Chapter 6: Joining the Search
POV: Adam
November 9th evening, and search parties have become routine—flashlights cutting through Mirkwood like desperate prayers, voices calling Will's name into darkness that swallows sound without mercy.
Adam stands at the edge of the gathered volunteers, watching the organized chaos with eyes that see too much. Sheriff Hopper coordinates teams with the weary efficiency of a man who's stopped believing in happy endings, while Joyce moves between groups like a force of nature, her determination bright enough to shame the moon.
But it's the three boys huddled near the tree line that draw his attention. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin stand apart from the adults, their own flashlights casting nervous circles on the ground as they argue in whispers fierce enough to cut glass.
"—told you, we need to check the quarry again," Mike insists, his voice carrying the kind of desperate authority that comes from being the leader of a group with no real power.
"We've been there six times," Lucas counters. "Will's not stupid enough to fall in, and if he did—"
"He's not dead!" Mike's voice cracks on the words, and for a moment he sounds exactly like what he is—a twelve-year-old boy trying to hold his world together with nothing but stubbornness and hope.
Dustin catches sight of Adam approaching and waves him over with the relief of someone grateful for any distraction from an argument that's been cycling for hours.
"Adam! Perfect timing. Mike wants to search the quarry again, Lucas thinks we should try the junkyard, and I'm pretty sure we're all going crazy."
They're desperate. Running out of places to look, running out of hope.
Through the bond, Scout feeds him a constant stream of information from the woods—the scent trails of the search parties, the locations where they've already looked, the places they've missed because adult logic doesn't account for the hiding spots that make sense to twelve-year-olds.
But underneath it all, Adam senses something else. A wrongness in the air, like ozone before a storm or the metallic taste that comes before lightning strikes. The barrier between dimensions is weakening, and soon it will tear completely.
"You guys could use another set of eyes," Adam offers carefully. "I'm pretty good at tracking."
Mike's expression hardens. "You didn't even know Will."
"Mike," Dustin starts, but the other boy cuts him off.
"No, seriously. Why do you even care? You've been here what, a week? Will's been our friend since kindergarten."
The words hit like a slap, but Adam recognizes the pain underneath. Mike Wheeler is drowning in guilt and helplessness, lashing out at safe targets because he can't touch the real enemy—whatever took his best friend away.
"You're right," Adam says quietly. "I didn't know Will. But I know what it's like to lose someone who matters."
I know what it's like to lose everyone who matters.
"Mike, come on," Dustin intervenes, shooting his friend a look that could melt steel. "Adam's got good instincts. He helped track those 'animals' that scared off Troy, remember?"
Lucas glances between them, reading the subtext in Dustin's words. "You think he could actually help?"
"I'm good at patterns," Adam offers. "And I've done some camping. Not much, but enough to know how to read signs."
It's a complete lie. Michael Thompson had been about as outdoorsy as a houseplant, and Subject 017's memories are mostly confined to laboratories and foster homes. But Scout's senses are Adam's senses now, and through their bond he can track movement through the woods with predatory precision.
Mike stares at him for a long moment, desperation warring with suspicion behind his eyes. Finally, desperation wins.
"Fine. But we do this my way. Will's smart—if he's hiding, he'd go somewhere defensible with multiple escape routes."
Like a ranger thinking tactically about positioning.
"That makes sense," Adam agrees. "If I were tracking someone like that, I'd check elevated positions first. High ground gives you better sightlines and forces anyone following you to approach uphill."
Mike's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "That's... actually really good thinking."
"D&D logic," Adam explains with a shrug. "Rangers learn to think like both predator and prey."
For the first time since Adam met him, Mike Wheeler smiles. It's small and fragile, but genuine. "Okay. Yeah. That works."
They set off into the woods as a unit, following game trails that branch and diverge like veins in a leaf. Adam lets Scout range ahead, using the creature's enhanced senses to guide their path while maintaining the illusion that he's reading tracks and broken branches like a human woodsman might.
The forest feels different tonight. Expectant. As if the trees themselves are holding their breath, waiting for something momentous to break the silence.
"Will would head for water," Lucas says as they crest a ridge overlooking the quarry. "He's practical like that. Can't survive long without it."
"But not the quarry itself," Mike adds. "Too exposed. Somewhere nearby, with cover."
Through Scout's eyes, Adam spots something the boys have missed—Will's bicycle, orange paint gleaming dully in the moonlight where it lies half-hidden in the bushes near the quarry's edge. His heart stops.
This is where it happened. Where the Demogorgon took him.
"There," Adam says, pointing toward the bike. "Is that—?"
"Will's bike!" Mike bolts down the slope with his friends close behind, sliding through loose gravel and dead leaves in their haste to reach the discovery.
They find it exactly where Adam knew they would—handlebars twisted, chain hanging loose, abandoned in the kind of haste that speaks of sudden terror. Mike runs his hands over the orange frame as if touching it might somehow bring his friend back.
"He was here," Dustin whispers. "But where did he go?"
Into hell. Literally into hell.
But Adam can't say that. Not yet. Not until they're ready to hear it.
"Maybe he ran into the woods when he heard something coming," Lucas suggests. "Something that scared him enough to leave his bike behind."
"Will's not a coward," Mike says fiercely. "If he ran, it was tactical. Like in the game when you retreat to a better position."
They search the immediate area with renewed energy, calling Will's name and examining every broken branch, every scuffed patch of earth. But the trail goes cold at the quarry's edge, disappearing into nothing as if Will Byers simply ceased to exist.
By the time they trudge back to town, defeat weighs on their shoulders like gravity. The adult search parties are wrapping up too, voices growing hoarse from calling into emptiness, flashlight batteries dying one by one.
"We should head back," Mike says finally. "Mom's probably worried."
But instead of dispersing, they find themselves gravitating toward Mike's basement—the sanctuary where the Party has always gathered to make sense of an increasingly senseless world. Karen Wheeler provides hot chocolate and worried smiles before retreating upstairs, leaving them alone with their grief and the warm glow of Christmas lights.
"I can't just sit here," Mike says, pacing the length of the basement like a caged animal. "Will's out there somewhere, probably hurt, probably scared, and we're drinking cocoa and pretending everything's okay."
"We're not pretending anything," Dustin replies. "We're regrouping. That's what smart adventurers do when they hit a dead end."
They need this. They need to feel like they're doing something, even if it's just pretending.
"Maybe we could run a quick one-shot," Adam suggests carefully. "Something to clear our heads. Sometimes the best solutions come when you're not trying so hard to find them."
Mike stops pacing. "A one-shot? Now?"
"Think about it from Will's perspective," Adam continues, warming to the idea. "He's trapped somewhere, probably alone, probably trying to figure out how to get home. What would his cleric do in that situation?"
"Use Turn Undead to ward off monsters," Dustin answers immediately. "Build a sanctuary and wait for rescue."
"Exactly. Will's smart enough to hole up somewhere safe and wait for help. So maybe instead of searching randomly, we should think like DMs. What kind of environment would challenge a cleric but still give him a chance to survive?"
Lucas leans forward, interested despite himself. "Underdark scenario. Isolated from divine power sources, limited resources, hostile environment."
"But with pockets of sanctuary," Mike adds, his DM instincts engaging. "Places where the cleric's abilities would work better."
Adam nods enthusiastically. "So we map those locations in the real world. Places that match the environmental requirements."
For the next two hours, they disappear into a world where dice determine fate and clever thinking can overcome any obstacle. Adam plays a ranger—appropriate cover for his unusual tracking abilities—and finds himself genuinely enjoying the strategic challenges Mike throws at them.
When Adam suggests a pincer movement to flank a group of kobolds, Mike's eyes light up with the kind of respect usually reserved for tactical masterstrokes.
"That's brilliant," Mike says. "Most people would just charge in, but you're thinking three moves ahead."
I've had practice thinking strategically. More than you know.
But in this moment, with dice scattered across the table and his new friends laughing at Dustin's terrible kobold voice, Adam feels something he hasn't experienced since waking up in Subject 017's body. He feels like a kid.
Not a transmigrated adult with cosmic knowledge and a pack of interdimensional creatures. Not a strategic asset positioning himself for future conflicts. Just a twelve-year-old boy playing pretend with his friends, laughing at stupid jokes and arguing about spell components.
[PARTY RELATIONSHIPS ESTABLISHED]
[MIKE WHEELER: RELUCTANT RESPECT (25%)]
[LUCAS SINCLAIR: CAUTIOUS ACCEPTANCE (20%)]
[DUSTIN HENDERSON: GENUINE FRIENDSHIP (60%)]
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: STRATEGIC COORDINATION]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +600 XP]
[SCOUT LOYALTY: 65% → 70%]
The game winds down as midnight approaches, and they clean up dice and character sheets with the easy familiarity of a ritual performed countless times. But something has changed in the group dynamic. Adam isn't just the new kid anymore—he's become part of the team.
"Same time tomorrow?" Dustin asks as they gather their things. "We could try the Miller's farm. Lots of hiding spots out there."
"Copy that," Adam says, unconsciously mimicking the radio terminology Dustin loves. His voice comes out thicker than he intended, weighted with emotions he doesn't quite understand.
I'm getting attached. That's dangerous.
But as he walks back to St. Mary's through streets that smell like autumn and possibility, Adam's walkie-talkie crackles to life.
"Hey, Adam. You there? Over."
Dustin's voice, bright with the kind of friendship that develops fast between outcasts who recognize kindred spirits.
"I'm here," Adam replies, keying the mic. "What's up? Over."
"Just wanted to say thanks. For tonight, I mean. It felt good to laugh again. Over."
Through the static, Adam can hear the weight of everything they're carrying—the fear, the guilt, the desperate need to believe their friend is still alive somewhere.
"Tomorrow, same time," Adam promises. "We're going to find him. Over."
"Copy that. We're going to find Will. Over and out."
The radio goes quiet, leaving Adam alone with the night and the weight of knowledge that burns like acid in his chest. In two days, Will Byers will be found in the Upside Down, barely clinging to life with a creature down his throat. Joyce and Hopper will stage a desperate rescue, while the boys fight monsters in the middle school gymnasium.
And Adam will have to choose how much to reveal, how much help to provide, how much of his true nature to expose in service of keeping his friends alive.
They trust me now. That's what I wanted. So why does it feel like betrayal?
Through the bond, Scout sends sleepy contentment from his position guarding St. Mary's perimeter. The creature doesn't understand human concepts like friendship or loyalty, but he recognizes pack bonds when he sees them. Adam's happiness makes Scout happy, in the simple way that pack animals share emotional states.
At least someone's uncomplicated about this.
But as Adam settles into his narrow bed, surrounded by the soft breathing of sleeping orphans, he knows that nothing about his situation will remain simple for long. The storm is coming, and when it breaks, everything will change.
The only question is whether his friends will still trust him when they learn who—and what—he really is.
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