The van is silent after the argument between Jonathan and I, tension filling the small space as the engine finally revs to life. I exhale, glancing at him in the passenger seat briefly, then to you in the back.

Your eyes are flipping between us awkwardly, and a part of me feels bad that you had to witness that, especially when you've been an anxious mess the past few hours over Dustin's absence.

The crawl planned for tonight went to shit, obviously. Not only did we lose Hopper in the upside down, a demogorgon ripped into the Wheeler house and put both parents in critical condition before taking Holly.

Yet of course, Jonathan still finds a way to get on my last nerve. It's truly impressive if I'm honest. Only someone like that stoner could manage to make a bad situation even worse-

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear squeaking, and I glance out the drivers side window before doing a double take, my brows furrowing. "You have got to be shitting me..."

Dustin Henderson.

Walking down the dark street towards the van, broken bike at his side, and a face so messed up that it could only be the product of a literal ass beating.

It's not even a fraction of a second later that I'm shoving my door open. "Henderson!"

I can already hear his irritated sigh, slowly stopping his approach.

“I’m fine.” he blurts out, way too fast for it to be true.

I let out a huff and walk the rest of the distance, stopping in front of him. Up close it’s even worse. Split lip. Nose pouring blood that’s already crusted over. Bruises forming on both eyes. Knuckles scraped raw.

“Dude,” I say quietly, my anger at his lateness momentarily subsiding out of concern. “What the hell happened?”

I hear rushed footsteps behind me, already knowing it's you without having to look, and I see Dustin's eyes move over to what I can assume is you worried expression. His irritation briefly disappears and is replaced with guilt, before flipping right back.

“Hey,” I say, my tone more firm now. “Eyes on me.”

He does, reluctantly.

“You gonna tell me who did this,” I ask. “Or am I gonna have to guess?”

He swallows, shrugging. "I was on the way to the WSKQ when my chain broke and I hit a tree. I knocked out for a bit. That's all."

The lie is bad. Like, painfully bad.

I don’t call him on it right away. I just stare at him for a long second, eyes examining all of his injuries.

“…You hit a tree.” I repeat slowly.

He nods stubbornly. “Yep.”

I glance back at the bike. Low tires. Chain hanging loose like it got yanked, not snapped. Then I look at his hands again. Those aren’t tree injuries. Those are defensive injuries.

I hear Jonathan's muttered voice behind me. “Trees don’t usually punch back, man.”

For once, I agree with him.

“Okay,” I say, holding a hand up before this turns into something else. "This isn't over, not by a long shot, but we need to get back to the station and figure out a new plan with the others."

I step aside, nodding my head towards the van.

"So get the hell in the van. Now."