Major Malfunction (Sequel to American Heroes)

Sneaking Out

Darkness surrounds Will, voices whispering around him. He walks forward, his footsteps echoing, and reaches his hands into the darkness. "Hello?" he calls.

"Hello."

He jerks back at the deep voice speaking, unable to tell where it's coming from. The back of his neck prickles. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You know who I am."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

Swallowing, Will spins around. "Leave me alone."

"You know that won't happen. Not until I get what I came for."

"You can't. You're gone."

"Wherever you go, I will follow."

"We're not in Hawkins anymore. You can't hurt me here."

"I'm already here." A hand grabs his shoulder. He spins around and a cry escapes his throat.

Will startles awake, jolting up in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. It was just a dream, it was just a dream, it was just a dream. He hugs himself, inhaling then exhaling slowly. It was just a dream. Mouth parched, body covered in sweat, he checks his watch but freezes when he notices a crack through its face, the numbers no longer present. "Great," he mumbles, hand falling to his side. Beside him, El whimpers and shifts in the bed, her eyebrows knit together.

He leans across the bed, making sure not to disturb El, and checks the clock on their nightstand. Five fifteen. El flips around, letting out a sharp wail. Frowning, Will shakes her shoulder. "Hey, El," he whispers. "Hey, wake up."

She mutters something under her breath.

"Eleven. Wake up."

Her arm shoots up from the bed and grabs him by the wrist, digging her nails into his skin. "Ow!" He jerks his hand back, staggering out of the bed. "El!"

She sits up, eyes wide, gaping at him. "Huh?"

He holds his stinging wrist. "I think you were having a nightmare."

Exhaling a loud breath, El rubs her eyes. "Yeah... it felt so... real." Furrowing her brows, she looks at his wrist with a frown. "Did I do that?"

"Oh, it's nothing." He hides his wrist behind him. "I'm fine."

"Will..."

"It's just a scratch." He gives her a reassuring look. "I know how terrible those nightmares can be. It's fine. Really."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Really, it is fine." Nodding to the clock, he says, "We should probably get to the beach soon before anyone wakes up."

She wavers, watching him carefully, before getting out of bed. "Okay." As she grabs a pair of jeans and a shirt from the floor, Will grabs his own change of clothes and walks across the room, avoiding the knocked-down dresser and shattered picture frame. He opens the door slowly, peering in the hall. The apartment is silent.

He tiptoes into the bathroom, shuts the door, and looks at himself in the mirror. Before falling asleep, he'd forgotten to get changed and wash up. Dried blood and an array of red and purple bruises cover his face. The dark bags surrounding his eyes are upstaged by two black eyes. Letting out a breath, he turns on the faucet and splashes water over his face. He winces, washing grains of sand out of the cuts on his cheek and jaw. Turning off the faucet, he dabs his face with a towel, unravels the dirty bandages on his arms, and tosses them in the trash. He soaks the towel in water and squeezes it out. Examining his wounds from two days ago, he dabs the scabs with the damp towel before he wraps new bandages over his elbows.