The Long Game, Lucas Sinclair

will's possessed ass

Sam recognized that quiver in his voice, the shaking of his leg, and they were blinding signs of an incoming panic attack of Will's. She frowned, feeling awful that her poor best friend was continuously being dragged through the mud, time and time again.

"Maybe... maybe that's good," Mike said softly and carefully. He ignored the judgmental, bewildered glare Sam was sending him, and the derisive snort Will let out.

"'Good'?"

Mike softened even more as he faced the boy sitting in between them, continuing with, "Just think about it, Will. You're like a spy now — a superspy, spying on the shadow monster. If you know what He's seeing and feeling... maybe that's how we stop Him. Maybe all this is happening for a reason."

It was quiet for a moment, and Sam almost went to reprimand Mike, but then Will spoke in that timid voice he had always used when he was younger every time his father entered a room. "You really think so?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded, using that soft tone he adopted while trying to calm Holly down from a bo-bo or a nightmare. "Yeah, I really do."

Sam stayed quiet and allowed Mike to take over. She had forgotten at some point that just because Will was damaged — just because he was sick, it didn't change the fact he was still a kid. Sam and Mike had grown up too quickly for various and differing reasons, but the entire Party had always been more fragile with Will, and she should have known that it wouldn't change just because Will had picked up a scar or two.

She didn't really know why they were always so gentle with him, even before the events of last year, but Sam supposed Will was just the kind of person you wanted to take care of.

Will's eyes, laced with fear, wandered over to his dark drawing of the shadow monster, made in only blacks and sharp edges. Sam and Mike followed his gaze when Will inquired, "What if He figures out we're spying on Him? What if He spies back?"

"He won't," Mike assured, jaw set in that familiar determination that meant he was about to say something outrageously stubborn or absolutely illogical.

Will met Mike's stare. "How do you know—?"

"He won't," reiterated Mike firmly. "We won't let him."

And it would've sounded convincing, if it weren't for that feeling in Sam's stomach that said the opposite.

◦☆＊★ ━━━━━━ ★＊☆◦

Sam shifted once again, desperately trying to fall asleep in Jonathan Byers' bed later that night, but having no such luck.

Usually when Sam stayed over here, Sam slept on the couch, which was not invasive of anyone's personal space or private rooms. But, right now, the Byers' couch was covered up by Sam's accidental drawings of the vines.

Now, Sam felt awkward as ever sleeping over in a seventeen-year-old boy's room, who wasn't even here to consent to the matter. Not only that, but she was too nervous to even blink. The knowledge of her drawings kept her awake, and now, Sam feared that if she fell asleep, she would accidentally draw anything else like she had done that night at Will's.

It was horrible to think, but Sam was scared because she now believed Will's house was cursed. It seemed as if only bad things happened here, and how was Sam supposed to sleep with that paranoia?

Sam groaned, figuring there was no way she could get to sleep tonight. Jonathan's digital clock already read 2:00 AM, so she was basically a lost cause. She sat up in the bed, setting her back against the headboard.