CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.
4x05: The Nina Project

Sam wouldn't have slept even if she had the ability to. How could she have? Max almost died yesterday, and Sam wasn't even there for her.

At any moment, Max still could die. She had to listen to "Running Up That Hill" at all times just to tether herself to reality. While the night passed, Nancy assigned everyone shifts for Max Watch to ensure Max wasn't levitating in the air through the night.

But Sam never slept in the first place. She certainly wasn't sleeping now.

It was way too embarrassing to picture screaming the entire group and the Wheeler family awake from her horrid nightmares, so she just refused to sleep at all. She wasn't getting drowsy, because the visions of Fred, Victor, the poor Creel family, and Max plagued her mind.

She wasn't built for this. Any of it.

"Max?" Sam whispered. "Are you sleeping?"

The sun was slowly rising now, signifying the early dawn as night began to fade away. The windows of Mike's basement intertwined the moonlight and an orange glow. Everyone around her was sleeping, even if Dustin was supposed to be awake for Max Watch. But she wondered if Max would be able to sleep after what she'd been through.

"Yes," Max responded, not sleeping.

Sam grinned.

She gently broke away from leaning her back against Lucas's legs—he was using a TV for a pillow and had sat himself on a desk for comfort?? She quietly moved over to the couch everyone elected on giving Max, because she had been through a lot, and she deserved it more than any of them.

Seeing that Sam was coming, Max sat up on the couch and stopped her aimless attempts at sleep. She scooted over to give Sam a spot, and while Sam got closer, she could faintly hear the voice of Kate Bush coming from Max's Walkman.

Right when Sam sat down though, the cassette of music ended, and Max had to start the process of rewinding it.

"I wish we had a longer loop." Sam frowned, making sure to talk quietly in consideration of the sleep-deprived teenagers around them.

Max shrugged softly. "Forty-six minutes isn't bad. I think there are bigger concerns—like... what if, by listening to this over and over, I get sick of it, and suddenly it's not my favorite anymore?" she wondered, and Sam could've laughed at the insinuation. "Will it still work? Or will Kate Bush like, lose her magic power or something?"

"Kate Bush?" Sam scoffed. "Never."

Max jolted, and her head ducked down a little to stare at Sam in surprise. "You're that big of a Kate Bush fan?"

Sam's hands lifted in a little shrug, like the answer should be obvious.

"Uh, yeah. Now I am."

"Really?" Max questioned, shocked as if Sam hadn't been the one to introduce her to her now-favorite song.

Sam nodded incredulously. "Mega-fan. She saved your life."

You did too, Max refrained herself from saying.

"Besides," Sam shrugged like the task was easy, "even if Kate Bush doesn't work her magic anymore, we're gonna kill that predator creep before it even happens."

Max huffed, humorlessly and desperately. "I hope so," she muttered. "I'm so tired of... all of it."

Her voice dipped lower, sadder. Sam's heart squeezed, and she wondered what she had done for the universe to put all of her dearest friends through this kind of struggle. Max didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry you have to be put through it," Sam rasped.

Max shook her head, frowning too. "It's not your fault."

It felt like it was though. It always felt like it was all Sam's fault. Ever since she was around eight years old, she'd felt permanently responsible for the bad things that happened around her. She always urged to stop it all, to keep everyone safe; when she inevitably failed, each mistake was another heart-crushing blow. The pain cut like a knife.

She really wasn't built for this.

"I know what it's like now," Max muttered.

Sam snapped out of it, turning to stare at her with furrowed eyebrows. "What?"

"The nightmares," she admitted. "I know what it's like to have them now. I can't believe you've been going through that."

Oh.

Sam wanted to say that she got used to them, but she never really did. The paralyzing nightmares never got any easier to bear, even if they were more or less the same. Her heart hurt at the knowledge Max was so affected by them too.

"Are yours... real?" she wondered. "Or are they... Vecna visions?"

"Sometimes it's Billy. Sometimes it's real," Max said, breath catching in her throat. "I see you, and I feel the same fear I felt that moment, thinking you were going to die. But then Billy steps in, and I'm screaming before I can stop myself."

Sam nodded. She swallowed uncomfortably, because she was about to confess something she'd never spoken aloud to anyone.

"Mine start off in a car."

A family of four. A family, late because of casserole.

"It's me, Steph, and my parents, and we're late for something because by dad didn't want to show up empty handed," Sam laughed wetly. She sniffled. "But it's not a memory. It never happened, and It's not real, and I always realize it too late in the dream. The same song starts playing on the radio—"

Stars shining bright above you...

"—and I start screaming for them to stop—"

"Stop the car!" Sam began yelling desperately, tears in her eyes. "Please, Dad! DAD! STOP THE CAR!"

"—but they never do. Then the crash happens, and they die, and Steph... tells me it's all my fault," she croaked. "Then I'm with Will in the shed, and he's telling me it's all my fault too."

A sensitive boy. Lights flickering. A film that had been seen before.

"And then it's Bob."

Sam sniffled again and wiped the underneath of her nose, trying to go on.

"That time it is a memory. I live out what happened. Every single time."

Her hand closed around the B necklace she only ever took off when she was going to shower, bathe, or swim. Max shifted closer to Sam, trying to provide some comfort as the words seemed to get caught in Sam's throat.

"And it used to end there," Sam managed. "Until the Mind Flayer came back, and it—"

The void. The mistake. The wreck of Hopper's cabin. The battle at Starcourt.

A fifteen-year-old blonde screaming awake from constant nightmares.

"I get it," Max whispered in a pleading voice, not wanting to see Sam in anymore pain. "I'm sorry. I get it. I do."

Sam's fist clenched, and she forced herself to stop—stop crying, stop getting so worked up over nothing. Max had just evaded death, and here Sam was, talking about her own nightmares. It was an attempt to bring them closer, but now she felt like she was failing the same way she failed at everything else.

"Well, hey," Sam shrugged, trying to send Max a playful grin, "at least the trauma's shared, right?"

A laugh startled out of Max, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth before she woke anyone. Quietly amused, Max joked, "A testament of true friendship."

True friendship, Max said, and Sam couldn't even remember what she was upset over.

A sharp snore sounded over where the TV in the basement was. Startled, both girls whipped their heads over to the noise—but it was just Lucas, snoring and drooling against Mike's box television down in the basement.

Sam and Max looked back at each other, sharing fond and amused grins.

"A state champ buzzer-beater, right there," Sam snorted, teasing Lucas even if he was unconscious.

Max's grin was light and close-lipped but still genuine. "So I heard," she said. "Awesome commentary, by the way. My favorite part was hearing you and the Vecna-reincarnate broke up. I'm really proud of you for that."

Sam leaned back, entirely surprised. Her chest felt light for some reason, and she blinked at Max rapidly in shock.

"You listened to me? On the radio?"

"Every game."

Sam's brows rose, and she was totally normal about this. It wasn't like Max just confessed she'd been listening to Sam's voice for months, even when they weren't talking. Not a big deal at all. Sam didn't care.

"Oh," her voice cracked, trying to remain calm. "That's... cool."

Max grinned, because she knew Sam wanted to squeal.

Then Max's tape deck clicked, signifying her mixtape was done rewinding. She would start listening to Kate Bush again, and the conversation would be over.

"Do you want to come to the kitchen with me?" Max asked, now that the moon was thoroughly down, and a tint of orange illuminated the back of Sam like a halo. "I want to see if Holly has any crayons."

"Cra—what?" Sam questioned, confused. "Why do you want to talk to Mike's baby sister?"

Max got up from the sofa, yanking Sam up off it with her.

"Just come on," she exhaled exasperatedly.

Before Sam could question her further, Max was putting the headphones back over her head and playing "Running Up That Hill."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Sam had fallen asleep on the Wheelers' kitchen table.

Sue her, alright? She had pulled like, the third all-nighter in a row. Not even any pity hour-long sleeps that got awoken by night-terrors. She'd just been fueled by pure fear and anxiety since Friday.

It was now Tuesday, and Sam was asleep on the Wheelers' kitchen table.

Max was letting her sleep, because frankly, she could see it in Sam's eyes. That girl was hanging on by a thread, and she needed sleep more than Max did.

Which was saying a lot.

Both girls had been in the kitchen for about an hour now; Karen, Ted, and Holly had woken up, and the kind mother was making breakfast for all the occupants of her house. Holly just sat before Max in the dining room, playing with her Lite Brite, while Karen and Ted dwindled in the kitchen. Sam was right next to Max, head in her crossed arms, and her back rose and fell with the deep breaths from her chest. Kate Bush played in Max's ears while she focused on pages of red, scribbled sketches.

The rushed footsteps of Nancy Wheeler and Dustin Henderson stampeded into the kitchen. Their faces were pale, and they weren't quite breathing. Although, upon the sight of Max, they deflated in relieved breaths.

"Morning, guys!" Karen cheered, finishing up another batch of pancakes. "Everything okay?"

Nancy tried catching her breath. "Yeah...! Yeah, everything's okay."

Max glanced behind at the sound of garbled voices over her music, nodding in greeting to Nancy and Dustin; she was oblivious to the amount of panic she'd just caused them.

"I think it's so sweet that you guys are sticking together like this," Karen cooed, putting the pancakes on a large plate for grab-and-go.

"Could try sticking together at a different house for a chance," Ted muttered, glancing over his newspaper to shoot a pointed look at Dustin.

Dustin gave him an unfazed glare in return, his dislike for Ted rivaling Sam's.

It was a close competition that could not be decided.

"You know you're welcome here anytime," Karen said to Dustin after side-eyeing her husband.

"Totally." Dustin nodded. "You're like family."

He smiled kindly at Karen before he was eyeing the stacked pancakes on the counter. While Nancy went over to sit on the other chair beside Max, Dustin raised a brow at Karen and pointed at the breakfast.

"May I?"

Karen grinned, handing him a plate. "Absolutely."

Ted scoffed. "Yeah, why not?" he snarked. "Take us for all we're worth."

Dustin smiled at him falsely.

"Okay!" he said in a cheeky tone.

He began piling pancake after pancake after pancake onto his plate. Ted's eyes slowly grew wider at the more pancakes he saw Dustin snatching.

Over from the table, the amount of chatter had Sam rising from her power nap. She grunted a little, rubbing her eyes and sitting back up.

Sam blanked blearily, met with a bright, morning sun shining through the windows and Nancy sitting at the table with them.

"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Sam asked groggily, once Max paused her music.

Max shot her a pointed look. "Are you seriously asking that question?"

Okay, that was fair.

Down on the table, Max had finished more drawings with Holly's art supplies. Sam had to have been sleeping for at least an hour, because the last thing she remembered, Max had only finished one. Now there was a plethora scattered on the table, and Sam's eyes narrowed on them.

"You okay?" Nancy asked Max, looking at her with a face morphed in sympathy.

Max shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep." Light-heartedly, she added, "People kept blasting music in my ears, for some reason."

Nancy smiled, although apologetically, because it sort of was her fault—she made sure Max was being babysat at all times, having her mixtape restarted whenever it ended.

"But Holly let me borrow some of her crayons," Max continued with a smile sent towards her. "We've been having a fun morning, right, Holly?"

"Mm-hmm," Holly hummed, though she didn't really seem to be paying attention. She was so infatuated with her Lite Brite.

Sam however, was still very infatuated with Max's drawings. "Is this what you saw last night?"

"I mean, it's supposed to be." Max frowned. "Not as good as your drawings, of course. I thought it'd be easier to draw it out than to explain, but... not so much."

Nancy inhaled and slid one of the drawings closer to her. From where Sam was sitting, she couldn't see why waves of terror radiated off of Nancy, face constricting. She set the paper back down, mumbling, "Is that...?"

"It was like they were on display or something," Max explained.

Sam pulled the page over to her, rotating it to get a better look. It was just as what Max was trying to say—the two mutilated bodies of Chrissy and Fred were up on display on what appeared to be gory pillars entangled in vines. Sam's stomach lurched, and she pushed the paper back with the rest of the drawings.

Max motioned around all her pieces of artwork. "And then there was this red fog everywhere... It was like a dream." She shared a look with Sam. "A nightmare."

"Do you think Vecna's just trying to scare you?" Nancy asked.

"With Billy? Yeah," Max answered, "but when I made it here"—she gestured at the abstract drawings—"I dunno, something was different. He seemed surprised, almost. Like he didn't want me there."

As she finished, Dustin took the seat at the table next to Sam, his plate thoroughly stacked with pancakes. Sam took one.

"Maybe you infiltrated his mind," he wondered. "He invaded your mind, right? Is it that big of a leap to suggest you somehow wound up in his?"

Sam shrugged and nodded because it was a good theory. "That is what happened to me with the Mind Flayer."

She took a bite of the pancake.

"Like Freddie Krueger's boiler room!" Dustin suggested in awe.

Holly looked up from her Lite Brite, her expression twisted. "Freddie Krueger?" she wondered.

Matter-of-factly, Dustin explained, "He's a super burned-up dude with razors for fingers, and he kills you in your dreams—"

"Dustin!" Nancy cut him off with an incredulous glare. "Seriously?"

She sent a pointed look Holly's way, wondering why the hell he would talk about that subject with a six-year-old present.

"Sorry. It's a movie. It's not real," Dustin insisted to Holly. He turned back to Sam, Max, and Nancy again. "Just... think about it. What if you somehow unlocked a backdoor to Vecna's world? Like, maybe the answer we're looking for is somewhere in this... incredibly vague drawing."

From the table, Dustin picked up a particular drawing of Max's—one of hovering debris and a decorated rectangle.

"God, what is it with you girls and your ominous artworks?" Dustin eyed the paper in unease, eyes flitting between Sam and Max. "We need Will."

Dustin set the drawing back down, coincidentally right in Sam's line of sight.

"Yeah, no shit," Max huffed humorlessly. "But I tried them again this morning, and it's the same busy signal."

Sam picked up the drawing Dustin had just been inspecting when a part of it caught her eye. "Is this a window?" she asked Max.

Her finger pointed at the small rectangle with a green and red depiction in the middle of it.

"Yeah."

"Stained glass with roses?"

"Yeah," Max answered again. To Dustin, she said, "See? I'm not so terrible after all."

Sam stared at the picture in her hands with wide eyes. "Yeah, well, it helps that I've seen it before—Nancy, come look at this."

Nancy got up from her chair in confusion. She leaned on Sam's chair for Sam to showcase Max's drawing.

"No way," Nancy muttered, sharing an expression with Sam that the other two couldn't decipher.

Nancy took the drawing from Sam's hands, and she started folding it. She leaned a little closer in between Sam and Max's seats so she could browse over the other papers. She continued bending the thin sheets, her folds following over the rough edges of Max's artwork. Sam and Nancy began piecing them together like a puzzle when she finished, muttering incomprehensive things to each other that had Max and Dustin wondering if Pennhurst made them crazy.

Sam grabbed a black Sharpie from Holly's pencil case and outlined the rest of the house, adding additional windows until she completed the depiction of a house.

A grand house, once painted in bright blue. Once from the '50s and housing a happy family.

"It's pieces of a house," Max realized slowly, as Sam sketched.

"Not just any house," Nancy said.

Sam placed the stained-glass rose window down on the front door.

"It's Victor Creel's house," Sam finished. She capped the Sharpie and put it down.

Nancy straightened, standing properly and backing away from the dining room. Sam was standing up too, grabbing the picture of the house with her and making sure none of the papers slid out of place.

"Where are you going?" Dustin asked, voice muffled from the pancakes he'd shoved in his mouth.

"Waking the others!"

Nancy turned around for the basement, and Sam rushed after her. Max scrambled after them, and Dustin sprinted to the kitchen with his plate in hand. He stole the remaining pancakes from Ted's plate before he was heading to the basement too.

"Sorry, fuel for the road. Thanks, Mr. Wheeler!"

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Justin Zimmerman was in the second row of the church, attending Chrissy Cunningham's funeral.

"The devil is here. I can feel his presence... growing stronger each day. But I know Chrissy is in heaven now, looking down at us, smiling. Happy to see all the lives she touched and brightened. But I also know she's frustrated. Angry. That the monster that did this to her is still out there. Still. Hurting others. How can he live, while my angel is gone? I know God has a plan..."

Mrs. Cunningham stood up at the podium, giving her eulogy alongside her husband and Carrie.

Justin couldn't believe Chrissy was gone. He'd known her ever since he was born—the Cunninghams lived only three houses down from him. Chrissy used to babysit him and Carrie. She used to tutor Justin in science because he was hopeless in it. She used to attend his football games when none of his family would.

And now she was gone.

It was a horrible way to start spring break—a holiday that was supposed to be filled with easygoing air and fun-hearted togetherness. Now there was scattered sobbing and crying all around him. Almost everyone in Hawkins was in attendance at Chrissy's funeral.

Everyone but... but Sam.

Sam wasn't there.

Justin hadn't seen her since the basketball game.

The one where she hugged that benchwarmer Sinclair at the end, looking happier than she'd ever been with Justin, causing him to storm out in anger.

Yeah, that game.

"Lord, I've prayed," Mrs. Cunningham cried. "And I just do not understand it. I see no reason. I see no reason—!"

Carrie broke away from the altar, running down the stairs, slamming on the door and heading to the back rooms.

Mrs. Cunningham was stunned into a silence, open-mouthed to where her remaining daughter had gone. Justin muttered a curse under his breath before he was getting up too, following after where Carrie had gone.

Justin rushed down a few hallways. He followed the sound of crying, stumbling into an abandoned room. Carrie was in there, alone, sobbing into her hands.

"Carrie," he whispered sadly, closing the door behind him.

Carrie's head whipped up, tears running down her face. Justin walked up to her, and she met him in the middle, throwing herself at him in a hug. He tried hugging her back, chin on her head, hand rubbing up and down.

"I'm sorry," Justin muttered. "It's gonna get better, okay?"

Carrie shook her head, crying into Justin's chest. "I can't stand it," she sobbed. "It's so fucking—talking about Chris like she didn't drill that eating disorder into her head!"

"She lost her daughter, Care," Justin whispered.

"Don't defend her," Carrie hissed into his chest. "You don't—you're supposed to understand. You're supposed to have my back."

Justin sighed. "Look," he said, "you're hurting, and you're emotional, and I do understand. I get that. But cut your parents some slack. People are supposed to be there for each other in times like this."

Which couldn't be said for Sam, who wasn't fucking here.

"'Times like this'," Carrie scoffed. "It's so normalized now, do you realize that?! My sister died, and it's just 'another one of those Hawkins deaths!'"

She started sobbing harder with my sister died, so Justin did all he could do and held her just as hard.

He didn't know what else to do. He'd never had to comfort a person before. Especially not a girlfriend. Sam was an eternally happy people pleaser, so he couldn't even imagine a scenario where she would need comfort. Snoody bitch.

"Sam didn't show," he found himself muttering.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Enough about SAM!" Carrie screeched, pulling away from the hug. "I don't want to talk about fucking Sam, will you drop it?! You never even liked her, you said that yourself! She broke up with you MONTHS ago, get over it!"

"I am over it!" he argued. "That's not what I—you're putting words in my mouth!"

Carrie wiped her tears furiously. "If you could just hear yourself!"

"I'm trying to—" Justin cut himself off, suddenly seriously frustrated and irritated by how emotional Carrie was. "You don't think it's weird she didn't show? Or that your sister died the same day she yelled at me for spotting us in the bathroom?"

"What are you even saying?!" Carrie cried, her voice cracking. "You sound insane!"

"Don't fucking call me that! You're acting insane!"

"I don't care, I don't CARE! I miss—" She choked on a sob. "I miss my sister, Jay! Chrissy shouldn't have died! Not her. Anyone but her."

Justin sucked in a sharp breath. "No," he agreed. "She shouldn't have."

Carrie's arms were wrapped around herself at this point, rubbing her hands up and down her biceps to provide some semblance of comfort. It saddened him to know that was something Chrissy used to do for her to calm her down. She couldn't anymore, because she was dead.

"I wish I could... I just wish I knew who killed her. I want them to rot. I want to make sure they rot."

Justin wasn't one made for thinking, as he'd joked around with Sam many times before, but his brain felt like it was running now.

"I wish you would listen to me," he confessed.

"What do you mean?" Carrie asked, like she felt bad now.

Justin shook his head, like it was nothing, but it really was something. "Did you know Sam's friends with that poor freak who does morning announcements with her?" Carrie let out an incredulous shriek. "Just listen, Care! The dude lives in those dingy trailers they found Chrissy in!"

"So?!" she cried.

He felt that familiar rising anger whenever Carrie had the audacity to push back with him. He loved her, but sometimes he hated that she was such a personality.

"So," Justin insisted, "she's always hated you, hasn't she?"

"Ask her yourself, God! Are you serious?!" Carrie was snapping again. "Can I just mourn my dead fucking sister for five seconds without having to hear shit from you, or my mom, or—"

"I haven't seen her since before Chrissy died, have you?"

"And you're still going on with this crap!"

"The police have seen her!" Justin plowed on. "She was caught being questioned by the police near the crime scene where Fred died!"

Carrie faltered, because obviously she hadn't known that.

"...What?"

"Yeah. That's what I've been trying to tell you. But you're too busy..." He trailed off, then gestured to her, hoping she'd get the point she was an emotional mess just by his movements alone. "So can you admit it now? Can you say that it's fucking weird?"

Carrie snapped out of her stupor, blinking away the residual tears in her eyes.

"Oh my God, if that's what you need to hear, then yes. Yes, it's weird. It's weird the princess was being interrogated by the cops. Can we go home now?" she practically begged.

Justin blinked, the frustration consuming him. "Are you serious? You're the one who's always said it! You were the one who called Sam an orphan freak, not me!"

"Are you serious?" she returned. "You're not—we're not—we can't just go and assume—"

The door of the private room they were in busted open. Standing outside the doorway was almost the entire basketball team of Hawkins. Justin and Carrie startled.

"Jason?" Carrie questioned, wiping her face.

"Sorry, Care," Jason Carver muttered. "I didn't know you were in here."

"What are you guys doing?" she asked, out of curtesy more than anything. She'd been acting like this for days—civil was the only word to describe how Chrissy's death was making her act toward others. It was a harrowing sight.

"I'm sorry, we'll go somewhere else—"

"No!" Justin stopped him abruptly, eyeing the paper in his hands. "She wants to know what you're doing. Do you... know something?"

Jason shared a look with his basketball friends. He sighed in defeat and looked back at Justin.

"We think we know who killed Chrissy."

Justin and Carrie shared eye contact—the former's eyes hardening and the latter's eyes widening.

"Well, hurry up then," Justin motioned for them to come in. "Because I think we know too."

Jason paused, questioned, "You heard about Eddie?"

"Munson?" Justin echoed, confused. "No, what does he have to do with this? I was talking about Sam."

"Hughes?" Patrick McKinney echoed, confused. "What does she have to do with this?"

So the two groups shared the knowledge that they'd learned over the past few days. Jason told Justin and Carrie all about Eddie Munson—that it was his trailer Chrissy died in, that he booked it from his trailer after Chrissy died, and he hasn't been seen since. The basketball boys were looking for him now, trying to get revenge for what he did to Chrissy.

"So I finally got ahold of Cappelletti," Jason said, throwing down pictures on the wooden desk they stood around. "Photos for the '86 yearbook."

A few of the boys and Carrie picked up a picture, examining the photos that Jason had provided.

"Hot damn," Andy Fairchild commented. "Sinclair?"

Sinclair. The name was unfortunately familiar.

"Give me that," Justin snapped, promptly before stepping forward and snatching the pictures from Andy's grasp.

This was the dude Sam had no business being friends with. He was the one who hugged her after he shot the winning basket for the championship game. Next to him, Wheeler. The boy with curly black hair who Justin had also seen hanging out with Sam. There was Henderson, with hair much curlier and a ridiculous hat, and that made three people who Justin knew for a fact associated with Sam. Not including Santos, who was questioned by the police with Sam after Fred's death.

"Goddamn traitor," a basketball idiot was saying.

"Only reason he'd lead us to a dead end," Jason responded. "The Hellfire Club. They're hiding Eddie."

"Sam, she..." Carrie rasped, clearing her throat when her voice came out so faint, "she's friends with all of them. She has been since elementary school."

"I told you." Justin crossed his arms. "It all leads back to them."

"Maybe we should bring all this to the cops," Patrick muttered.

"The cops who think Chrissy's a drug dealer?" Jason scoffed incredulously. "Who are letting this... these psychos go around killing people?"

"I'm just saying, what if this cult is doing shit to us?"

"Doing what?" Justin snapped judgmentally.

"They already know we're after them," Patrick started, sounding a little sick. "What if they cursed us or some shit?"

"Patrick thinks he's cursed," Chance Locklin snorted mockingly.

The basketball boys began snickering in amusement, chuckling with each other as they made fun of Patrick for his anxiety.

"Hey!" Jason shouted, gaining their attention and causing the smiles to drop from their faces. "None of this is funny. Look, I don't believe in that supernatural crap, alright? But this cult is dangerous. We have to be smart about this."

He pulled out a thin sheet of looseleaf, smoothing it out before he placed it in front of Justin, Carrie, and the basketball team.

"I made a list," he continued. "Everywhere these freaks have been seen. We divide and conquer. Check 'em out one by one. Smoke 'em out." Then, he looked to Justin and Carrie. "I haven't looked into this Sam chick, so you two can stop by her house and see if she's there."

Both freshmen nodded, although Carrie was stiff.

"We should add Reefer Rick's house to this list."

Jason's brows pulled together. "What?"

"Reefer Rick," Jason's teammate repeated. "He's Eddie's supplier. He's supposed to be in prison, but someone spotted him back in his house. Now my parents are freaking out and shit. It's probably nothing. I don't know."

"No, that's good," Jason encouraged. "That's good. No stones unturned."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

The group had to pull up in Nancy's car, not Steve's, because like Sam had pointed out a few days ago—there were too many of them to all fit in his five-seater. Especially with the addition of Lucas now.

As Nancy put the car in park, they all climbed out of her vehicle and stared at what lied before them.

Victor Creel's house.

It was nothing but a tragedy now. What was once a grand, happy home that was larger-than-life, was now just decayed and aging. It used to be painted a bright blue and pristine white, but time had made sure it was dirtied and molding. All windows and doors were boarded up, facing the small park across the street. It was hidden within the woods and earth that encircled Hawkins.

But Sam felt, in her chest, that it wasn't abandoned—there was an evil entity dwelling inside. Her chest constricted in cold.

"Yeah, that's not creepy," Auggie quipped.

Everyone was brought out of their stupor, having to peel their eyes from the startling house. They walked up the concrete stairs that brought them to the porch. The group watched as Steve and Auggie both pulled out hammers, trying to take out the nails on the wooden board covering the door.

"What exactly are we supposed to be looking for in this shithole?" Steve asked, struggling to get a dislodge a nail.

"We don't know," Nancy admitted, shrugging apologetically.

Sam tilted her head. "We just know this house is important to Vecna."

"Because Max saw it in Vecna's red soup mind world?"

"Basically."

"Right," Steve huffed.

Sam sighed. "It's also the Creel house, you know?" she added. "Vecna's first victims. That had to be for a reason."

"Yeah, maybe it holds a clue to where Vecna is," Dustin agreed with Sam, sending her a little smile. "Why he's back. Why he killed the Creels. And how to stop him before he comes back for Max."

Lucas sucked in a shaky inhale. "We don't... think he's in here... do we?"

Sam swallowed.

"Guess we'll find out," Max said.

Steve looked at Auggie once the last nail was out. He raised his eyebrow at the younger boy, silently checking on how he was.

"Ready?" Steve muttered.

Auggie nodded softly. "Mmm-hm."

And then, Auggie and Steve let go of the wooden board.

It began falling quickly, causing everyone to get a large distance away from the front door. It hit the ground of the porch with a loud thud. Everyone flinched at not only the sound, but the dust and rising debris that came from the force.

Then Sam saw it. The rose of the stained-glass window.

She swallowed again, chest feeling heavy.

Steve went to open the sad-looking door covered in cobwebs. The doorknob rattled, and ultimately, he was unable to complete the task.

"It's locked," he commented, pointing out the obvious.

Everyone sighed solemnly, although that should've been expected. As a joke, Auggie suggested, "You should knock and see if anybody's home."

Steve snorted, and both boys giggled—yes, giggled—together at the stupid joke, but no one else was amused. Their smiles fell when they realized they were just getting stared at in judgment.

"Here," Robin moved on, all heads turning behind to look at her. She was holding up an old brick in her hand with mischievous eyes. "I found a key."

"Oh, come on," Sam groaned. "It's such a nice window though."

Everyone stared, blinking.

"Alright, it was a nice window," she corrected. "We could probably clean it up and make it look nice again."

They continued just to stare, not budging.

"I don't know why I even bother anymore," she grumbled.

"Alright, step back," Robin advised Auggie and Steve, pretending like Sam hadn't presented any qualms on what she was about to do.

Lucas took this advice for everyone, and he pushed Sam back a little, arm in front of her. Sam watched him, a little shocked, but Lucas didn't even seem to notice. His eyes were trained on the stained-glass window readily.

Then Robin chucked the brick at the door, and the window shattered instantaneously.

Sam took her hands from off her ears, because the loud noise had been piercing, and everyone relaxed a little when the shattering was done. Dustin began handing out flashlights as Steve stepped forward; then, he carefully stuck his hand through the brick-made hole. Sam watched him fumble, blindly grappling for the doorknob on the inside.

Then he twisted it, granting them access of an open door.

Steve stepped inside first, testing the waters before anyone else did. Sam probably should've been doing that—she was the one with the powers, after all—but she just couldn't.

Something wasn't right with this place.

They all began filing into the house after Steve. Auggie, Nancy, Robin. Sam was next, and—

And the shift was immediate. An overwhelming rush reverberated throughout her body, and it was unlike anything she'd ever felt. The constricting cold in her chest was expected, but it burned colder than ever before, like frostbite. It wasn't what she had assumed to feel—the house felt welcoming.

Sam hugged herself, a chill running down her spine and lingering there. She rubbed her hands up and down the goosebumps of her biceps, but looked around to find that no one else was as cold as her.

She had to take a look around at the whole house too. Using her flashlight, Sam spotted peeling wallpaper and rotting floorboards and ruined portraits. Light from outside illuminated the interior of the house, and the stained-glass window glowed beautifully within. When Dustin shut the front door behind him, colors of red, yellow, and green spilled onto the floors.

Lucas walked up to an old lamp sitting on a piece of wooden furniture. He tried flicking it on, but to no avail.

"Looks like someone forgot to pay their electric bill," Lucas commented, and Sam wondered if he actually thought that was going to work.

Dustin then held up his flashlight, flicking on the switch to lighten the room like Sam had already done. Everyone followed his actions, a series of clicks filling up the silence of the house.

Steve stared at the group, dumbfounded.

"Where'd everyone get those?" he asked, because he'd been opening the door when Dustin handed everyone a flashlight.

Dustin turned around to stare at him scrutinizingly. "Do you need to be told everything? You're not a child."

Steve scoffed when Auggie barked out a laugh, glaring. "Thank you."

Dustin hummed in return, equally as passive aggressive. He began shrugging off his backpack before pushing it into Steve's chest. "Back pocket," he explained, like Steve was a child.

Steve pulled out a flashlight for himself, albeit annoyed. He carelessly dropped it down to the floor when he was done, clicking on his flashlight and adding extra illumination in the house.

"Can't I just," Sam wondered, "light up the house with my powers?"

"This whole house? By yourself?" Max questioned, sounding unsettled by Sam's idea.

Lucas seemed to agree with Max. "Yeah, I'm not sure about that. What if you drain yourself? What if you need to use your powers later for something more dangerous? What if you can't and get hurt?"

Sam refrained from rolling her eyes at Max and Lucas being so worried about her. She also had to stop herself from smiling, because it felt like old times, and reminded her of when Max and Lucas doted on her before they went to high school.

"What if she doesn't use her powers at all?" Auggie added, voice hopeful. "I really hate it. Shit's cool in Firestarter but not in real life."

"Alright, fine. Dustin's dingy flashlights it is." Sam sighed, turning her head to the side examining more of the house.

"They're not dingy!" Dustin protested.

It really did feel like old times.

Sam didn't respond, trying to find enough confidence to step further into the house. The cold was constant and undying, as it always was, but this was like a breeze welcoming her home. She hated it.

Nancy shone her light into a room right at the front of the house. There were light rays from the sun making its way past the boards in front of the windows. The little amount of light combined let her see all the furniture and decorations of the room.

"They just left everything," Nancy analyzed in disbelief.

Robin shrugged. "I guess a triple homicide isn't good for resale value."

"Hey, guys?"

Sam turned at the voice of Max. She walked so that her shoulder brushed against Max's, seeing that Max was facing a tall grandfather clock, like the one she described seeing at the school. It towered over them, and just the sight of it made Max's flashlight shake in her hand.

"You all see that, right?"

"Yeah."

Everyone joined where Sam and Max were, staring at the grandfather clock as well and shining their flashlights at it.

"Is this what you saw?" Nancy wondered. "In your visions?"

Max nodded, although stiffly and disturbed.

"I mean, it's... just a clock," Robin muttered, not understanding why it was supposed to mean so much. "Right?"

"It's a clock in this house though," Sam said, shaking for reasons different from Max. She stepped forward, closer to the clock, and her chest squeezed. She pressed as high as she could on her toes, because she was about two heads shorter than the grandfather clock. Even still, she tried using her hand to wipe off the dust that covered the glass.

The head of the clock stared back down at her. Sam shrugged, unable to find an answer to everyone's internal question, and turned back around to face her friends.

"Why is this wizard obsessed with clocks?" Steve wondered, eyebrows furrowed together as he searched for an explanation. "Maybe he's like... a clockmaker, or something?"

Sam exhaled in disappointment.

Dustin rolled his eyes and sarcastically muttered, "I think you cracked the case, Steve."

"How the hell did you graduate?" Auggie asked, earning a snort from Nancy.

Steve looked at both Auggie and Dustin, offended, but both boys were shaking their heads, incredulous.

"All I know is," Sam said, squeezing her arms around herself tighter, "the answers are here. Somewhere."

Nancy nodded. "Okay, everyone stay in groups of two. Robin," she chose her partner, "upstairs."

Robin saluted with two fingers, following after her. Their footsteps creaked on the old stairs as they traveled up.

Max and Dustin were both staring at Sam and Lucas—the reason why, in unison, Max announced, "I'll go with Dustin," and Dustin said, "I'll go with Max."

Sam and Lucas looked at each other, confused, but by the time they looked away, Max and Dustin had already gone off to inspect the right side of the bottom floor.

Lucas shrugged, but ultimately decided to grab the wrist of Sam's sleeve and nod towards the left side of the bottom floor.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

So Sam and Lucas went off too, leaving Auggie and Steve behind. They looked at each other stupidly, hearing everyone's footsteps trail away.

"Uh—does that make us partners?" Steve asked dumbly.

Auggie exhaled heavily, turning on his heel and starting up the stairs.

"Was that a sigh?" Steve questioned, sounding like a wounding-up wife.

"No," Auggie lied. "I didn't sigh."

Steve began following after Auggie, making it up the stairs. "Why'd you sigh?"

"I didn't sigh," Auggie groaned. "Just—can we get this over with?"

"Why do you always sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you'd rather get your eyes sucked out by Vecna than be partnered with me!"

"It was just a stupid question, Harrington! God."

"No, you definitely have some sort of vendetta against me. I'm gonna figure you out, Smiths."

"By all means, be my guest," Auggie said sarcastically.

This was going to be fun.

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Justin couldn't drive, not legally, but his parents didn't care much about him nor the law. They were rich, high members of society, and they bought him a car after he won his first football game when the high school coach let him start as a freshman.

He didn't need any help nor direction to make it to Sam's house; he'd been there a few times, and it was also only two blocks from the high school. He'd tried talking himself down on the car ride there—Sam was still sweet, kind-hearted Sam. She was the Sam who stopped their walks in the woods because she wanted to pick up the leaves. She was the Sam who took hours in familyVideo just to pick out once movie because she was fascinated by all the technology, despite how annoyed it made him.

When he pulled in front of the house and stopped the car, he and Carrie got out the vehicle. They were still wearing the suit and dress they had on from the funeral, so they looked like they were about to bang on the door and announce they were part of the FBI.

"I don't want to be here," Carrie told him.

"You think I do?" Justin returned. "The last place I want to be is near her house."

He should have corrected himself with her aunt's house, just to prove he did know something about her, but the specification felt unnecessary and stupid.

When they reached the front door, Justin sucked in a preparing breath before he was knocking on the wood painted orange (yes, orange; Justin thought it was a horrid option).

He flinched back a little when it was Sam's sister, Stephanie Hughes, who answered the door.

Her expression morphed into that of true, utter disgust. "Zimmerman," she analyzed, growing more displeased at the sight of who was next to him. "Cunningham. What the hell are you two doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Stephanie snapped. "Neither of you are not allowed to be anywhere near this property. I would know, I instated the rule myself."

She tried shutting the door on them, making Justin's agitation return a little, but he ultimately stopped her from doing so with a hand on the ugly wood. Stephanie stared at him incredulously, like she was about to swing for his face.

"We're just... I'm just looking for Sam, alright?" Justin explained. "We fought recently, so I tried stopping by before to clear things, but she wasn't here."

He was lying out of his ass, and Stephanie seemed to know that. She was glaring fiercely.

"Yeah, she hasn't been here for the past few days. So get lost."

"How many days?" Justin asked, suspicion rising.

"None of your business."

Justin geared up to retort, but Carrie put a hand in front of him to push him back. "Can you just answer him so we can leave? We don't want to be here, you don't want us to be here, so let's speed this up."

"You are really one to be making demands right now, you privileged little—"

"My sister just died!" Carrie cried, and then Justin dreaded she really would start crying.

"Jesus," he muttered. He looked at Stephanie. "Just—how many days has Sam been away? We're just, you know, worried."

"You're worried about Sam?"

"Yes."

"Goodbye."

Stephanie tried slamming the door shut again, but Justin stopped her a second time. He only got angrier, because he was looking at some... well, he didn't want to say it, but Stephanie knew what she was. He didn't want to linger around her and catch whatever disease she had.

"Stephanie," Justin said, "how long?"

Stephanie groaned, throwing up her hands in agitation.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Sam disappeared after Friday or Saturday. For all I know, she's hanging around with Lucas or Santos or something."

Friday or Saturday lined up with Chrissy and Fred's death.

Sinclair and Santos were both connected to the murders.

Justin was certain now—Sam was guilty of something.

"Thank you," he said, swallowing through the strain of his voice. "Now we're going."

"Good," Stephanie told him, moments before slamming the door.

Justin finally let out a low, agitated growl. He turned around and started walking back over to his car. "Come on," he ordered Carrie.

"We're not going home?"

"No. We're going to help Jason find Sam and her cult freaks."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Published: January 21, 2024
Re-published: October 30, 2025

BAILEY YAPS...

I don't even want to talk right now Justin pissed me off so bad

Like what are you even saying bro oh my god

It's not even just anger it's also genuine astonishment that a person could be so brain-dead and such an unbearable piece of shit. Jesus christ

I wrote him, but still. Whatever. Accurate male incel representation

Anyway. Writing this chapter made me realize they had that entire morning convo with Holly just. Right there. Did she even gaf like??

Also shoutout to Max and Dustin partnering cus they wanted Hughclair to partner with each other

(FYI by now in California, Corey punched Argyle in the face when Argyle was panicking about Dead Agent Man. Jonathan tried restraining Corey. Then Corey proceeded to punch Jonathan as well. He is so pissed off and tired and claustrophobic.)

((Mike thought it was very attractive and Will thought it was disgusting that Mike thought it was attractive and Corey thought it was very attractive when Mike figured out the phone number was inside the pen. Will is also about to lose his shit for third wheeling so much.))

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