseptic and fear. And bleach. God, the bleach. It reminded her of the chemical smell of the morgue when they went to identify Will. Her stomach roiled. She’d really like to erase that from her memory.

Kat had been triaged, poked, prodded, jabbed with needles, and X-rayed. She barely remembered most of it, just flashes of fluorescent lights and cold metal surfaces. One nurse asked if she knew her name. Another clipped her shirt away like it was tissue paper. So much for her favorite Zeppelin tee.

Jonathan told them it was an animal attack. Said they were walking behind the house when a stray dog or coyote came out of nowhere. Said they’d barely scared it off in time. The doctor raised an eyebrow at the placement of the wounds, the size of the gashes, the fact that coyotes bit not slashed. But he didn’t question them. Hell, he’d probably seen stranger things.

“You took a hell of a beating, kid,” the doctor said, peering through wide-rimmed glasses at her chart. “Nothing a few stitches and a little rest won’t fix. A couple cracked ribs, but nothing broken. Seems pretty lucky to me.”

Lucky.

Lucky Harrington was there, or she’d be the one on that morgue slab. She probably owed him a thank you or some kind of gratitude. The thought made her throat tighten.

How do you even thank someone for saving your life?

One of the nurses double checked her IV line for the third time that hour.

“Young lady, if I come back in here and have to jab another IV into your hand, I’m bringing three orderlies and a sedative.”

She stared at Kat, then glanced at Jonathan with a long-suffering sigh, clearly hoping someone in the room had a shred of sense. Then she turned on her heel and left.

Kat had been scolded at least six times for ripping the thing out. It didn't matter how many times they stuck her, every chance she got she yanked it loose again. She wasn’t trying to be difficult, but she didn’t want to be doped out of her skull when Will showed up. She wanted to be sharp. Clear. Herself.

“Jonathan?” she croaked, voice still rough from the smoke fumes. He sat next to her in a chair, elbows resting on the bed, bouncing his foot.   “I know you’re nervous, but you’re shaking the bed and my ribs are clattering around like Will’s rock tumbler.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just…” he trailed off, leaning away from the bed.

She didn’t blame him. How the hell were they supposed to talk about any of this?

She nearly died. Everything had gone wrong. They laid the perfect plan, then all rolled ones. Nancy’s gun jammed, Jonathan slipped, Excalibat had gotten stuck…If Harrington hadn’t shown up rolling crits like his dice were blessed by Pelor himself, they would all be dead.

“Jonathan. Hey,” she said, wincing as she reached her bandaged hand toward him. “I’m still here.” 

He didn’t look at her at first, just chewed on his nail while staring at the floor. She could see his thoughts racing behind his eyes. He replayed the fight again and again, stacking every ounce of blame on himself. If he’d landed that axe swing, she wouldn’t be lying here. If Nancy’s gun hadn’t jammed, the monster wouldn’t have pounced, and Kat wouldn’t have lost all that blood.

His thoughts mirrored her own, breaking down the strategy and how things could have been different, but it was a slippery slope. You could play that game for the rest of your life.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly. “You slipped. The gun jammed. I got knocked. You landing that blow wouldn’t have changed things. I was already on the ground. If anything, it’s my fault. If I didn’t hit the damn thing so hard the first time…”

Jonathan still wouldn’t look at her, still chewing that same damn nail.

“Honestly, if Harrington hadn’t shown up when he did–”

“Don’t,” Jonathan snapped, then softened. “Just..don’t.”

Two orderlies rushed past their door with a gurney, running toward the emergency entrance. Kat pushed herself upright, ignoring the searing protest from her chest, and leaned forward to see down the hallway.. Jonathan shot up from his chair beside her.

“Incoming. Male. Unconscious. Fifty-six years of age.”

Kat slumped back down, inhaling sharply at the stabbing pains.

Okay. Maybe I do need a little bit of the drugs.  

Jonathan dropped back into the chair, head in his hands. When the pain dulled enough, she broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.

“They’re going to be okay, Jonathan. Mom’s got him. He’s going to be fine.”

She checked with that stone in her gut, that intuition she followed like the North Star. They would be okay. She felt it in her damn bones, even the broken ones.

Kat’s eyes drifted to the clock on the opposite wall, each second ticking by like a year. Her eyelids sagged until they shut completely, and she drifted. Not out cold, but not really here either.

She’d learned this word from Eddie. What the fuck was it…hypno…hypno… she couldn’t remember it. Hypnogoggles? That couldn’t be right. Whatever it was, she was getting used to this weird in-between. Second time in a matter of hours. Thank fuck Steve Harrington wasn’t here to provide pillow service again.

She was never seeing him again. Not after-

“Paging all units. Report to ambulance bay, stand by. Incoming. Male. Unconscious. Twelve years of age. Code blue. Eta two minutes. Keep trauma ready.”  

Jonathan moved first, snapping his gaze to Kat. Heartbreak and panic fell across his face for a split second before he bolted.  In one fluid motion, he shoved the chair back and disappeared around the doorframe into the hall.   

Kat yanked the IV out again and sucked in a breath. She paused, counted to three, then exhaled.

Bracing her hands on either side of the mattress, she shoved herself upright. The impact would be killer, so she perfectly timed it with her next exhale. Her combat boots hit the floor hard, pain ricocheting through her chest.

She grunted, but didn’t stop.

Once her balance was secured, she braced one arm against her side and ran. Every step a fresh stab wound into her ribs, but she didn’t give a damn.

Will was here. He wasn’t in the Upside Down. He wasn’t dead. That thing didn’t have him.

Her baby brother was here.

She limped to the end of the hallway, where Jonathan stood, eyes locked on the ambulance bay. He didn’t say a word, just slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into him, letting some of the pressure lift from her ribs. It helped, but barely.

A flurry of doctors, nurses, and orderlies surrounded the entrance. Too many to see through.

Then she heard it. The click of a gurney followed by wheels on pavement. The sea of green and blue scrubs parted, making way for the gurney to push through. A doctor barked orders, but her brain couldn’t catch the words.

There he was.
Will.

He looked like death. Warm death.

Pale. God, he was so pale. Even through the oxygen mask and under those too-white sheets, he looked like a ghost. So frail and small, like he was five years old again and sick with the flu.

How high had his fever gotten, 104?

Her fingers dug into Jonathan’s shoulder. If he wasn’t holding her up, she’d have hit the floor.

What had Will gone through? 
What had he seen?

She should have been there.
She should have stopped it.

Her eyes stung. A lump formed in her throat. Her vision blurred, tears falling before she could stop them.

They wheeled Will through the doors and into the trauma unit. Jonathan didn’t move, tears streaming down his face. He stared at those doors as if they could turn back time and erase the last week from Will’s life.

But Kat moved.

Her gaze snapped to the emergency entrance, where her mother climbed out of the red ambulance with the help from an EMT. Once steady on her feet, Joyce closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging inwards. Kat couldn’t tell if it was relief, grief, or both. 

For a moment, everything stood still. Then, as if she could sense them, Joyce looked up. Her eyes found Kat’s across the distance, and they locked. A thousand words passed between them full of  guilt, grief, love, relief–all without a sound. 

Her mother’s gaze swept over them, Jonathan's arm bracing her, the stitches across Kat’s cheek, the hospital gown. Joyce’s expression crumpled. Tears welled in her eyes, then she ran.

Jonathan turned around, but Kat had already stepped forward, slipping from his grasp. She didn’t stop until she crashed into her mother’s arms.

Joyce wrapped her in a soul-smooshing hug. Her ribs screamed, but she didn’t care. Jonathan joined them seconds later, arms folding around them both.

“You did it, Mom,” he said softly. “You did it.”

“Jesus, Kat,” Joyce said, pulling her to arms' length for a better look.

Her fingers moved frantically, checking every limb, every bandage.

“You’re hurt all over. What the hell happened–”

Her voice caught as her hand brushed the shoulder of the gown. A thick square of gauze peeked out beneath the hem. Joyce gently tugged the fabric down her shoulder for a better look at the dressing. Her face crumpled when she saw it continued well below the neckline down Kat’s abdomen.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, pulling her in again tighter than before.

Kat gasped, her ribs flaring in protest.

“Oh honey! Sorry, sorry,” Joyce eased up, her hands cradling her gently now, trembling with everything she couldn’t say.  “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, her voice betraying her. “Just a little scratch on my cheek…and my hand. A couple gashes on my chest that just needed some stitches. Maybe a couple fractured ribs–I’m fine.”

Joyce didn’t answer. She just stared at her daughter, expression shifting through horror, disbelief, and something deeper…devastation.

“You were supposed to be safe,” she said, voice trembling as tears fell down her cheeks.

Kat’s throat tightened, tears of her own welling over.

Joyce wrapped her arms around Kat’s shoulder, careful to avoid her injuries. She reached for Jonathan, pulling him in.

“But I’m here now, baby. I’ve got you. All of you.”

None of them moved. They all just stood there, three pieces of the same broken family, holding onto one another like the ground might vanish beneath their feet.

For the first time in days, it didn’t.

A few hours later, Will stabilized. His lungs had taken a beating, raw after nearly a week of breathing in the toxic atmosphere. But he was back. Alive. And since the moment they wheeled him into the hospital room, the Byers hadn’t left his side.

Kat refused to go back to the emergency room. Jonathan hadn’t moved from the chair beside Will’s bed. And Joyce couldn’t stop looking at them. All three of her children in the same room again.  Whole.

“So, you said two broken ribs?” Joyce asked.

“Fractured,” Kat corrected, a hint of smugness in her voice. “ Eleven and Twelve.”

Joyce didn’t say another word. She leaned down toward Kat, who was also seated in a chair next to Will’s bed. Joyce took extra caution to gently wrap her arms around Kat’s shoulders and avoided any more soul-smooshing. She gently pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Wher…where am I?” the smallest voice called from the bed.

“Sweetheart!”

“Will! You’re home,” Jonathan said. “You’re home now.”

Joyce put a hand on Will’s shoulder, the other gently brushing back his hair. Jonathan grabbed his hand. Kat leaned closer to Jonathan and piled her hand on top, ignoring the very loud and very obnoxious protest from her ribs.

“Kat? Jonathan?”

“It’s us. We’re here,” Jonathan said, tears trickling down his face.

“We missed you.”

“Your hands, and Kat…your face,” Will said, his voice full of concern. “Are you okay?”

Tears flowed freely.

That was her baby brother. He’d just epically landed a crit on his death saving throw, but was more concerned for his siblings than himself.

Goddamn, Byers. It must be in our blood.

“We’re fine,” Kat said, smiling through the tears. “ Now that we’ve got you back.”

“If you’re feeling up to it, Sweetheart, I think the boys want to say hello.”

“They’re here?” Will asked, eyes going wide with excitement.

“Of course they are!” Kat said. “No Party member left behind, remember?”

Will shifted in bed, his face breaking into a fragile, hopeful smile.

Kat pressed a hand into her chest, not to brace against the pain, but because her heart no longer felt almost full.

It felt whole.

Chapter Text

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.

-- Bing Crosby, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"

The Wheeler’s basement looked the same as it always did this time of year. Christmas lights sagged from the makeshift fort in the corner, blinking in a lazy, offbeat pattern. Boar games littered every surface, dice scattered like landmines, and four middle school voices collided in full-blown warfare.

Kat leaned against the stair railing, the bannister gently pressing into her ribs. No wince this time. The pain had faded into background noise after the first two days, just another reminder she was still alive and kicking despite the Demogorgon’s best efforts.

And Will too.

She smiled, watching his face light up as Mike launched into a dramatic description of the monster lair. God, how close they’d been to losing him. Hell, Mom said at one point that they actually had.  The thought landed like a sneak attack, critical hit straight to the gut. She shoved it down before it could settle. No ghosts allowed today. Not on a perfect snowy Christmas Eve.

“I’m telling you,” Dustin declared, gesturing wildly. “It’s the Thessalhydra.”

“It’s not the Thessalhydra,” Lucas fired back, halfway out of his seat.

“It's hungry for your blood, and it’s almost here!” Mike said, voice rising over them both.

“What is it?” Will asked, voice pitched high with nervous excitement.

“It’s the Thessalhyrda, I’m telling you!” Dustin repeated, louder this time.

“It's not the Thessalhyrda!”

A pause hung in the air as Mike let the tension rise. Seconds later, he slammed a mini on the table with a theatrical BANG.

“THE THESSALHYRDA!”

“Damn it,” Dustin groaned. “I hate when I’m right.”

Kat snorted from the stairs. Nerds. Absolute nerds…and the best thing she’d seen in weeks.

“It roars in anger! Will, your action!” Mike shouted, standing over the table, voice booming.

Kat’s heart swelled. Theatrics and all, Mike had Eddie’s spark. The instinct to pull people in, make the table feel like an actual battlefield. The best DMs always had it.

“What should I do?” Will asked, eyes bouncing from Dustin to Lucas.

“Fireball him!” Lucas barked. 

Dustin didn’t even blink. He looked at Will, giving him a silent nod.

“Fireball the son of a bitch.”

The dice clattered across the map, spinning past the mountains of graph paper and soda cans before stopping beside the Thesselhyrda mini.

“Fourteen!” he shouted.

The table exploded.  Chairs scraped. A pencil went flying. Someone knocked over an empty can of Mountain Dew.  Will launched both fists in the air like a prizefighter.

Her heart soared, then tears welled in her eyes.

God, when the hell did she become this sappy?

The chaos melted into a tangled knot of high-fives, cackles, and arguments about how the campaign was way too short.  Kat lingered a second longer, letting it all soak in.  A perfect little moment she wanted to remember forever. Loud. Messy. Alive.

She stomped down the last few steps, boots thudding heavily on the wooden stairs. Four heads turned in unison.

“Shit,” Dustin grinned, “We woke the dragon.”

“Well, I guess I should just keep these all to myself then,” she said, retracting the green metal tin with white Christmas trees. “You know, for my hoard and all.”

“No, no, no,” Lucas said, eyes growing wide.  “He didn’t mean it.”

Kat smirked, setting the tin down in the center of the table.

“Go on then.”

Lucas ripped open the tin, revealing a chaotic pile of messily decorated sugar cookies. Christmas trees, candy canes, and even a goofy little snowman with a d20.

The boys froze, looking at each other like it might be a trap.

Kat laughed.

“Relax. I made them, not Mom.” She held up her hands in mock surrender. “They’re edible. I swear.”

That was all they needed before descending like wolves.

Mike grabbed two. Dustin took the snowman and nearly dropped it trying to analyze the d20’s roll. Lucas muttered something about perfect frosting distribution while talking with his mouth full.

When the tin was nothing but crumbs and cookies of Christmas past, Kat reached into her satchel and pulled out four wrapped bundles. Each one a different color of tissue paper, topped with a curly ribbon.

She handed them out one by one.

“Presents?” Lucas said, raising an eyebrow.

“Merry Christmas, nerds,” she said. “Open them!”

Paper crinkled, ribbons hit the floor, and then everything fell silent.

“Oh my god,” Dustin breathed.

Each of them held a hand-painted mini. Custom sculpted, meticulously detailed, and painted with care. Kat had spent the last two weeks hunched over the kitchen table, brush in one hand, reference sketches in the other. Eddie helped too, especially in the beginning when her ribs could only handle so much sitting. 

Will the Wise glowed with green flames, a crooked crystal staff clutched in both hands. Lucas’s ranger was caught mid-draw, wooden bow ready to fire. Dustin’s bard stood in full pose, one foot on a tiny carved stone, strumming a lute that said KICK ASS in tiny, jagged lettering.

That had been Eddie’s idea, bard to bard.

Mike squinted at his.

“A Paladin?” he asked, mildly offended. “I don’t play Paladin.”

“Actually, you kinda do. You’re the heart of the party. The protector. The glue holding this whole circus together.”

“It's bad ass,” Mike said, a grin slowly spreading across his face as the words sank in.

“Circus?” Dustin said, mock offended. “Kat, why do you wound me so?”

“Well, if the clown shoe fits…”

The boys erupted in a chorus of “OOOOOH!” like she’d just dropped a fireball in the middle of the room, and Dustin got burned.  He threw himself down into his chair with dramatic flair.

“Utter betrayal.”

“You bring it on yourself, Henderson,” Kat smirked, laughing.

Lucas broke through the noise.

“Thank you, Kat!”

Will still hadn’t said anything. He just looked at her, then back at his mini, then flung his arms around her.

“You’re the best.”

“I know,” she said, blinking hard to keep the tears from her eyes. If she cried in front of these boys, she would never live it down. She tousled Will’s hair. “You ready? Jonathan’s waiting upstairs. If we’re late for dinner, Mom’s gonna tan our hides.”

Will nodded and looked back at his friends. The boys all scrambled to pack up their gear. Lucas went back to grumbling about the length of the campaign. Dustin kept pointing out the exact detail work in his bard’s cape. Kat leaned back, watching the chaos unfold. Will was alive, and the Nerd Brigade whole once again. No monster waited in the wings. Just Christmas lights that didn’t mean anything but holiday cheer, dice, and the sounds of kids being kids.

She was quickly losing the Kat vs. Tears title fight.

“Bye guys! Merry Christmas!” Will called, slinging his backpack across his shoulders. As they bounded up the stairs, he looked back at Kat. “Did you see me kill the big bad?”

“I did!” Kat said, offering him a high five at the top of the stairs. “Rest in pieces, Thessalhydra.”

“Joanthan!” Will said, spotting him standing awkwardly by the front door. “We fought a Thessalhydra!”

Kat stayed behind, watching as Will launched into a full-blown reenactment, fireballs and all, his voice bouncing off the walls. Jonathan’s expression softened into a wide smile, glowing the same way hers had downstairs.

A moment she thought she’d never get again.
Yep. I’ve officially lost the fight.

Kat let the warmth settle in her bones. For once, there was no panic to push down or grief to swallow whole. Just Christmas, cookies, and the Adorable Nerd Brigade being especially adorable.

Wiping her eyes, she glanced at Mrs. Wheeler, who was humming softly and decorating her own tray of sugar cookies at the kitchen island.

“Thanks for letting the Party save the world again in your basement,” Kat said. “Sounds like they had a blast.”

Mrs. Wheeler laughed.

“Of course. You know all of you are welcome any time. Merry Christmas, Kathleen!”

Kat flinched, but forced a polite smile.

“You too, Mrs. Wheeler!”

She gave a little wave before drifting toward the living room, where the glow of the Christmas tree lit the space in warm red, blue, green, and gold. Her eyes landed on Steve Harrington’s face, the warm glow reminding her of that moment she woke up in his arms. Despite the bleeding and half-conscious platitudes, she remembered the way the colors danced across his face like the Northern lights. Exactly how they did now.

She stared longer than she meant to…so long she didn’t even realize Nancy was tucked up under his arm.

Did they get back together?
Jonathan is going to be insufferable.

Kat’s body tensed, but she couldn’t back out now.

Bloody fucking Pelor. It's Christmas. You couldn’t give me a break?

One whole month. That’s how long she’d dodged Steve Harrington after the Demogorgon fight. Slipped out back doors and into hallways, dodged awkward glances in the hallway, found every excuse under the sun to be anywhere except his aura. She’d made sure to max those stealth points in her last level up.

But there he was.
Her finger went straight to her onyx ring, spinning it around her finger.

Kat stepped fully into the living room. Her jacket suddenly felt heavier. That jacket. The one that had soaked through with so much of her blood it turned brown. The one the Demogorgon shredded like paper.

She’d managed to get most of the blood out by the grace of Pelor. The slashes had been patched with thick black thread, some sewn by her own shaky hands, but most by her mom.

What began as a desperate attempt to salvage her favorite piece of clothing she’d ever owned ended in some kind of odd mother-daughter healing ritual. A moment where neither of them said the truth out loud, but every stitch meant you’re still here. The first time her mother saw the jacket, she cried then grabbed Kat in a soul-smooshing hug that definitely hurt the ribs.

The thick stitched thread gave the jacket a Frankenstein vibe. It was jagged around the edges and metal as hell.

Steve’s eyes flicked to it as she passed through the living room. He didn’t say anything, not with words, but an odd expression formed on his face.

Kat kept walking.

“Hey,Kat!” Nancy greeted, untangling herself from Steve’s arm

“Hey, Nance.”

They stood awkwardly, half-lost in the gravity of what happened between them that freshman year. From best friends to strangers and back again…or at least to something like it.

“I have something for you!” Nancy blurted, moving around Kat to grab a tiny pouch from under the tree.

“I have something for you, too,” Kat said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a nearly identical pouch..

They exchanged gifts, each tugging back the drawstring.  Nancy pulled out a small keychain made of woven embroidery thread in faded pink, purple, and mint. Kat emptied the bag into her palm, finding an identical one except in maroon, black, and gold.

Both had tiny beads at the end, the special kind you could only get at the Hobby Hut. Not in the jewelry aisle, but from the endcap next to the crafting kits. It was just like the ones they’d exchanged almost five years ago, the very same that Kat tore off her bag all those weeks ago after that encounter with Tommy H. and the rest of the Idiot Brigade.

Tears stung her eyes, but somehow Kat found the strength to hold them back. She already basically died in front of Steve Harrington. She absolutely would not cry in front of him. That would be crossing the line.

Nancy let out a soft laugh.

“You made one!”

“So did you,” Kat said, voice quiet.

If she said anything more, she’d lose the title fight all over again. What a stupid thing. It was so small. And somehow…huge.

The first real bridge since freshman year.

“Thank you, Kat,” Nancy said, her eyes glassy. “Really.”

Kat nodded, but said nothing.

“Oh, I-we-got something for Jonathan. I’ll be right back.”

Nancy glanced at Steve, who nodded, then she brushed past Kat toward the tree. With practiced grace, she ducked underneath, tugged out a neatly wrapped package, and slipped into the foyer.

The room fell completely silent except for a few measures of “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby. Lights from the Christmas tree flickered softly, drawing Kat back that night. Her stomach dropped, and ribs ached like they held the weight of the monster as it pinned her down again

She shut her eyes for a second, trying to outrun the visceral memory, but her knees wobbled as the scar on her cheek began to burn. Suddenly, she was right back in the middle of it, bat out of reach, Demogorgon teeth inches from her skin.

Steve stood, reaching a hand to steady her, but pulled back at the last minute like he was afraid to touch her.

“You good?”

His voice was low. Not the smug tone he used at school or the overconfident bark when he held court, just…soft. Unassuming. Too gentle for someone who’d called her a freak, yet too familiar for someone who’d had her blood all over his hands saving her life just a few weeks ago.

She didn’t answer.

She stared at the tree, not because it was pretty, or perfectly Wheeler’s, but because the blinking lights painted the room in flickers of red and green and gold. Too close to the strobe light hell of that night, when they’d all rolled ones. Except for Steve.

He’d rolled a goddamn nat 20.

Her pulse thudded in her ears, and she couldn’t draw her eyes away from those lights. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the chittering shriek of the Demogorgon. The same sound haunted her at night sometimes. Goosebumps rose across her arms and neck.

Steve stood awkwardly, watching her like he knew what she saw. What she felt in the crack of her bones. Like he’d replayed the nightmare too.

He closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her shoulder. His thumb rested on the exposed part of her collarbone.

“Kat,” he said softly, trying to pull her back.

The touch anchored her. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, slowly fading into focus. She stared at him, his perfect hair pissing her off all over again. And that damn cologne.

He nodded like he understood what happened to her. She hated that he probably did.

“I’m good,” she said, stepping out of his touch. “Just, uh, admiring the tree.”

Her fingers twitched at her side. She didn’t know what the protocol was here. Which is one reason she’d avoided his ass in the first place. How do you thank someone for saving your life? A month later, and she still hadn’t figured that out. A card? A twenty shoved in his palm?  A dinner platter at the diner?

Here, Steve. Thanks for scooping my half-dead body off the floor like a rag doll. Enjoy this chicken-fried steak. 

What was her life even worth? Extra gravy and a slice of apple pie?

Too many existential questions lingered that she had no intention of exploring.
Not today.
Not ever.
And definitely not in the Wheeler living room with Bing Crosby crooning and Steve Harrington staring at her like she was some kind of trick question on one of Mrs. Click’s quizzes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she said finally, not quite looking at him.

“Nancy and I…” 

“Yeah…no I mean.” She cleared her throat. “Makes sense.”

Pelor, take me now.

Silence stretched again, tight and brittle.

His eyes flicked to the healing gash on her cheek–more or less just a scar now. His brow furrowed slightly, and his lips thinned, as if he could still see the blood. 

“It's, uh, the same one,” she offered before he could ask, desperate to fill the silence. “The jacket. I just patched it.”

“I see,” he said, nodding. “I like the stitches.”

The words landed with more weight than they should have. Kat’s face flushed, suddenly hyperaware of every rough seam, every crooked edge..

Get a grip. I don’t give a fuck what Harrington thinks about my needlework.

“I couldn’t throw it out,” she added, voice giving the tiniest shake. “Stupid, probably. But it saved my life.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me.”

Kat’s mouth went dry.

There were a hundred things she could’ve said. Hell, probably a hundred more she should’ve. This was the moment she could settle the score, throw some words at him instead of silence.

Thanks for coming back.
Thanks for rolling a nat 20 when everything went to hell.
Thanks for being extremely fucking dangerous with a bat.
For literally holding my blood in my body so Pelor didn’t fast-track me to the afterlife.
For not dropping me in the driveway like a sack of flour.

For not letting me die.

All of it jammed in her throat, heavy as loaded dice.
She swallowed it down and finally found her voice.

“Merry Christmas, Harrington,” Kat said, somehow both clipped and soft.

He stared at her for another second, their eyes locking as the lights danced across their faces. They weren’t strangers anymore. Or enemies.

But friends…something about that didn’t sit right either.

“Merry Christmas, Byers,” he said, mouth tugging into that familiar grin.

Kat didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, turned on her heel, and followed the sound of Will’s voice down the hall.

Behind her, the lights kept flickering.
Soft. Warm. Unsteady.
She didn’t look back.

Silence was safer that way.