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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. Now she had to listen to Running Up That Hill at all times 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 Sam just refused to sleep at all. She wasn't getting drowsy, because the visions of Fred and Victor and the poor, Creel family and Max plagued her mind.

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

"Max?" whispered Sam. "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. Although, she wondered if Max would be able to sleep at all 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 ?? Sam quietly moved over to the couch everyone elected on giving her, because Max 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 the blonde got closer, she could faintly hear the voice of Kate Bush coming from Max's headphones.

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, "Yeah, mega-fan. She saved your life."

You did too, Max restricted 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," rasped Sam.

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. Sam 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 spoke up again.

Sam snapped out of it, turning to Max 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 same, paralyzing nightmares never got any easier to bear. Her heart hurt at the knowledge Max was so affected by them, too.

Sam wondered, "Are yours... real? Or are they — Vecna visions?"

"Sometimes it's Billy. Sometimes it's real," said Max, 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, and continued, "But it's not a memory. 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, STOP THE CAR!"

"—but they never do. Then the crash happens, and they die, and Steph — 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's 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 her B necklace she only ever took off when she was going to shower or 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 strained out. "Until the Mind Flayer came back, and it—"

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

"I get it, Sam," Max whispered in a pleading voice, not wanting to see her 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 nightmares. It was an attempt to bring them closer, but now she felt like she was failing at that the same way she failed at everything else.

"Well, hey," Sam shrugged, wiping underneath her eyes and trying to send Max a playful grin, "what's a little shared trauma, 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, she 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. Although, they found that it was just Lucas snoring 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 Satan-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 nonchalant 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," Sam's 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 that 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 six-year-old 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, all right? She had pulled, like, the third all-nighter in a row. Not even any pity hour-long sleeps that get 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 threat 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 the 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 impended 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 panicked breaths. "Yeah...! Yeah, everything's okay."

Max glanced behind herself 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.

The boy shot him an unphased glare right back, dislike for Ted rivaling Sam's dislike for Ted; it was a close competition that could not be decided.

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

"Totally," nodded Dustin. "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 that Sam wasn't taking up, Dustin raised a brow at Karen and pointed at the breakfast.

"May I?"

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

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

Dustin smiled at him, falsely.

"Okay!" he said in a cheeky tone. Then, Dustin 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 waking up 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 Max in a sleepy voice once the red-head paused her song.

Max sent her a pointed face. "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 the girl with a face morphed in sympathy.

Max shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep," she said. Jokingly, Max 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 and having her mixtape restarted whenever it ended.

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

"Mm-hmm," Holly hummed, although 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. She asked, "Is this what you saw last night?"

"I mean, it's supposed to be," frowned Max. "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 — two, mutilated bodies of Chrissy and Fred 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, said, "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?" asked Nancy.

"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 once his plate was thoroughly stacked with pancakes.

"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."

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

Holly looked up from her Lite Brite. With a screwed up face, she questioned, "Freddie Kreuger?"

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 apologized to the youngest Wheeler. 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 up to 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. She asked Max, "Is this a window?"

Her finger pointed towards 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 from behind for Sam to showcase Max's drawing to her.

"No way," muttered Nancy, 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's and Max's seats so she could browse over the other papers. Nancy 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 they went crazy in Pennhurst.

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.

Nancy started, "Not just any house."

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

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

Nancy straightened up, 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 followed her rushedly. 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..."

Chrissy's mother 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 two houses down from him. Chrissy used to babysit he 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 random benchwarmer 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," cried Chrissy's mom. "And I just do not understand it. I see no reason. I see no reason—!"

Carrie broke away from the alter, 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, hand rubbing up and down, trying to comfort her.

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

Carrie shook her head, crying into Justin's chest. "I can't believe it," she sobbed. "I can't believe she did this."

"Care, you've gotta get over that theory. She didn't—"

"Stop defending her!" Carrie screeched, pulling away from the hug. "I know that stupid orphan did this. I just know it, Jay!"

Justin frowned at her, sadly. He grabbed her hand, running a thumb along her knuckles.

"I know you're upset, but there is no way Sam would ever—"

"She killed Chrissy, Justin!" snapped Carrie, furious tears continuing down her face. "It's not a coincidence that my sister —" she choked, swallowing the lump in her throat, "my sister dies the same day she catches me and you in that bathroom. And she's friends with that poor freak who does morning announcements with her. He lives in those dingy trailers they found C-Chrissy in."

Justin sighed, body deflating. Carrie convinced herself that Sam was involved in Chrissy's murder, and she hadn't let down the theory since Saturday. He remembered, Carrie running into his house with the news, sobbing that she was going to kill Sam the next time she saw her.

Sweet, kind-hearted Sam. Sam, who stopped their walks in the woods because she wanted to pick up the leaves. Sam, who took hours in familyVideo to pick out a movie just because she was fascinated by all the technology.

Justin didn't believe it.

"I know you don't believe me," Carrie glared through furious tears, as if she could read his mind. "You think I'm crazy."

"No," Justin muttered, pulling Carrie in close and hugging her again. "I think you're really upset, and it's making you think awful things, but I doubt Sam Hughes could ever hurt a fly—"

"She broke up with you, Justin!" Carrie was snapping again. "She hurt you, and she was angry, so I know she hurt Chrissy. She's always hated me. She was trying to get back."

"By killing your sister?"

"Yes!" cried Carrie. "I haven't seen her since before Chrissy died, have you?"

The answer was no, but Justin knew Sam didn't want anything to do with him, anymore. It wasn't that surprising.

I don't owe you anything.

Of course you don't—

Then why should I stay?

Because I'm trying to — I want to... because—

See, you don't even know what you want, Justin, and I'm not gonna sit by idly while you figure it out, so get it all out now or just shut up. What do you want?

I — I don't know what I want.

This... This isn't me. I'm not an idiot, and I'm done being one for you.

You're — You're done? Wait. Wait, what is that supposed to mean?

Holy shit, Justin, I know you're fucking stupid, but you can piece together what it means!

No — No, Hughes, I don't understand. I don't understand why you're this upset.

I know you don't.

Please don't do this. You can't do this.

It's not up to you, Justin! Other people have feelings, too, you know? You don't get to dictate what everyone can and can't do just because you feel a certain way—

It was one mistake!

One fucking big one! On top of a million more! We're done, and that is fucking final, and you're a piece of bullshit, and I wish I never wasted my time on you.

You don't mean that.

I do, Justin Zimmerman. I really, really do.

Justin winced to himself. Yeah, he was pretty sure Sam never even wanted to glance in his direction again.

"It's not a coincidence," Carrie growled, anger consuming her sadness. "Do you know what Donna told me on Sunday? She said she saw Sam being questioned by the police near the crime scene where Fred died."

And Justin... Well, he didn't know that.

"W-What?" Justin croaked.

Carrie laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. Your 'innocent little Sammy' was getting interrogated with that same poor asshole who lives in the trailer park."

"I — I don't know what I want." Justin groaned, still glancing around because he could not quite bring himself to meet her eyes. "You have to understand that you're both—"

Then the AV room door opened, which Sam and Justin coincidentally happened to be arguing beside. Their heads whipped to see August Santos looking at the pair awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, "I hate to... break up this lovely conversation—"

"August," Sam growled.

"—but, Sam, I need you in here. Preferably today... so..." Santos stood there, outside the room, but Sam was glaring daggers at him, so he jolted in place. "You know what, I'll just — okay."

Then he closed the door going back into the AV room.

But not before trying to give Justin a discreet glare.

Okay. Justin could admit that was weird.

"I've always told you," Carrie said, breaking Justin's shocked silence. "I've always said she was an orphan freak who was deranged. You never listened to me, Jay."

Killing Chrissy Cunningham and Fred Benson? Justin didn't want to believe it.

But was Carrie right?

"Carrie," he tried, but it was weaker now. "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 the tears under her eyes.

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

"What are you guys doing?" asked Justin, eyes narrowing suspiciously. The basketball team and football team had an underlying tension, but Justin knew he should be cool with Jason, because they'd both been basically accepted into the Cunningham family for years now.

"I'm sorry, we'll go somewhere else—"

"No!" Carrie stopped him abruptly, eyeing the paper in his hands. "I want 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 Carrie.

"We think we know who killed Chrissy."

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

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

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

"Munson?" Carrie 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've 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 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.

That name sounded familiar.

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

A dark-skinned boy that Justin recognized as the one who hugged Sam after he shot the winning ball from the championship game. Next to him, a boy with curly, black hair who Justin had also seen hanging out with Sam. There was another one, with hair much curlier and a ridiculous hat, and that made three people who Justin knew for a fact associated with Sam.

"Goddamn traitor," another basketball idiot was saying, referring to the one called Sinclair. Justin's mind was trying to grasp the fact that Sam was connected to too much of this.

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

"Sam, she..." Justin spoke up, clearing his throat when his voice came out so faint, "she's friends with all of them. She has been since elementary school."

"Well, there we go," Carrie crossed her arms. "It all leads back to them."

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

"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?" asked Justin, 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 anxiousness.

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

From his bag, Jason pulled out a thin sheet of loose-leaf. He smoothed it out before he placed it before 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 at her house to see if she's there."

Both freshmen nodded, although Justin felt a little weak for doing so.

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

Jason's brows pulled together. "What?"

"Reefer Rick," repeated Jason's teammate. "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. Sam felt, in her chest, that it wasn't abandoned, because there was an evil entity dwelling inside; her chest constricted in cold.

"Yeah, that's not creepy," Auggie commented sarcastically.

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 lodged nail out.

"We don't know," Nancy sighed, 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," huffed Steve.

Sam sighed, added, "It's also the Creel house, you know? 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, little inhale. "We don't... think he's in here... do we?"

Sam swallowed.

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

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?" muttered Steve.

Auggie nodded softly, humming, "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 seemed amused. Their smiles fell when they realized they were just being stared at in judgment.

"Here," Robin spoke up, 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 back at her.

"All right, it was a nice window," Sam 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," Sam grumbled.

"All right, 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, Steve 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. The house felt like it was her home.

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 was glowing 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," he 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. He glared, "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," Dustin 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 agreed with Max, worrying, "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 Sam 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 hate when your hair does that blow-y thing. Major Firestarter vibes."

"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 undenying, as it always was, but this was like a breeze welcoming Sam 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 whilst it pointed at the clock.

"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 questioned. "In your visions?"

Max nodded, although stiffly and disturbed. Sam moved a little closer to both provide Max comfort and provide Sam warmth.

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

"It's a clock in this house, though," Sam provided, shaking for reasons different from Max. She stepped forward, closer to the clock, and her chest squeezed. Sam 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. He theorized, "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, both boys were shaking their heads, incredulous.

"All I know is," said Sam, squeezing her arms around herself tighter, "the answers are here. Somewhere," she told them, absolutely confident in what she was saying.

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

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

Max and Dustin were both staring at Sam and Lucas. Henceforth, 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 sighed heavily, turning on his heel and starting up the stairs.

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

"No," Auggie lied. "I did not sigh."

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

"I didn't sigh," groaned Auggie. "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, rolling his eyes.

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. When he pulled in front of the house and stopped the car, Carrie was quick to get out from the passenger seat. They were still wearing the suit and dress they had on from the funeral, so they looked like they were about to knock on the floor and announce they were part of the FBI.

"Care, wait," Justin hissed, trying to get ahead of her before she greeted Sam at the door. He hoped, maybe, that if Justin was the one to speak to her, she'd explain the situation to him kindly.

"I'm not wasting time here," Carrie told him, nose wrinkling. "The last place I want to be is near this psycho or her house."

Her aunt's house, Justin wanted to correct her, prove that he did know something about Sam, but he held the information back.

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).

Justin 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. "And what the hell is she doing here?"

"Excuse me?" Carrie asked, angrily.

"You heard me," snapped Stephanie, who could definitely rival Carrie's attitude right now. "You are not allowed to be anywhere near this property, and as far as I'm aware, neither are you."

She tried shutting the door on them, making Justin's agitation grow 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.

Justin hastily explained, "We're just... I'm just looking for Sam, all right? I tried stopping by before, and she wasn't here."

He wasn't lying. He did. Saturday morning, after Carrie had left his house when breaking the news, he tried coming to Sam's house in an attempt to... Justin didn't know what. He just felt like he had to.

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

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

"None of your business, bitch."

Carrie geared up to retort, but Justin put a hand in front of Carrie to push her back. "Stephanie, please. Carrie's going through a lot right now."

"I know," started Stephanie. "I just don't care."

Justin sighed, trying to calm himself before he snapped. "Just — how many days has Sam been away? We're just, you know, worried."

"You're worried about Sam?"

"Yes."

"Even though you cheated on her?"

Justin deflated, grimacing to himself. It wasn't like that, he wanted to say. But he didn't know why he would waste his time trying to prove his innocence to some... Well, he didn't want to say it, but Stephanie knew what she was. Justin didn't want to linger around her and catch whatever disease she had.

"Stephanie," said Justin, "just tell us how long, and you'll never have to see me ever again."

Stephanie groaned, throwing up her hands in agitation. "I don't know, she disappeared after Friday or Saturday. For all I know, she's hanging around with Lucas or Auggie or something."

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

Auggie and Lucas were both connected to Chrissy's murder.

Justin knew one thing — Sam was guilty of something.

"Thank you," Justin 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.

"Where are we going?"

"To help Jason find Sam and her cult freaks."

He was done making excuses for her.

◦☆＊★ ━━━━━━ ★＊☆◦

(if you're seeing this chapter randomly published for a 2nd time its j cus i made like a million grammar mistakes and had to edit it)

uh oh..........

that's not good.........

chapter starts off great though!! samax convo about nightmares and max admitting she listened to all the games!!! i love them, your honor, they're so pure

sam passed out on the table LMAO and dustin and sam both hating ted so much. they're so real for that!!

writing this made me realize they had that entire morning convo with holly just. right there. did she even gaf like??

justin got a pov.......... how are we feeling.........

the chapter title is a reference to him and carrie i fear...........

rip chrissy we all wish it was your sister instead

anywho the gang examining the creel house! the feelings and descriptions sam was giving! stauggie being stupid idiots again! max and dustin partnering cus they wanted hughclair to partner with each other!

why is sam so cold. someone get this girl a jacket.

justin got a second pov................ how are we feeling...............

stephanie fucking hating their guts!! we all love and stan you steph!!

but that line justin says at the end. um.

bad things seem to be coming for sam #worried

fyi by now in california corey has punched argyle in the face when he was panicking about dead agent man. jonathan tried restraining him. then corey proceeded to punch jonathan as well. he is so pissed off and tired. get him out y'all.

(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)

i want to give an fyi that we've run out of pre-written chapters which i'm really sorry about. i'm trying to do one a day but if i miss a day you'll know why. again i'm really sorry. working on second half of this episode as we speak.

i've made a few tweets in the meantime

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also: sam's fit (already seen but hair is diff now)

what'd you think?