CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE.
4x09: The Piggyback

TWO DAYS LATER

There wasn't a single car in the lane heading towards Hawkins, except for the pizza van Corey was forced into. In the alternating lane next to them, however, cars and cars were lined up after each other—they were desperately escaping from the cursed town in the distance. Each fearful family after fearful family passed the large red sign reading LEAVING HAWKINS—COME AGAIN SOON.

Corey looked out the window, watching each car drive by. Occasionally, he would make eye contact with a concerned passenger wondering why the hell their big clunky pizza van was driving towards Hawkins.

Frankly, Corey was sure he was the only one so desperate to get back.

Each car ride in the stingy van had been torturous. Corey didn't know how long he'd actually spent in Argyle's nasty vehicle, but they'd been riding in it since Tuesday when they started their journey to find El.

It was now Saturday.

For someone with claustrophobia, five days really started to feel like five months pretty quick—especially now, with the addition of El. Corey was stuck in the back, squished next to Mike, who was squished next to El, who was squished next to Will. Argyle and Jonathan were in the front, free with room to breathe, although they weren't getting away so lucky, because both boys were harboring black noses.

That may or may not have been Corey's doing.

Now the claustrophobia combined with desperation. Corey needed to get back home. He needed to see his family. He needed to see his friends. He needed to see Sam. While El hadn't discussed much of what happened when she was fighting Vecna, Corey knew enough to be worried about Sam. In El's words, one second she was there, and the next she was gone.

He could only hope the same didn't go for Sam's physical body.

Corey squeezed Mike's hand tighter, growing more anxious when the van passed into Hawkins. They could do that now—hold hands. The secret of their relationship was out of the bag to everyone in the van (Will and El had known since they got together; it was just that Jonathan and Argyle didn't).

To make a long story short: Corey might have gotten a little... ruthless due to his anger issues and claustrophobia. Argyle might have provided him with "Purple Palm Tree Delight" to calm Corey's nerves. Corey might have gotten a little too calm, and confessed to Mike that he loved him, aloud, for the very first time.

Luckily Mike loved him too, so it was all okay.

There were pillars of black smoke clouds up ahead—a concerning amount. Way too many to count. Helicopters flew in the sky, into the presumed disaster that occurred in Hawkins. Corey's fear only increased.

What happened when they were gone?

Jonathan shared nervous looks with the occupants of the van. He quickly switched on the local news station, breaking the tense silence that the six members had been riding in.

"It's been less than forty-eight hours since a 7.4 magnitude earthquake rocked the quaint town of Hawkins, eighty miles outside of Indianapolis, in an event that seismologists are calling 'a natural disaster of near-unprecedented scale,'" the reporter relayed.

Corey looked away from the van window with a quiet gasp. He shared wide-eyed looks with Mike, which confirmed that they were both thinking the same thing: It wasn't a natural disaster. It was a supernatural disaster.

"The death toll now stands at twenty-two. But with hundreds more filling Roane County hospitals and many more still missing, officials except those numbers to rise."

Corey screwed his eyes tightly shut. Please don't be Sam, he pleaded. Please, to all that's above, don't let that be Sam.

They drove into the town square, and Corey suddenly lost any ability to breathe.

It was worse than he could have ever imagined. There wasn't even a town square to look at anymore.

The black smoke still lingered in the air from what looked like a collapsed town hall building. Flames continued burning from the crumbled piece of architecture. Multiple construction vehicles were still trying to rehabilitate the area, with news reporters surveying the scene. Military soldiers, cops, and construction men were all working together to control the damage. It hit Corey like a ton of bricks how bad the wreck had to be, because this happened two days ago, and there were still lingering horrors in the town.

The town hall was also covered in black, living vines.

Mike held Corey's hand tighter.

"This is only the latest tragedy to befall this once-safe town. Most recently, a string of high school students were killed in a series of ritualistic murders, which have been linked to a local satanic cult known as 'Hellfire.'"

Corey's head whipped towards Mike. Mike was staring forward, mouth having fallen slightly agape.

They thought Hellfire Club did this? The group of nerds who Corey was constantly making fun of?

Corey didn't know what to think or say, didn't know how to comfort Mike in a way that could make any of it okay. It seemed that nothing was okay right now. He wondered how the hell this shitty town found a way to rope Mike into this all the way in California. His Mike.

Corey narrowed his eyes back outside the van's window. He wasn't going to let anyone touch Mike. Nothing was going to happen to him, not on Corey's watch.

He couldn't even listen to rest of the news report, he was so pissed off. Corey should have excepted it, honestly—Hawkins was full of small-minded idiots. It made perfect sense that instead of progressively solving the issues of murders in the town, they preferred to blame a high school club full of teenagers.

Corey's heart clenched when he recognized Mike's house nearing closer. Out in their driveway, Corey could note the figures of Dustin, Nancy, Steve, Robin, Karen, and August Santos lingering around the trunk of Nancy's car.

For the first time in a very long time, Corey smiled.

Jonathan honked the annoyingly flamboyant horn of the pizza van. A stupid tune blared from the vehicle as Jonathan drove up the Wheelers' driveway.

Corey was the first person to desperately reach forward and slide open the back door. The six passengers filed out of the car gratefully. In the midst of all the chaos, the only semblance of comfort that could be found was by seeing their friends.

Those who had been in Hawkins the entire time stood, paralyzed by the sight of them. They looked entirely bewildered.

Then, both groups broke out in a run.

Mike called jovially for his mom, Jonathan picked Nancy up and spun her around in a hug, Will and El sprinted for Dustin, and Corey was following right behind the two. He knew their reunion with Dustin would mean much more, as they'd been in California for much longer.

It seemed that Dustin had to hobble forward to his friends, something none of them could register just yet. Will and El had already thrown themselves at Dustin, and in return, Dustin threw an arm around either of the pair. He let out a relieved laugh that Corey couldn't help but crack a smile at.

When the three of them let go, Corey stepped forward and held out a hand for Dustin to shake. "Hey, man," Corey greeted.

Dustin stared at Corey, stared at Corey's hand, stared back at Corey. He began to laugh incredulously.

"Are you kidding me?" Dustin cried, albeit amused. He did grab Corey's hand, but used it to yank the older boy forward and bring Corey into an embrace.

Corey let out a grunt at the force, and for a moment, his arms awkwardly hovered in the air. He still wasn't really accustomed to being hugged, unless it was from Sam or Mike. But Corey eventually gained his senses, embracing Dustin back.

Dustin pulled away, catching up with the trio he'd missed so dearly. It was hard though, because nothing could really be surface level anymore. This wasn't a situation where Dustin could ask Will or El what California was like. They couldn't ask Dustin what he'd been up to in Hawkins. They knew what he was up to in Hawkins—fighting Vecna or Henry or 001 or Sam's other uncle or whoever the fuck that freaky wizard was.

It wasn't just an earthquake, and they weren't just kids anymore.

"Where's Lucas?" Will asked conversationally.

Corey looked around for Lucas, and was suddenly reminded that he hadn't seen him yet. His eyebrows furrowed in worry, and when Corey looked back at Dustin, he was swallowing and nodding.

"He's at the hospital," Dustin answered grimly.

"Hospital?" Corey questioned, voice laced with rising fear. When he was scared, he got angry, and it was hard to keep the emotions separate. "Why would he be at the hospital?" Then, "Where's Sam?"

Dustin's eyes fell onto Corey, face morphing into an expression of shock. It only confused Corey further, making him even more unstable.

Then Dustin's features deteriorated into that of understanding.

"Oh God," he strained out, like it physically pained him. "You don't know."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

The first time Lucas Sinclair met Samantha Hughes, he was nine years old.

It was when he'd just moved into Hawkins (literally just), and Sam's mom invited Lucas's family over to have dinner with them. Lucas was dreading it, of course, because he was always more suspicious and skeptical than most. He feared the invite was just so that they could flaunt their money or intimidate the Sinclairs to stay humbled in the neighborhood.

He knew it would be nothing like that when Sam opened up the door. Lucas's brown eyes met her sparkling green ones and he just knew.

Even from their first glance, Sam always had the calming power of ensuring everyone they would be alright just because she was there. It was her presence, it was her smile, it was her look. It was the way Sam was. The mirth in her eyes, curling at the corner of her mouth.

Sam just had to be Sam, and that was how Lucas was integrated into the party. She instantly befriended Lucas at the Sinclair-Hughes family dinner, and adopted Lucas into her friend group—Sam's words, not his. None of it went as Lucas had expected, but it couldn't have gone any better. Lucas was the fourth official party member, he was best friends with Sam, and he felt like he belonged for the first time in his life.

The first time Lucas Sinclair knew he loved Samantha Hughes, he was thirteen years old.

By then, he'd already known he liked her for around a year. He discovered that little piece of information when the two of them were scouting out the laboratory in the tree—Sam had reminded Lucas of his importance, and Lucas was struck with the overwhelming feeling that the twisting of his stomach wasn't due to platonic fondness. So, yes, Lucas had known then. He liked Sam, and her blonde hair, and her sunshine smile, and her stupid jokes, and every part of her that came with being Sam Hughes.

Figuring out he loved her wasn't as happy of an experience.

It was their eighth grade Snow Ball.

Lucas had spent all day picking out the perfect outfit in hopes Sam would like it. He'd spent hours practicing in the mirror how he was going to ask her to dance. He'd spent the entire first half of the Snow Ball freaking out about how beautiful she looked.

In the end, it was all for nothing. Sam hadn't given a second glance more than friendly greeting. Justin walked up to her, and Lucas was suddenly being left, forgotten in the dust. He watched the pair of them walk over to the dance floor, heart sinking with the crushing reality that Lucas loved her. He loved her.

It wasn't joyful or happy, it was heart-breaking and miserable.

The first time Lucas Sinclair believed Samantha Hughes could love him back, he was fifteen years old.

It had been three days since the realization, only just three, but it still felt like lifetimes ago.

Sam had found it in her powers to communicate with the older teenagers trapped in the Upside Down. Her nose had been bleeding profusely, just like it always did when she delved deeper into her abilities. Lucas, of course, was very accustomed to her hemophobia—though in Sam's defense, she'd gotten a trillion times better with blood over the years—so he offered to clean the blood off for her.

Lucas was terrified he'd give himself away in that moment. This was the third time he'd cleaned off Sam's blood for her, and he was sure Sam would run in fear at the realization that Lucas wasn't offering platonically.

But Sam didn't run. She stayed. Very still, might Lucas add.

The entire time, Lucas could feel Sam's eyes burning into Lucas's figure. The way she was looking at him... Lucas felt so close to her. In a way that he never had before. Lucas thought that he and Sam were already close, but nothing could compare to that feeling when they were sitting on the floor of Nancy's room. It was stronger than adoration and better than fear.

Then Sam was muttering something about déjà vu, in a certain kind of voice Lucas didn't recognize from her. She seemed dazed and stunned and so fond that Lucas saw his own twelve-year-old self in her demeanor.

It felt nice. Being with Sam now felt nice—nothing like that horrible summer where all they did was fight. This was something entirely different.

But then Sam got ripped from his hands. She'd slipped through his fingers like water.

Lucas tensed up in his seat next to Erica's in the hospital room. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about the topic of Sam, but his mind was physically drawn to her in the same way it had always been. Just like seven years ago. Just like two years ago. Just like three days ago.

Now, there was just that melancholy feeling settling in his chest and a sense of agonizing dread he couldn't deny. It was heartbreak different from any other kind of heartbreak he'd felt before. He hadn't lost Sam because of a lack of reciprocation. He'd just lost her.

His hand moved up to clench at the golden B necklace around his neck, although it was splattered in blood. It was Sam's necklace—or, it used to be her necklace. Lucas wished that he wasn't wearing it. He wished it didn't have to be given to him by fucking Carrie Cunningham.

(Carrie honestly didn't know if Sam was coherent enough to remember, didn't know if Sam even knew what she was doing. Her hands, shaking, had unclasped the golden chain before the necklace was being forced into Carrie's palm. You have to tell Lucas, Sam had started to say. You have to tell Lucas...

So Carrie assumed the necklace was meant for him, although she had a feeling there was more Sam wanted to elaborate with.

She never got the chance.)

Sam was lost like water slipping through a drain, never to be recovered. She was lost in cracked families and desolate dimensions. She was lost in selfless saves and ebbing blood—her own, her own, her own. Her own, because she'd only just learned to make it someone else's.

The blood on the B necklace could be Sam's, but it could also be Justin's, and that was the only comforting thought Lucas found throughout it all.

Honestly I think you could kill him, and I still wouldn't find it horrible, Lucas had told Sam once. He'd meant it then and it was proven now. Cunningham had insisted on it being self-defense, but Lucas already knew that. He knew Sam. It couldn't have been anything but self-defense.

Justin Zimmerman was gone, but so was Samantha Hughes. Sam had been pulled underneath the open Gates in the cracking floor, leaving nothing but a burning impression on all the lives she'd touched. Lucas could see her everywhere—in every word, every room, every hall, every building, every fucking breath. What hurt was that he couldn't see Sam in himself. It killed him. He wished he could just be like her, and leave it all behind without looking back.

Amidst the fight with Jason, everything had turned askew. Lucas had gotten his shit rocked, Max had died, then she'd been revived somehow, and Jason Carver's body was completely split in half by the Gates. He thought that was the worst news he would receive, but then Cunningham visited Lucas and his friends in the hospital. She'd relayed to them what happened to Sam.

It was an earth-shattering catastrophe that was worse than any information Lucas could have heard.

Sam's folded and now-crumpled note burned a hole in Lucas's jean pocket. His eyes stung at the realization. Sam handing it to him had felt just like Max handing him her fail-safe notes—it was almost like a promise of death, the assurance that they would die and he would be left with nothing but ink on paper. Lucas had begged Max not to give it to him, and he had done the same with Sam. He'd made Sam promise that she would make it out after miserably accepting the note and desperately pressing their foreheads together.

Sam broke her promise, and the note was still left unread in the pocket of his changed pair of jeans.

Lucas didn't want a letter. Lucas didn't want Sam's handwriting telling him something she'd wished to tell him in person.

He wanted to hear the words she wrote in her endearing voice. He wanted Sam to be here. He wanted Sam to...

He wanted Sam.

He wanted Sam, so he lost her.

Just when Lucas had been so close to getting her, the universe pulled them apart. He couldn't have her.

Lucas shifted uncomfortably in the hospital chair, and the aforementioned note crinkled in his back pocket. He deflated with an exhale out his nose, eyes falling shut and face laced with self-hatred.

"You should read it," Erica said from right next to him. "You're causing yourself more pain by not reading it."

"It's gonna hurt more when I do," Lucas objected.

Erica sighed, and Lucas knew then that she was right. Erica usually was right, Lucas just hated admitting it. She just reminded Lucas so much of Sam—they were both so smart—so that factor hurt a million times over right about now. Reading the note meant getting closure, and getting closure meant Sam truly was gone. And nobody knew how long. They didn't even know if Sam was coming back. Lucas was the only one holding out hope that she was even alive anymore.

Ignoring the pain in his heart, ignoring the pain of breathing, Lucas reached for his back pocket against his own will. He felt Erica's stare burning into him, but he kept his gaze pointedly away. The note looked just the same as it had when Lucas transferred it from one pair of jeans to the next—it was folded by Sam, but also, it was extremely crumpled due to the tussle with Jason.

Lucas inhaled deeply, and his lungs burned. He wanted to mentally prepare himself to open it up, but he knew that nothing could possibly get him to that point. He would never be ready, no matter the message Sam wrote inside.

To quickly get it over with, Lucas unfolded the note.

Almost instantly, a few of the tears that had been stinging his eyes fell onto the paper below. He stopped breathing, and he couldn't tell if it was because of his bruised ribs or because of the message Sam left behind.

You were my new dream :)

That was all that had been written in Sam's neat handwriting.

Lucas let out a half-sob, half-laugh. To no one, he said, "You were mine."

Everything was a mess. Everything hurt—breathing, living, existing. Sam was gone, his Sam, and he was sitting in his best friend's hospital room.

Lucas had only left Max's side once, and that was because Auggie forced him to change, shower, and let his parents know that he was alive. If Auggie hadn't, Lucas wouldn't have left Max's side at all. He was content to sit here and keep Max company. Lucas had been reading to her, chatting to her, and even sitting in silence with her. He couldn't stop thinking about Max, or Sam, or even Eddie, who had tragically and heroically died saving everyone.

Everything was a mess.

Suddenly, the door to Max's hospital room was being thrown open. Lucas quickly stuffed the note back in his pocket and wiped the underneath of his eyes with the back of his hand. He and Erica's heads whipped up to find that Corey was storming into the hospital room, followed by Mike, Will, El, Jonathan, and Nancy.

"Oh my God," Lucas muttered brokenly.

Both he and Erica shot up from their respective chairs, bewildered. Lucas had to blink rapidly to check, but it really was them. It really was his friends that had been over in California.

"We've been calling you guys like crazy," Lucas breathed, before wrapping his arms around Corey in a hug. It was tight and firm and unyielding. If Lucas closed his eyes tight enough, if he stretched his imagination, he could almost pretend it was Sam that was hugging him. The thought hurt, ripping him apart, but he couldn't stop his mind from going there.

"I know," Mike's voice broke in, reminding Lucas he was here too. "We came as soon as we heard."

Lucas forced himself to let go of Corey so that he could hug Mike and Will, with arms thrown around both of them. It would still never amount to an embrace from Sam. Nothing would make him feel better but that.

The boys he was hugging faltered, and Lucas had a feeling they were looking over his shoulder. The air in the room was rising, wrapping around Lucas and suffocating him. Mike and Will's grips on him loosened, and it was only then that Lucas craned his head up. Standing before him was El, wearing a hoodie of Corey's, the hood of it over her shaven head.

Lucas let out a puff of broken air. El's face wrenched up. She shot forward and hugged Lucas like it would be their last.

The realization struck Lucas entirely: El knew what had happened.

Her breathing was unstable as she hugged Lucas, and Lucas's heart beat rapidly. She knew, she knew, she knew, and she was here. El was here, when Sam didn't get to be, and for some reason, Lucas got the feeling that El knew about Sam's disappearance too.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice wavering.

Lucas's eyes fell shut again. He was sorry too.

From behind Lucas, he could hear Corey breathing in and out heavily. El's grip went slack on Lucas, so he removed himself from the embrace and turned around. Lucas looked at Corey to see him turning around wildly, an incredulous and desperate look on his face.

Lucas's heart was breaking all again.

Corey met Lucas's sad gaze, and the vulnerability in Corey's eyes told Lucas that this interaction was going to destroy him all over again.

"Don't tell me it's true, man. Sam's not...?" Corey breathed, like the motion pained him. He shook his head. "She—she can't be."

But then his eyes fell down to the golden and bloody necklace that was supposed to be worn by Sam. Lucas couldn't stare at Corey for much longer. He tried swallowing past the lump in his throat, but it was no use.

"It's my fault," Lucas rasped. "I shouldn't have left her alone."

"No," Corey muttered, hand moving up to clutch at his chest. He took a step back, and for a moment, Lucas worried he was going to collapse. But Mike was quickly rushing over to him, taking shaky steps, because the information hurt him too.

"I'm sorry," Lucas whispered.

"I-it's not your fault," Will protested weakly. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but nothing could help everything from hurting Lucas to his very core.

Everything reminded him of Sam. She was his new dream, but right now, she was a nightmare that he couldn't escape.

"Do they know," El's quiet voice spoke up, "when she will wake?"

Lucas snapped out of his darker thoughts. He turned to see that El had taken her hood off and walked up to Max's bedside. She redirected Corey, Mike, and Will's attentions onto Max too. It was nice for the topic not to be on Sam, but the topic of Max hurt almost as much.

Lucas shook his head, unfortunately.

"No. They say she might not." Breathe, Sam's voice remind him. He did so, shakingly, his lungs burning again at the thought of her. "Her heart stopped. For over a minute. She died... I—I mean, clinically, but... then she came back. The doctors don't know how. They say it's a miracle."

I wish a miracle had happened to Sam, he thought. But then, Sam had always been the miracle-maker herself. It made sense that no one could do the same for her.

El was stepping forward again, and this time, she sat at the foot of Max's bed. She stared at Max's face—her closed eyes, the cracking scars running underneath them, the brace around her neck. Hesitantly, almost unsure, El tried taking Max's hand in hers. It wasn't an easy feat, considering both of Max's arms were entirely covered in casts, but their fingertips still brushed each other.

"I'm here, Max," El muttered. "It's not the same, without Sam, but I'm here."

It's not the same without Sam. It's not the same without Sam. It's not the same without Sam.

Lucas didn't know why he was surprised when Max didn't reply.

You were my new dream :) You were my new dream :) You were my new dream :)

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Stephanie was living by the missing person's board.

It hurt.

Stephanie's little sister was missing, and everything hurt. All over.

The past twenty-four hours had been a blur, and Stephanie barely remembered it all. She knew she'd thrown up. A lot. She knew she'd punched Gina in the face and probably ruined their friendship; it was an accident, but she was so ferocious upon the news of Sam. She knew the names of every single person on the missing persons board, because she had been by it for so long that she'd memorized everything.

Stephanie just needed to know if anything changed. If anyone would come up and take Sam's poster off the board. If someone would tell her they found Sam, alive and well, and Stephanie could see her baby sister again.

No one did.

The only other person who had come up to Sam's poster was Carrie Cunningham. She was making sure that Sam's flier stayed up and posted, and that no one defaced it or threw it away like all of Eddie Munson's. Poor Wayne Munson was having to replace Eddie's missing person sheet hourly. Stephanie had gotten the chance to talk to Wayne on multiple accounts, considering the two of them were anxiously residing next to the board. Both of them, scared shitless, just wanting to see their baby sister and nephew again.

Stephanie couldn't stand any of it. The waiting. She was never good at that part—Sam was always the more patient sibling out of the two.

When they were younger, back when Sam didn't have any friends and would constantly get emotional about Stephanie going out to play with hers, Stephanie would sometimes choose to cancel on those friends. Instead, Stephanie would let Sam take her older sister out to her favorite field hidden in the woods of Hawkins. She would force Stephanie to sit down in the long grass and braid flowers into Stephanie's hair. Sam would always correspond the color of the flowers to the color of Stephanie's hair. She would take her time and decide what looked best, and would take even longer making sure the French braid looked perfect with the flowers intricately placed.

Stephanie would complain as if she was the little sister, pointing out Sam was taking way too long. Sam would just giggle, and the little shit didn't care that Stephanie's back was aching, because patience is a virtue, Steph!

Maybe Sam had been right about that, as she was right about most things. Sam was smart. She always had been. Much smarter than Stephanie for sure—it was what she kept reminding herself. Sam couldn't be dead, because she was Sam, and she was smart. If there was anyone who could endure a 7.4 magnitude earthquake and survive, it had to be Sam.

But Stephanie still hadn't left the missing person's board sign, which contradicted the whole belief that Sam was out there and okay and healthy. Maybe she should have more faith in her sister. Maybe she shouldn't have yelled at her Aunt Kat. Maybe she shouldn't have punched Gina in the face.

But Stephanie found that she didn't care. She couldn't care. The whole world could burn around her, and all she would be thinking about were phantom flowers still stuck in her hair, their saccharine ghost scent like poison in her lungs.

Stephanie and Sam were different, but never more than they were right now. For one of them, this disaster had taken too early, and the other, it will not for a long while.

Everything felt dark without Sam here. Both Hughes sisters were girls lighter than most, but no one shone as bright as Sam. While Stephanie was the glowing streetlamps and the setting sun behind clouds, Sam was a thunderstorm bottled in a girl. She was the Sun at the center of everything.

Without the Sun, the planets couldn't revolve. The gravitational force fell. The universe collapsed, and everything went to shit. Earthquakes rumbled, people died, and ghosts filtered around the disastrous city of Hawkins that was left.

Stephanie thought that she could handle it—she had been surrounded by ghosts her whole life—but she was alone now.

"Hey, Phee," a quiet voice broke over the light chatter of civilians behind her.

Phee. There was only one person in the whole world who called her that. Stephanie turned to see Josephine approaching her tentatively, like she was a wild animal held back.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you really need to leave the board at some point."

Stephanie's fists clenched, the right one burning from the bruises of punching Gina. Her nails dug into her palms. For a second, fear flashed in Jo's eyes, and Stephanie was overcome by the crushing weight of guilt.

"I-I can't," she admitted, and it was a peace treaty being offered. "Sam, she..."

She needs me, Stephanie wanted to say. She needs someone to be here for when she comes back. She can't be alone.

Something sad reflected in Jo's eyes, and she took a few steps closer. "This isn't helping anything, Phee. You're torturing yourself."

Stephanie knew that, but she also felt like she deserved it.

Jo knew that, and her expression turned even sadder.

"Come on," she muttered, touching a gentle hand to the small of Stephanie's back. "You still can help out here. How about you volunteer to get your mind off of it, okay?"

Stephanie shrugged, because words weren't an adequate medium of expression, and screaming wasn't an option.

She let herself be guided by Jo, going through the motions like she wasn't even really there. It wouldn't be that far from the truth either. Her mind was stuck on one thing—Sam—and she didn't know how to pull it off. Not from her baby sister. She was sure that volunteering couldn't distract her in the slightest.

But somehow, Stephanie ended up at the food pick up station, where people were making food and lunch bags for those in need. Stephanie blinked, and there were plastic gloves on her hands. Her bruised hand was clutching a knife. There were materials to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before her. Sam hated peanut butter and—

How about you volunteer to get your mind off of it, okay? Stephanie forced herself to hear Jo's voice in her mind. Forced herself to stop thinking of Sam. Tried to make everything stop.

None of it worked, but a girl could dream.

So Stephanie turned on auto-pilot. She made PB&Js until she was groaning in agitation about being out of peanut butter. The kind lady in charge of volunteering told her there should be more in the kitchen, and Stephanie had to give her props for putting up with Stephanie's burdensome self.

She grabbed the peanut butter from the kitchen, and she pivoted.

Stephanie came out, announced, "I found another jar of peanut butter, but it's the crunchy stuff, and I don't k—"

She was pausing completely before she knew what she was doing. Standing before Stephanie was Robin Buckley, only two feet away. She was here, and for some reason, that little fact made Stephanie feel less like a robot on autopilot.

"Robin," Stephanie breathed, a little dazedly.

"Uh," Robin awkwardly stammered, "hi."

Stephanie's fists clenched. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I am..." Robin's hand lifted up, showcasing a knife covered in jelly. She looked at it, then back at Stephanie. "I—I am making PB&Js."

"Right." Stephanie cursed herself under her breath. "Yeah, no. Duh. Of course. Uh, I—I'm also making PB&Js, I guess."

God, was Stephanie serious? Her sister was missing, and she was nervously stuttering just because Robin was here.

Robin swallowed, nodded. "Cool."

"Cool," Stephanie echoed.

Robin turned back around then, to continue making sandwiches at the station. Stephanie remembered to move again, and she started towards the station too. They stood a few inches apart, shoulders brushing when Stephanie reached for a new piece of bread.

The silence was awkward, and Stephanie was suffocating again, although for different reasons this time. Her mind was a raging storm of Sam and Robin and the warring differences between which topic it should settle on. She was a mess, of course, and she couldn't decide. She tried to get lost in the motions of making PB&Js again, but it was no use.

Suddenly, Robin said, "I should apologize for being shifty about hanging around Sam."

Stephanie froze. No. Now was not the time for this conversation. In fact, this was the worst time. She couldn't talk about her missing sister, not here, not now, not with Robin.

When Stephanie didn't say anything, Robin continued. "I am sorry. I should've kept my promise to you."

Just, you know, keep her safe.

Um, we will. I swear. I promise we will.

Stephanie nodded. She didn't look at Robin. She couldn't. She had no idea how she was supposed to respond.

"And I should've found you earlier," Robin said, like she'd only just realized something. "I should've asked you... Are—are you okay?"

Stephanie splintered. Her next breath came in a little shaky, a little wet.

Oh, fuck. This was really not the time. Her eyes were tearing up. The dirty knife went slack in her grip.

"No," Stephanie answered honestly, and it was like a dam had been broken. Her tears spilled over and the words tumbled out of her mouth. "Sam was—she's all I have left, even if—even if I haven't really had her in the past few years."

She kind of wanted to shut up, but she couldn't. It was another trait she shared with her baby sister.

"Just her being there—I mean, she thinks—she thinks I'm this almighty person who she needs to depend on, but really—really, it's me who needs her, and I-I don't know how to make her understand that. I'm not put together. I'm scared all the time. I mean, why did she think I turned to weed in the first place? I'm terrified right now. I miss her. I miss her, and I—I'm—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Stephanie huffed brokenly, wiping the tears under her eyes. She sniffled, and she wanted to pretend like nothing happened by making more sandwiches, but she couldn't bring herself to for some reason.

Stephanie was shakily gripping the knife again. Her hand clenched around it, and the skin of her bruised knuckles stretched around it.

Robin watched her sadly, almost looking like her face was twisted up with guilt. Stephanie thought she would hate it, but with the way Robin was looking at her, she couldn't find it in herself to be angry in the slightest. She wasn't even freaking out. Robin made her feel calm for once, with no weed in her system at all.

"You're allowed to be scared. Fear is a good thing. It's... human," Robin said. Her voice was uncommonly firm, but it was coated in warmth in its usual manner. "You have nothing to apologize for, okay?"

"Okay," Stephanie said, nodding shakily.

She begged to differ, but she wasn't in the mood to argue right now.

Then Robin was catching Stephanie completely off guard. "Goldi—Sam," she corrected, sounding pained, "is... the most genius kid I have ever known. Most genius person, honestly. I mean, I've seen her do scientist-level equations in mere seconds just—in her head. And she's kind, and she's strong, and... and I guess what I'm trying to say is that if there's anyone who can get through this alone... it's Sam. Sam can make it out of this, or any obstacle that always gets thrown at her for some reason... She's no one to underestimate, Steph."

The words draped over Stephanie like a soft blanket, somehow comforting her. It was a feeling she hadn't felt in... well, a while. A really long while. For a moment, she was even compelled to smile, but felt that would be crazy with the situation at hand. Her eyes instinctively darted to the missing persons board, finding Wayne Munson talking to Dustin Henderson, one of Sam's best friends. She looked back at Robin, heart swelling up again.

"You know, in freshman year... I was going through a lot," Stephanie admitted, starting on a tangent of her own. "I mean, I was having... revelations... about myself, my parents were dead, I was starting high school. I felt like nothing was going my way. I had an F in fucking Algebra 1, and one day I was at my aunt's dinner table about to kill myself because I couldn't figure out how to factor a goddamn trinomial! Sam comes up to me... and she does it all for me. She was ten." She laughed humorlessly, incredulously. "And I just... cried. Because I love her so much, and I'm so fucking grateful to have her in my life—or, I guess, to have had now. And—and—I..." She broke off, looking down at the two pieces of bread before her that were smothered in peanut butter, "have just made a peanut butter on peanut butter monstrosity."

Stephanie threw her head back with a groan. She was a mess.

Then, there was a movement in her hand, and Stephanie looked back over to find that Robin was replacing the peanut butter in her hand with a jar of jelly, harboring a fond smile. Stephanie finally cracked a smile, just for Robin to see. No one else had managed that from her.

"You're both lucky to have each other," Robin said, and for some reason Stephanie could actually bear to hear it coming from Robin's ears.

Things had never felt easier. It was Robin, who Stephanie had never been able to correctly handle, yet it was all of a sudden so easy.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Stephanie admitted, honestly. She took on a lighter tone this time. "Um, it's like sometimes my mouth is moving faster than my brain, and it's like this runaway train, and I cannot seem to get it to stop, no matter how hard I try—you know what I mean?"

Robin smiled, amused, but it didn't seem like she was doing it to mock Stephanie in any way. It felt... soft.

"Uh, yeah." Robin nodded. "I think I know what you mean."

Stephanie smiled softly too. She plopped one of the slices of peanut better over by Robin with a scheming smile.

"It's a gift," Stephanie said, in response to Robin's confused look.

Playing onto the bit, Robin pretended to act terribly grateful. "Oh, for me?"

"You're welcome," she said, acting entirely serious, nodding. "Mmm-hm."

"Oh, you really shouldn't have," Robin teased.

"Oh, but I did, Buckley," Stephanie cooed. "I did."

"I just don't deserve it." Robin nudged Stephanie's shoulder playfully. "I mean, thank you."

"Early birthday."

"Thank you so much. Oh. Oh, wow."

And it was just that easy.

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Steve was watching Robin and Stephanie Hughes interact with a smile as he folded the clothes before him. Auggie was at his side; however, he couldn't bring himself to smile at all. His ankle still burned in pain, and he refused to get it treated considering there were so many people who actually needed medical attention. Eddie was dead, Max was essentially braindead, and Sam was gone.

Sam, his first ever friend. Sam, the young freshman who he started to think so fondly of that words couldn't describe. Sam, who liked his film recommendations. Sam, who got to know him because she wanted to, she cared to. Just Sam.

Sam was gone.

There was nothing easy about anything anymore. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass, every thought was a raging shriek. There was a cut in his mouth from where he'd bitten the inside of his cheek, just to stop himself from screaming. And holy fuck, did he want to scream. He wanted to tear both dimensions apart with his bare hands—burn them and leave nothing behind.

Steve hadn't really left his side. Auggie didn't know if it was for his own sake or Steve's, but ever since their talk in the forest, Steve was attached.

It felt... nice. Like, the world was ending, but Auggie could count on the fact that Steve would always be there.

Auggie swallowed as he folded clothes, sorting them in the right pile. He looked to the side, finding that Steve was distracted again by folding shirts of his own. Auggie didn't blame him. He himself thought of Sam, courageous Sam, who sacrificed her life with the intention of keeping everyone else alive. He thought about his lack of response to Steve's words in the Upside Down. He thought about how he actually could have responded, but he held himself back, because that instinctive fear had followed him since he was four—there was always the lingering worry that everyone would leave him, just like his father did, and it was that exact phobia that had Auggie nervously pulling from Steve.

You could be causing yourself a million more years of pain by being stubborn and deciding his feelings about you before he even tells you his feelings about you.

Auggie wheezed, feeling winded. Sam. That little shit was in his head again. She was a blinding light he couldn't escape.

He exhaled shakily.

Do it for Sam.

"Hey, Harrington?"

Steve paused the folding of the donated clothes. He tilted his head at Auggie.

"Hi, Smiths," he said, a little teasing note to his voice.

Auggie sighed, trying to fold his clothes in a way so he could escape eye contact with Steve when he needed to. He wasn't brave like Steve. He wasn't brave like Sam.

He needed to be though.

"Let me know if you figure it out," Auggie said, in a confession disguised as conversation.

Steve's brows pulled together.

"What?"

Auggie looked down at the pile of clothes.

Do it for Sam.

He glanced up at Steve.

"About making your dream work," Auggie clarified. "It sounds like a nice future."

Auggie knew Steve understood what he meant by the way his face lit up. He knew, because it was the same way Auggie's expression had morphed. The only difference was that Steve was so very bright—it overwhelmed Auggie, shook him to his very core. He had to look away from Steve and continue sifting through the box of clothes they'd donated.

"Yeah?" Steve asked, the adoring smile audible in his voice.

But Auggie was inhaling broken glass again. His hands shook as he looked down to see the shirt that had once been his favorite. The shirt that he had to crop so that he could treat Steve's wound. The shirt that Sam had bought for him.

And now Sam was gone.

The world started spinning around him.

"I..." Auggie tried answering, clawing at his throat. "Ye—yeah."

Steve's smile instantly fell. He dropped the shirt in his hands and took concerned steps closer to him.

"Auggie? You alright?" He set a grounding hand on Auggie's arm, squeezing.

Arm. He inhaled a wheezing breath. It was Sam's arm that had been shot. Sam had been shot, and now she was gone.

"Yeah, I'm..." Auggie tried, but he was shaking his head and clutching at his chest, "no. S-sorry. I think I—need water."

And just like that, Auggie was limping off, but everything looked hazy, and his head was dizzy. It felt like the world was ending, and for a sad moment, he wondered if this was how Sam felt before she disappeared. It didn't feel worth it to figure out the answer to that. Nothing he could be told could calm him right now—not unless the answer was that Sam was here and Sam was okay.

Auggie tried breathing, but every inhale was an agonizing and suffocating heave. He continued thinking of Sam, and his head spun even more. Sam's delicate point of view, her instinctive nature to nurture, her calming smile, her kind gestures.

He could throw up on the floor right then and there.

Auggie ended up in a dark, abandoned hall of the high school that no one was in, because everyone was in the gym. Trying not to have been lying to Steve, he threw himself against the nearest water fountain; things were coming in and out of focus, and he wasn't fully sure if he made it to his destination or not.

The room was closing in on him. His throat was swelling up, and he couldn't breathe.

Why couldn't he breathe?

"Aug." A voice was turning Auggie around so Auggie was facing them, both of their hands gripping the sides of Auggie's shoulders and holding him up. "Auggie. Look at me."

That was Steve's voice.

But Auggie couldn't look at him. Nothing felt okay anymore, and he wasn't fully convinced that Steve wasn't still in the gym.

"Auggie, hey," he tried again, being painfully brought back to when Sam was having a panic attack of her own. "I'm right here, okay—?"

"She's gone," Auggie whimpered, choking on air he couldn't inhale. "She's—I can't—this isn't—"

Steve gripped the sides of Auggie's shoulders tighter, trying to force eye contact, but Auggie couldn't manage it.

"I know, Auggie. I know. It sucks. But you gotta breath. Auggie? Aug? Smiths? Come on, Auggie, breathe."

Auggie wasn't breathing. He wasn't looking anywhere near Steve. In fact, his breathing was speeding up. The hyperventilating quickly turned into choking, and he clawed desperately at his throat for air.

His mind was reeling, and Samantha Hughes was gone.

"Auggie!" Steve called, a sense of urgency wrapped in concern. Auggie jolted at the noise with a low gasp and his heart still pounding.

Eventually, he met the unwavering force of Steve's eyes.

"It's Sam," his voice shattered. "We have to find her. We can't do this without her."

This could mean many things. This was surviving, but it was also living, because there was a difference. The Earth couldn't revolve if the Sun wasn't there shining for them.

Auggie couldn't go on if Sam wasn't there for him.

"I know," Steve said, nodding. "We're doing everything we can."

"It doesn't feel like enough." There was exhaustion weighing down Auggie's words, and the dark circles under his eyes looked even more pronounced than before.

Steve shook his head, and Auggie knew he was just as hurt by Sam's disappearance as Auggie was.

"I don't know what else to do," Steve admitted, and his voice cracked at the words.

Then, from behind Steve, Auggie saw it.

Someone had exited the girls' bathroom, and she was now watching Auggie and Steve's interaction with a sad face.

Auggie's eyes narrowed at the realization it was Carrie Cunningham.

The anger consumed him quickly, faster than Auggie could keep it from doing so. Before he knew it, he was shoving Steve to the side. He rushed at Carrie and just fucking grappled her.

He took a hold of this freshman girl and slammed her up against the nearest wall, getting dangerously close to her face and ignoring Steve's alarmed yelp and Carrie's pained protest.

"What were you doing?!" Auggie berated, a furious wrath to his exclamation. "You trusted him. You were there with him—"

"Hey, hey, hey—" Steve jogged forward, trying to stop the altercation.

"Right? Huh?! So, WHAT DID YOU DO?" Auggie roared, and Carrie's face screwed up fearfully. "WHAT DID YOU DO WHILE SHE SACRIFICED HER LIFE FOR YOUR PATHETIC ONE?"

"AUGGIE!" Steve hissed, finally reaching the two. He wrapped his arms around Auggie's torso and wrenched him away from Carrie, tearing his grip off of her. Carrie whimpered in what was either fear or pain, but Auggie didn't care much if it was either option. The anger was too all-consuming—the underlying pain fueled it at a constant rate.

"She let Sam go missing!" Auggie growled with an accusing finger, still in the arms of Steve but glaring directly at Carrie.

"I didn't know what was going on!" Carrie cried, sounding genuinely serious, but so was Auggie. "I-I didn't understand, I—I'm sorry! I wanted to help her!"

Auggie laughed humorlessly.

"Just because you gave Justin a little tackle and learned how to feel guilty doesn't mean you helped her!" He glared daggers into her. "Half of this is still your fault!"

"Auggie!" Steve shoved him backwards and put himself in between the two. This time, he really did force Auggie to look at him. "You need to calm down."

Do it for Sam.

He exhaled shakily, clenching his fist in a manner he'd learned from the young blonde.

Do it for Sam.

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Hopper was alive, and Joyce was back. Corey didn't care about either facts.

They were back at Hopper's cabin, trying to rehabilitate it from the summer fiasco so that it could be lived in once again. Corey didn't care about this either.

Sam was gone.

Corey couldn't fully comprehend it. She was just here—Sam was just here, in Hawkins, doing horrible commentary for the championship game. She was just stressing for Corey to get dressed faster so she wouldn't be late for the pep really. She was just cracking corny jokes, telling him about the sophomores in her class, and spending her weekends with him watching movies Steve let them rent from familyVideo for free due to his soft spot for her. She was just being Sam, and now she was supposedly gone.

Corey found himself about a mile into the woods, broken off from everyone inside Hopper's cabin who were actually trying to help with the repairs. He didn't understand how they could still go on with the information they learned about Sam—hell, Corey didn't even understand how he was still breathing.

A part of him was still convinced Dustin and Lucas were lying. Sam was fine. She was just at the high school, helping out those in need, because she was Sam, and it was predictable that she would be the first one to offer herself up.

It turned out Sam did offer herself up.

Just not in the way Corey wanted it to be so.

Everything hurt. Corey was sure that nothing could be okay ever again. His chest hurt, because it reminded him his heart was still beating underneath, but his real heart—Sam—was somewhere else entirely where Corey couldn't find her. His brain hurt, because it reminded him he couldn't come up with any intelligent solutions for this, because Sam hadn't been able to, and she was smarter than all of them combined. His eyes hurt, because it reminded him no matter how much he looked around, Sam would not be seen out of his cynical eyes.

His fists hurt, because he'd been angrily punching a tree for the past hour to try and feel something again.

Sam was the Empath. She was the Sun. She was the glue. She was Corey's everything. He wanted it all back. He wanted to feel, so he tried punching the trees, but the raging pain couldn't take his mind off the roaring storm in his head that was Sam's absence.

Blood flowed from his hands, down onto the forest floor. It was imbedded in the bark. It was staining his clothes. It was everywhere. It only made him feel worse, because the blood was just another reminder of Sam too. She would hate what Corey was doing to himself right now. She would hate the sight of blood.

Just give me a pass this one time, Corey told the Sam that wasn't there. I need you and you're gone.

That doesn't mean you should deliberately hurt yourself, Sam replied.

But you do it all the time, Corey argued.

Shut up, Sam protested. I do it for a good cause.

Well where did that fucking get you in the end, Sammy?

Corey let out a furious grunt, sending the poor chosen tree another right hook. His knuckles collided right with the bark, bones smashing against wood in a way that couldn't be healthy. His skin scraped further, and more blood poured out his hand. He stared at how much blood was on the tree—it was so much that the section he focused on wasn't even brown anymore.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Sam was complaining again.

Stop, Corey begged. You're not even here. You don't exist.

Corey just wanted everything to stop.

So he punched the tree. Then he punched it again. And again, and again, and he kept going, and he would keep going until the imagined Sam in his head would shut the hell up. Or until he broke both of his hands. Or until he passed out and lost so much blood that he died.

The latter option was more preferred right now.

Corey, what the fuck?! Sam cried, in such an unlike-Sam manner that his wrath was fueled even more furiously. The punches to the tree sped up. Corey! Corey, STOP!

Corey didn't stop. He punched, and he punched, and his fists were raw, but he punched, and he punched, and he punched.

Corey! Stop! Pl—

"—ease, stop!" Mike cried desperately. He physically had to shove Corey as hard as he could. "Stop it, Core!"

Corey was wrenched out of his thoughts, forced away from the tree. He panted in and out heavily, staring at Mike, whose eyes were blown wide in what was both concern and incredulity. He realized then that Mike had never seen him this bad. Only Sam had, and that was because he hadn't had an outburst like this since she'd became the anchoring presence in his life.

Corey panted, in and out.

"Sorry," he breathed, sounding a little dazed. "I thought you were Sam."

Mike's face screwed up, desperately confused. "What?"

Now you sound crazy, Sam mocked, in that annoying-younger-cousin manner she always used.

Corey shook his head, forcing her voice away.

"Um—" Corey swallowed thickly, his eyes still glued on Mike's. "Nothing, I—I was trying to—I couldn't..."

He trailed off. He didn't know what to say, as there was nothing that could assuage the situation at hand. Sam was gone. She was gone, and it seemed that he was only now accepting it. Mike pushed him out of his stupor and forced him to accept it.

Along with the acceptance came the crushing pain.

It was both physical and mental. The pain flared up in Corey's fists, and he had the sudden urge to scream. He also wanted to scream, because Sam was gone, and that hurt more than the broken bones of his knuckles did.

"Corey..." Mike whispered sadly.

Corey choked out a dry sob, shaking his head—he did not want to address this right now. His mind was still reeling over Sam. He couldn't handle having to work through his emotions on the matter with Mike. Corey already had one good person ruined for him, he couldn't have the same done with Mike. Right now, Mike was all Corey had left.

"Core, come here," he requested.

Corey wanted to clench his fists, but he couldn't even move his fingers. He'd done so much damage. He felt eleven years old again. There were these underlying emotions rising to the surface, and he didn't know how to handle them; he didn't have anyone to comfort him, so he let the emotions lash out.

"I won't make you talk about it," Mike promised. "Just—please come here, okay? Away from the poor tree you bullied."

Corey's head snapped over to Mike at his last sentence. Now Corey was the one with the incredulous features, wondering how the hell Mike found it in himself to bicker with Corey right now.

Against his own will, Corey walked over to Mike.

The second Corey was within arm's reach, Mike was yanking him into a hug; it was like Corey was a step away from the ledge, and Mike was trying to hold him safe. Corey was well aware he was in dire need of an embrace, but for some reason, this felt like it was for Mike right now just as it was for Corey. Mike squeezed, then he pulled away and stared at Corey, like he was examining for any other injury.

Ha! I told you that you can't escape people caring about you, Sam said, being a little shit. Even if I'm not here.

"Shut up," Corey snapped at her, but he realized he was so unstable that he accidentally said it aloud.

Mike's brows pulled together.

"What?"

Corey swallowed. He shook his head again.

Upon realizing he wouldn't get an answer, Mike sucked in a sharp breath and nodded in understanding.

"You know you're not alone, right?" Mike questioned, and for a moment, he went to hold Corey's hands, before he realized he couldn't because of what Corey had done. "I need you to know that, Core. I need you to know that. I can't get through this if you don't."

Then Corey knew. Sam had been Mike's emotional support best friend too. And now Sam was gone.

Let him in, Corey. You two need each other right now.

Corey winced, feeling attacked and pained from all fronts right now. He managed eye contact with Mike again and nodded.

"I do, I—I'm sorry I went off and... I'm sorry. It just—it felt like none of you cared, and I knew that was going to make me more angry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," Mike muttered, in that soft tone he only really took on with Corey. "You're okay, Core."

Corey scoffed incredulously. "I'm not. I'm really not."

Mike sighed, because that was fairly true.

"Look," he said.

Then Mike was lifting up his hands as well. Corey didn't know why he was expecting to see bloody fists like this, and he didn't know why he was surprised when there wasn't any blood at all. He did see, however, that Mike's fingernails were bitten raw. Down to the bed of his finger. It made Corey squirm uncomfortably and cringe, because he hadn't even known it was possible to remove that much of a fingernail; also though, because Corey hadn't even noticed Mike had been doing this to himself. He felt awful for that.

"Sam does it—used to do it, when she was anxious," Mike rasped. "Dustin, Will, and Lucas, they—they used to always joke that me and Sam adopted our bad habits from each other." He huffed like it was funny, but there was nothing humorous about it at all. His hands dropped, and his face fell. "I care, Corey. I—I care a lot. So much that I've been torturing myself because our last conversation was me arguing with her, alright? You're not alone, and you don't have to punch a tree to find that out."

Corey faltered again.

"I'm sorry."

Mike shook his head. He went to bite at his nails again, but realized there wasn't much nail left to even accomplish that goal.

"Don't be," he said. "Just... I'll promise to stop biting my nails if you promise to never pull a stunt like this again. Never again. I—I couldn't find you, Corey. I thought you were..." I thought I lost you like Sam. "And then I found the blood, and I didn't know what happened, and I—"

"Mike," Corey interjected. He knew the timing was horrible, but he couldn't help but grow fond at the worry Mike was displaying. But in that worry, there was also a great deal of sadness. "I love you."

Mike stopped completely; a grin replaced his natural frown, as if there was nothing wrong with the world at all.

"I love you too," he muttered.

Now Corey was smiling too.

"We should get back," Corey said, unfortunately. "My hands sort of hurt like a bitch."

"Well whose fault is that?" Mike asked, falling into their usual banter.

"Oh, tough talk from the guy with the weird ass fingers," Corey bit back, but his tone was soft.

Mike laughed quietly, and the two of them began making their way out of the woods. Surprisingly, Corey found that everyone was already outside and socializing with each other.

Before Corey could process anything, Joyce Byers was immediately startling Corey and berating/interrogating/reprimanding him for his sudden disappearance and bloody knuckles. Mike and Hopper were reuniting in the background, whilst Corey defended his case on why he didn't need medical attention.

(He didn't know why he was immediately refusing help after promising Mike he would do the opposite. It just still didn't feel right, didn't feel like he deserved anything at all.)

Oh, for the love of God, just accept the kind woman's help!

You, shut up, Corey snapped. You don't even exist.

Yeah, because you imagined me in your head, Sam argued. Crazy ass.

The sound of her voice ringing in his hear pained him and calmed him all the same.

But then the atmosphere shifted.

The sky rumbled overhead.

Corey craned his head up, only to find that Will was already staring at whatever was currently going on. Everyone was looking up by this point. They were able to see the ashy particles falling down from the sky, raining to the floor like a desolate flurry. These specks were identical to those of the ones in the tunnel. In the Upside Down.

The group of eight set out into a sprint to a patch of land where the sky wouldn't be covered by the tall trees.

By the time they made it out into the spacious field, the dark clouds had overtaken the entire sky. It was noon, so this shouldn't be happening.

The further Corey walked in the field, the stranger everything became. The grass and flowers underneath his feet were dying, disintegrating into nothing but ashy white. The particles swarmed everywhere over the graying earth, like a snowy promise of death.

The dark clouds turned completely black, smoke filtering out of the four Gates that had intersected across Hawkins. Red lightning struck inside the swelling storm spreading over the city—thunder crashed as it constantly did so.

Despite Corey's broken knuckles, despite Mike's ruined fingernails, Corey couldn't help but intertwine their fingers and hold his boyfriend's hand. He squeezed it tightly, ignoring the pain that came, because there was now something much more darker looming ahead.

The Upside Down was taking over Hawkins, and Corey understood right then.

This was only the beginning of the end.

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

Dedicated to Samantha Francesca Hughes, sidekick turned superhero

Published: February 25, 2024
Re-published: October 30, 2025

Bailey yaps...

Mental check up on everyone after this chapter. How are we doing flayedcrank nation

(Having to go back and read through/edit this chapter was genuinely devastating. Take a shot every time someone says "Sam was gone" or refers to her as the Sun)

"Lucas Sinclair was—" Wrap it up. Exit that way. Thank you.

I never, genuinely never, cry while writing my own stories, but this chapter is one of the few, rare exceptions to that. And I've cried every time I've read this chapter, without fail. So. Sorry for putting y'all through it too I guess

Like I can't even focus on specific characters' turmoil at this moment. Please contact me another time. They're all handling Sam's disappearance in a different way, but at the same time, and several parallels connect their inner dialogues. No one's okay, and everyone's coping methods are entirely different, and they miss Sam, and that's so real because I do too

I do want to comment though on the funniest comment I've ever received in my life, and it's whoever said "This is so Minecraft Steve coded" when Corey was punching the tree. I laugh so hard whenever I think about it and I'm laughing right now

Anywho. Goodbye until Season 5 (real ones have been waiting two years for this, but luckily the rewritten gang's time is almost here). If you haven't hit up the Spotify playlists and Pinterest boards for this story, do so now so you can cry to Sam Hughes's playlist. I'm @/flayedcrank on everything, or you can click the link in my bio for all my socials

LOVE Y'ALL STAY FREAKY THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT THIS STORY'S RECEIVED. THIS WAS THE START OF IT ALL FOR ME SO GETTING TO GO BACK AND REWRITE IT ALL WAS SUCH A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

Samantha Hughes will return in Season 5.