They didn't argue on the way back from the woods.
That alone told Thomas how badly things had gone.
Lucas walked a few steps ahead, shoulders tight, jaw locked. Mike stayed close to Eleven, glancing at her every few seconds like he was afraid she might fall over if he looked away for too long. She hadn't said much since they left the trees. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, eyes unfocused like she was listening to something no one else could hear.
Thomas stayed near the back, eyes constantly shifting. The woods felt quieter than they should have, like something was listening even after they left it behind.
When the Byers' house finally came into view, Joyce was already outside.
She stood near the porch steps, wrapped in her coat, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white. The porch light cast sharp shadows across her face. She didn't ask what happened.
She didn't need to.
Hopper stood a few steps behind her, cigarette unlit between his fingers. His eyes moved over the group automatically counting heads, checking posture, reading the silence.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
Mike hesitated, then Lucas answered. "The woods."
Joyce inhaled sharply. "The woods where?"
Dustin swallowed. "Where Will disappeared."
Joyce closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, something had changed not gone, not broken. Focused.
"You shouldn't have gone alone," Hopper said.
"We weren't," Thomas said calmly.
Hopper's gaze snapped to him. "Then explain."
Inside the house, the warmth felt wrong. Too normal.
Everyone stood at first, like sitting down would make things heavier than they already were. Joyce hovered near the wall of Christmas lights, fingers brushing one bulb without turning it on.
"We didn't see Will," Mike said. "Not like… physically."
"But we know he's alive," Lucas added immediately. "We've known."
Hopper looked at them sharply. "Since when?"
"Before tonight," Dustin said. "We heard him before. Not clearly. But enough."
Joyce turned toward them, breath catching. "You heard my son?"
"Yes," Mike said. "And he was scared. But he was thinking."
Thomas stepped forward and took a piece of paper from the counter, sketching quickly.
"There are two versions of Hawkins," he said. "Same layout. Same roads. One is ours."
He drew the second shape.
"The other is… wrong. Cold. Rotting. That's where Will is."
"The Upside Down," Mike said.
Joyce frowned. "You've named it?"
"It's easier that way," Dustin said.
Hopper rubbed his face slowly. "You're telling me my missing kid case crossed dimensions."
"Yes," Thomas said. "And the thing in the woods hunts between them."
Jonathan, who had been silent near the hallway, shifted.
"I have proof," he said.
Everyone turned.
He reached into the bag and pulled out a photograph. He placed it on the table between them.
Hopper leaned forward.
The image was grainy. Dark. Trees blurred by motion.
But the shape in the background was unmistakable.
Long limbs. Wrong angles. A mouth that opened too wide.
Hopper stared at it for a long time.
"This isn't a prank," Jonathan said. "I didn't fake it."
Hopper didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened. He picked up the photo, tilted it toward the light.
Thomas felt his stomach tighten. "That's it."
Joyce covered her mouth. "That thing took my son."
"No," Thomas said gently. "That's the thing he escaped."
The lights flickered faintly.
Joyce froze. "Will?"
Nothing answered but the silence felt thick, charged.
Hopper straightened. "Alright," he said quietly. "No more pretending."
He looked at Joyce. "Your son is alive."
Joyce sank into a chair, shaking not breaking, but releasing something she'd been holding together by force alone.
Mike took a breath. "We need to try again."
"Try what?" Hopper asked.
"The walkie-talkies," Dustin said. "If sound can cross even a little—"
"Mike looked at Eleven. "Can you try again?"
She hesitated. Her hand trembled slightly.
Thomas noticed immediately. "She's tired."
Eleven shook her head. "I can try."
They set the walkie on the table. Mike flipped the switch.
"Will?" he said softly. "It's Mike. Can you hear me?"
Static crackled.
Eleven closed her eyes. Her breathing quickened. A thin line of blood slid from her nose.
"Stop," Thomas said sharply.
Mike reached for her, panic rising. "El, stop, it's okay."
She gasped and stumbled forward.Joyce caught her just in time.
Hopper watched the blood drip onto the floor.
"That's it," he said. "Whatever you're doing, it's dangerous."
Eleven looked up at him. "It worked before,"
"When there was water."
"what?" Mike asked.
Eleven didn't answer.
But Thomas understood.
Deprivation tank.
Hopper looked at the group, then at Joyce. "Everyone stays here tonight," he said. "No arguments."
Joyce nodded. "I'll call their parents."
Outside, the wind rattled the windows.
Something wasn't right.
And whatever they were about to do next, they didn't have the luxury of waiting.