Hopper jumps every time the phone rings. Every time there's a knock at the door. But no officials show up at his house. No arrest comes. Life carries on as usual. The headlines read "Scientists Find Cure For Pestilence Afflicting Small Indiana Town". A big fat load of horseshit, but believable. And safe.

He has three more things to deal with. The other test subjects, those people that returned with El from the Upside Down. They're living with Joyce, and recovering.

Their problems are over, for the time being. When the Queen died, it's grasp on the Vessels shattered. They're recovering, returning to their families and their lives. End. Of. Story. MK Ultra is no more, and El is no longer to blame for the Pestilence. She's safe. They're safe.

Hawkins is rebuilding, recovering. Healing. Just like Hopper is healing. Just like Joyce is healing, and Jonathan. He payed a visit to the Ives household this morning. El's arm is almost good as new, but there's a scar now. Another one to add to the list. And the Wheeler kid looks a hell of a lot better, too. He hasn't seen them apart since she came back.

He buys a new pack of cigarettes, lights one, and throws the rest of them in the lake. He supposes he ought to quit.

. . .

Mike, El, Lucas, Max, and Dustin gather together for the first time since El's return on a quiet Saturday afternoon. They embrace at the bottom of the steps, hands clasped, tears running down their faces. And it's weird, because six is now five and they can all feel it. Even Max, who didn't know Will like the others did.

Mike holds a D&D campaign in Will's honor. He picks up the Will the Wise figurine and turns it over in his fingers, swallowing hard. Dustin touches his shoulder, reassuringly. Mike clears his throat, blinking back tears, and dissolves into his role as the Game Master, taking on some of his old confidence. He does the voices of the characters, and lays out a story bigger than the sum of his parts. Tentative smiles stretch over their faces. El holds his hand. And for a fleeting moment all five of them can feel Will, sitting to Lucas' right, bent over the game board and talking excitedly with the rest of them.

Mike is overcome with a powerful, bittersweet certainty. That this is the last D&D campaign he will ever create, and this is the last time they will ever play, all together, like this.

He gives El's hand a reassuring squeeze, one she returns with a teary smile. He looks around the table, at all of them, feeling very young and at the same time, somehow, very old.

They all stare back at him, most with tears in their eyes, looking at him with a sort of hard resolve and . . . maybe something called love. Because Mike is the centerpiece of their circle, the leader. He's the Game Master. They'll follow him until the end. And they love him. They love each other.

They'll move on. They'll grow up, grow apart or grow together, and they'll move on.

Mike's last campaign would be his greatest, if it weren't for the missing player.

. . .

They're in no hurry to hold Will's funeral. Particularly because there's no body to bury. So the date is set for the fourteenth of June, a Tuesday.

Joyce wakes early on the morning of the service. She drags herself out of bed and pads into the kitchen quietly, pausing to steal a glance at the three strangers sleeping on the floor in Will's room. Six. Seven. Nine. They're staying with her, until things settle down. Until Hopper can get the kids in foster homes and the woman, well . . . until they can get her back into the real world.

She makes herself a cup of coffee, hot and black, and pauses at the kitchen sink. She gazes out of the dusty kitchen window. It faces the woods behind their house. She can see the flag that belongs to Castle Byers flitting lazily in the morning breeze. Forgetting the coffee, she walks across the room and pulls the door open, moving on autopilot through the backyard, toward her sons' old fort.

It's dank and damp in there, littered with dried leaves. The books are dusty, the old drawings, scrawled across printer paper, are dirty and yellowing. Nobody's been in here in months, maybe years. Her boys are grown up, now.

Her boy.

He will never celebrate his seventeenth birthday.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and it hits her in the stomach like a sucker-punch, knocking all the air from her lungs.

She sinks to her knees, reaching for something to keep her grounded, at least a little it sane, as her world careens out of control and turns upside down.

Her hand closes around Will's stuffed animal, a lion, and hugs it to her chest. She bites on her tongue, hard, to keep the sobs from bursting out of her mouth. But they do anyway, and she can taste the metallic tang of her own blood.

Joyce cries for a long time, and the pain in her chest is unbelievable. She tries to suck in a breath, and finds it almost impossible. Red flowers bleed across her vision, and she buries her head in the stuffed lion's matted fur.

Her boy.

Jonathan finds her there nearly two hours later, shivering despite the warmth of the morning, snot staining her upper lip, eyes reddened and bloodshot. He kneels on the ground beside her and she holds him. And they cry together.

Her boy.

They cry until there are no more tears left to shed, and the pain in her chest is there but less, somehow. And maybe they can get through this. Together.

. . .

Mike drives to El's house on the morning of the funeral. He's dressed in a nice black suit and a too-tight neck tie. The morning is warm.

He parks the car on the curb and gets out. She's waiting for him on the porch, dressed in a black dress with tiny purple flowers stitched around the hem. Her bandage is gone, her bruises fading. Her hair is pulled up in intricate braids. He approaches her and takes her hands in his own, brushing his lips against her cheek, gently. She smiles and hugs him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

The drive is bathed in silence, not entirely uncomfortable. She gazes out the window, watching the sun rays glitter between the trees. The streets are fairly empty, the town quiet. He pulls up near the church. Already, people are gathering on the grass, like flocks of black birds huddled together. She squints, staring across the courtyard. She can just make out the glint of Max's fiery red hair and Dustin's baseball cap. She takes a deep breath. Their friends are here. Alone, it would be harder to face.

Mike shuffles around the front of the car and opens the door for her, offering his hand. Tears glitter in his eyes, and she can feel the gentle hum in the back of her mind. His presence is there, strong and steady, as it was before.

She takes his hand and holds fast.

Together?

She nods, not speaking. She doesn't have to.

Always.

A/N: It's finished. I think I should give my fingers (and my heart/emotions) a rest. Please leave a review. I really appreciate the comments and feedback you guys give me. Even if you've never left a review before, PLEASE, I'd love to hear what you have to say. I hope you all enjoy season 2, and that it's every bit as AWESOME as I think it's going to be. Thank you for your interest and your feedback!