Chapter 15: Moving In
POV: Adam
November 18th, and Adam's entire life fits into a single garbage bag that Sister Catherine clutches against her chest like evidence of a system that failed to provide what children actually need. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she stands on the Byers' front porch, watching Joyce sign paperwork that will transfer responsibility for one broken boy from institutional care to something that might actually resemble family.
"He's a good child," Sister Catherine says, her voice thick with the weight of letting go. "Quiet, polite, never causes trouble. But he has nightmares sometimes. Bad ones."
If you only knew what I really dream about.
Joyce accepts the garbage bag with the reverence most people reserve for precious artifacts, cradling Adam's meager possessions like they represent something valuable rather than the accumulated evidence of a childhood spent moving between temporary placements.
"We'll take good care of him," Joyce promises, and the sincerity in her voice makes Adam's chest tight with emotions he doesn't quite know how to name.
She means it. She actually means it.
Sister Catherine hugs him goodbye with the fierce protectiveness of someone who's watched too many children disappear into circumstances beyond her control, whispering prayers for his safety and happiness against his hair. Then she's gone, leaving Adam standing in the doorway of a house that smells like coffee and determination, looking at a woman who's chosen to save him when she can't even save her own son.
"Come on," Joyce says, shouldering his bag with maternal efficiency. "Let me show you your room."
Will's room. She means Will's room.
The hallway stretches ahead like a bridge between one life and another, family photos lining the walls in a timeline of ordinary happiness that makes Adam's borrowed heart ache. Joyce pauses outside a door covered in hand-drawn signs—"CASTLE BYERS: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" and "BEWARE: DRAGONS"—her hand trembling slightly as she turns the knob.
"This is... this was..." Joyce's voice breaks, and she takes a steadying breath before continuing. "I'm not giving up on Will. I want you to know that. This doesn't mean I think he's... that he won't come home. I just thought you might like your own space while we figure out where he is."
The room beyond is a twelve-year-old boy's sanctuary—posters of fantasy movies on the walls, a desk cluttered with art supplies, shelves lined with books about dragons and quests and heroes who always save the day. But it's the drawings scattered across the desk that make Adam's blood run cold.
He's been seeing it. Will's been seeing the Upside Down.
The sketches are rough but unmistakable—twisted trees, a landscape of decay, and lurking in the shadows between pencil strokes, something with too many teeth and no eyes. Will Byers has been having visions of the nightmare dimension for weeks, maybe months, his artistic mind translating psychic glimpses into images that no one thought to take seriously.
He's been trying to warn everyone. And no one understood.
Adam traces one drawing with gentle fingers—a detailed sketch of Castle Byers, but wrong somehow, corrupted by shadow and decay. In the corner, barely visible, Will has written "the place between" in handwriting that shakes with fear.
"He's been having bad dreams too," Joyce says quietly, watching Adam study her son's artwork. "Ever since... well, for a while now. Drawing helped him process whatever was scaring him."
It wasn't dreams. It was prophecy.
"I'll bring you home," Adam whispers to the empty room, making a promise to walls that have heard too many prayers and not enough answers. "I swear I'll bring you home."
Jonathan appears in the doorway, his hair still damp from a shower and his eyes carrying the kind of exhaustion that comes from weeks of forced hope. "Need help unpacking?"
The offer makes Adam laugh despite the weight of the moment. "This is pretty much it," he says, gesturing to the garbage bag that contains his entire material existence. "Three changes of clothes, a toothbrush, and a book Sister Catherine gave me."
"Wow. You really travel light." Jonathan's grin is genuine, tinged with the kind of gentle humor that doesn't mock but includes. "Come on, let's get you settled. Then maybe you want to see the garage? I've got a darkroom set up out there."
They spend the next hour in comfortable companionship, Jonathan teaching Adam about film development while Adam shares carefully edited stories of his supposed foster home experiences. It's easier than expected, building a history that feels real enough to satisfy curiosity without revealing dangerous truths.
"The last place I was, they had this photography program," Adam says, watching Jonathan adjust chemical ratios with practiced precision. "The instructor said I had a good eye for composition, but I never got to develop anything myself."
"Well, now you can learn. We've got plenty of time." Jonathan pauses, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "It's nice having someone around who's interested in this stuff. Will was always more into drawing, and Mom..." He trails off, unable to finish the thought that ends with his mother's obsessive focus on finding her missing son.
When Adam accidentally calls him "big brother" while reaching for a pair of tongs, Jonathan doesn't correct the slip. He just grins and ruffles Adam's hair with easy affection.
"Guess I always wanted a little brother who wasn't missing," he says, and the casual acceptance hits Adam like a blessing he never thought to ask for.
Someone claimed me. Someone looked at all my strangeness and decided I was worth keeping.
Dinner is awkward and perfect in the way that matters—Joyce makes too much food because she's not sure what Adam likes, Jonathan talks about his college dreams while carefully not mentioning how those plans depend on Will coming home safe, and Adam slowly relaxes into the rhythm of family conversation.
It's not the effortless intimacy of people who've shared years of ordinary moments. It's something more fragile but perhaps more precious—the deliberate construction of belonging between people who need each other for reasons they can't entirely articulate.
"You don't have to finish everything," Joyce says when she notices Adam methodically cleaning his plate despite obvious fullness. "There's plenty more where that came from."
She's noticed. She pays attention to the small things that reveal big truths.
"Sorry," Adam says, setting down his fork. "Institutional habit. You eat what you're given when you get it, because you never know when the next meal might come."
Joyce's face tightens with the kind of maternal rage reserved for adults who fail children in their care. "Well, you don't have to worry about that here. This is your home now, for as long as you need it."
Home. When was the last time anyone called anyplace I lived 'home'?
When Joyce hugs him goodnight, she whispers against his hair: "You're not a replacement for Will. You're an addition to our family. There's room for both of you in this house."
The words break something loose in Adam's chest—some knot of fear he didn't even know he was carrying. He cries into her shoulder with the ugly, gasping sobs of someone who's forgotten how to accept kindness without suspicion.
Joyce just holds him, one hand rubbing circles on his back while she murmurs the kinds of nonsense comforts that only make sense in the context of unconditional love.
Through the window, Scout sends waves of contentment through their bond from his hiding place in the woods. The creature doesn't understand human family dynamics, but he recognizes pack acceptance when he sees it, and his satisfaction feels like approval from the only friend who's seen Adam at his absolute worst.
[SAFE HOUSE: FULLY ESTABLISHED]
[JOYCE BYERS RELATIONSHIP: ADOPTED MOTHER FIGURE (70%)]
[JONATHAN BYERS RELATIONSHIP: PROTECTIVE BROTHER (75%)]
[NEW PASSIVE ABILITY UNLOCKED: SAFE HAVEN]
[HP/MP REGENERATION INCREASED WHILE AT BYERS HOUSE]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +500 XP]
[PERSONAL QUEST MILESTONE COMPLETE]
That night, lying in Will's bed surrounded by his drawings and toys and the lingering scent of a childhood interrupted, Adam feels something he's never experienced in either of his lives—the absolute certainty that he belongs somewhere, that people want him not for what he can do but for who he is.
This is what family feels like. This is what it means to be chosen.
But underneath the warmth and safety, something else pulses through the walls between dimensions. A presence that feels familiar and desperately afraid, calling out across impossible distances with the kind of love that doesn't break even when everything else does.
Will. I can feel Will.
The sensation is faint but unmistakable—a psychic signature that tastes of artistic sensitivity and stubborn courage, filtered through layers of dimensional static but still recognizably human. Will Byers is alive, somewhere in the space between spaces, fighting to survive with nothing but hope and the knowledge that his family is looking for him.
I'm coming, little brother. We're all coming. Just hold on a little longer.
Adam closes his eyes and reaches out through the walls of reality, sending what comfort he can across the vast emptiness that separates one dimension from another. It's not much—barely a whisper of warmth in an ocean of cold—but maybe it's enough to let Will know he's not forgotten.
Tomorrow, the endgame begins. Tomorrow, everything changes.
But tonight, I have family. Tonight, I'm home.
And that has to be enough to fuel whatever comes next.
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