Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will still remembers the long drive to their new house, new town, new state. He still remembers the stinging feeling of salt on his cheeks, no longer rosey (to be entirely fair, they haven’t been rosey, or even a peachy pink, for a long, long time… about three years). But, most of all, he remembers the strange cocktail of relief and despair, leaving Hawkins behind. 

Will looked over to Jonathan and smiled.

Things would be better this year. They’re moving, far, far away from the havoc; they had to be better this year.

Things, of course, would somehow manage to stay the exact fucking same, because, because this, this was the new normal, whether Will Byers liked it or not.

If he wanted a different destiny? Well, damn, he would have to carve it out him-fucking-self. 

Chapter Text

As the shabby cars pulled into the Byers family’s new driveway, Will was almost impressed. How the hell were they able to afford this house?! This house, in a cutesy, close to town, white picket fence neighborhood?!

“One good thing about loss is sometimes… You get… Monetary compensation. Also, houses are cheaper here.” His mother murmured to Will upon asking. Shaking hands open another cigarette box, and Will finds himself in his room-to-be. Bare. A new beginning. Jonathan stands behind him, casually leaning on his younger brother. Little by little, he added more weight, until the two collapsed, giggling, as Will swatted at Jonathan playfully. 

“Was that really necessary?” He asked, a bright smile painted on his face. Jonathan just laughed, and the two looked at the room in soft silence. 

A desk would go there, and maybe that one painting of the party there, and -- 

“How much?” Will pondered.
“Not… Not as much as you’re probably thinking.”

“Why even us?”

“I mean, we did kind of adopt his kid --”

“Fair, fair --”

“Besides, I think, I think he kind of felt bad. They were close, you know.”

“Guilty,” Will whispers, like the word was forced into him, a ghost from the past shoving feelings and memories his way. 

Jonathan startles slightly, blinking more than once. 

“What?”

Will turns his head to look Jonathan, hazel eyes wider than a fawn’s, but much, much more knowledgeable. 

“Guilty. Hopper definitely felt guilty.”

He said his name. 

It was like a bad omen. The mood dampened almost immediately, and Will wanted to sink into the soft carpet. He could become a carpet dust-mite, and live there in the fluff forever --

Will swallowed, and he continued. 

“Like, really guilty. ...What? Why are you looking at me like that? Couldn’t you feel it?”

Jonathan paused. Wait, feel it?

“Uh, what -- What do you mean by feeling it, Will?”

Will paused, and shrugs. 

“I don’t know. I just -- Everytime I went near the guy it just… Guilt hits -- hit me, like a, like a train. Or maybe a wave? You know, I could just,” Will waves him off. “ Feel it.”

Jonathan nodded, blinked, and contemplated. Will saw the whole process in the fidgeting of his hands, the subtle squinting in his eyes, even the crinkle in his nose. 

“Huh. I mean -- I mean, I guess it makes sense.”

Jonathan never thought about that conversation again, and maybe if he did, considered what that meant for Will , maybe things would’ve turned out differently. 

The outside of the house is a baby blue with grey accents. The lawn’s completely dead and while conspiring, Will and Eleven contemplate making a ceramic garden. Eleven saw the idea in a magazine and hasn’t let go of it since. They’re both taking a ceramics class as Freshmen, and it’s also the one class they share. Extra special. 

The two siblings agree to ask their teacher about the concept and ask for inspiration. Will even starts a folder of art designs dedicated to the project. 

The house gets filled in slowly, but surely. The living room feels too fancy, but then Will jumps on the old familiar couch and he can’t help but smile. It’s the best bits of home brought to a new, foreign place, far, far away from flashbacks and panic attacks.

Will’s first of many kind gestures towards El is hanging up sketches of their shared friends up in her room. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Max keep her company. Will even draws Steven and Nancy for El, and later adds a Robin per El’s request. 

Finally, he draws Hopper. 

“If -- If you don’t want it, I totally -- I totally, uh, get it. I understand,” Will starts. “Don’t worry about, er, hurting my feelings or anything --”

Before he can finish his sentence, he’s interrupted by a soft sob and a tight hug. 

“Thank you, Will,” Eleven breathes out, and Will can’t help but smile, and hug back. 

“Of course! No need -- No need to thank me…”

They paint the walls pink, and Eleven’s room is finishe.

Will leaves his walls white, and posters of space, science, and rock music fill the empty walls. Magazine cut outs of Bowie and art make the room feel whole. Clutter of art supplies and D&D related items give it life, Will’s energy. He’s able to spend time in there, alone, without feeling cold . 

He doesn’t care for being alone, though. He’d rather be with El walking their new neighborhood or going with a ride with Jonathan or even at the kitchen stink, washing dishes with his mom. Will never likes to be totally alone for long periods of time, without any music or noise, because when he is?

He hears fucking voices. Whispers, whispers of things he shouldn’t know, whispers that grow louder and clearer every damn day. Will tried to listen, once, and he realized they weren’t whispers at all. 

They were thoughts. 

The personal, private thoughts of his dear fucking family. 

“Son of a bitch,” Will murmured, realizing he couldn’t quite get away from Him.

I have to call Murray tonight.

Nancy loves me, right?

What shade of red is Max’s hair?

I don’t want to call him, that bastard -- 

Would Will have that color?

Do I love Nancy?

I don’t know if I ever loved him.

And then, Will’s nose gushes out blood, and it dawns on him that maybe he can’t just leave Hawkins that easily. 

Maybe it’s just behind him, lurking in the shadows, breathing on his neck…

Waiting for the right moment to pounce. 

The morning of the first day of school, Will vomits. His mom makes him stay home. He pukes three more times, because god dammit , the silence is un-fucking-bearable. 

He takes five nyquil, and passes out for the rest of the day. 

All he hears is static.  

Chapter Text

Mike practically sprints home and clings to the new, personal telephone his mom bought for him. Will doesn’t answer for a while — apparently he was sleeping.

When he does — three hours later! Sheesh! — Mike vibrates with electricity.

“How was your first day of school?” Mike asks, flopped on his bed, legs swinging in the air.

A pause. Then— “Oh. Right. I, Uh, I didn’t go.”

Will’s voice is so quiet, shaken, small, and it physically hurts Mike that he can’t just run to his house right now to hug him.

“What?! Whaddya mean?!” Mike bites his lip and sits up, all excitement leaving his body. He felt like a limp balloon.

“How could you miss the first day?!”

“Right— I didn’t want to , Mike, I just got really sick —“

“You didn’t have a migraine or puke, didja?” Mike knew all too well the common symptoms his best friend had. It was either anxiety, flashbacks, or both.

“Aw, Mike—“

“WILL!” Mike can practically visualize his pout, the curve of his heart shaped lips and his soft cheeks poofing out, and fuck his chest hurts, so bad, it’s so tight —

“I know! I know, it’s just —“

“You’ve always had puking problems, remember when —“

“No! Mike! Don’t say it like that! ”  

Mike can’t help but chuckle. Will sounds absolutely exasperated. God, life is great being a little shit to your bestie.

“Like what?” Mike says coyly, smirk on his face, and his face blooms with color as he hears Will laughing over the phone.

God, I love this dork , he thinks, without even realizing he said the L word. He freezes as Will rants on.

“Oh, you damn know, Wheeler. ‘Like what?!’ Oh shove it, gremlin! Don’t play innocent with me—“

Did he really just say the L word? Dammit, he told himself to not do that again, his heart gets all funky and he loves girls, Eleven, not…

Not…

“Oh! El! Eleven, Mikey’s on the phone, you wanna—!”

As the two wrestle with the phone, Mike just holds it to his cheek, smiling, eyes all squinted and face blooming once more.

He called me Mikey.

“Okay! Okay — I‘ll talk to you later, Mike!”

His voice sounds far away. Why does it sound far away—?

“Hi, Mike.”

Oh. Mike sits up. He’s being dumb. He needs to stop this shit, immediately.

Will is replaced by Eleven’s soft, broken English. But she sounds different. One day of high school and she sounds more confident.

Mike fucking loves that for her.

The talk before the Byers left was harsh, and it stings, but Mike’s still trying to convince himself he loves her. Not him. Her.

Eleven had, in a way, broken up with him. Was it real? Was Mike going to chase after every chance he had? Yes, and yes. Teary-eyed, she told him that she didn’t want to ruin his high school experience.

“I don’t … I don’t want to hold you back,” She murmured.

Mike figured she wanted to figure out things for herself, too. (He wasn’t blind. El is obvious. Especially towards Max).

He still begged. He begged her to change her mind, because Eleven was safe and straight and his parents expected that from him. He needed her. Because, otherwise…

Otherwise he would just fall. He would let himself fall, and that would be the worst possible thing he could do. To himself, and to him.

And, well, to his parents, but. That was a given.

But talking to Eleven again was salt on the wound. He’d have to face his shit someday, and realizing that El really broke up with him forced him to.

“Will seemed really happy talking to you.”

God dammit.

“I— Yeah— We’re best friends, El.”

Yeah, best friends, but You want More, don’t you, Michael?

“He told me about the fight, you know…”

Mike paled. Ah, yes, The Fight. The big congestion of pent up feelings and Mike desperately trying to keep the mask On and his straight white picket relationship Healthy.

Will didn’t deserve any of that shit.

“Mike… You can’t keep hurting him. He’ll fucking break.”

Mike gulped. Good lord, who taught her to cuss, Jonathan or Max?

“El —“

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“N-No I deserved it, but —“

“Good. Are you… Are your parents home?”

Mike’s face turns red. Does she realize how that sounds?!

“Um, no, they’re not, why?”

“Good. We need to talk about Will.”

Was he that obvious? Fuck. Shit. Shit fuck.

“Is something wrong? I know he stayed home from school, but—“

A deep sigh. “Mike, he looks at you like … Like how I look at Max.”

Well. At least that’s out of the air. Hasta La Vista to white picket fence and heteronormativity.

“O...Okay...I —“

“Be gentle with him, is all, okay? He’s my brother — I care for him — and he’s so, so kind, Mike…”

“Mike… Don’t break his heart.”

Mike utters a small, Yeah, Okay, and sits in silence. Contemplating.

Shit fuck. 

Eleven hangs up the phone and sighs. Did Mike understand? Did she misread him? Would he judge? 

It’s hard being an empath. El thinks, a small pout forming on her lips.

Will appears next to her. He’s almost bristling. Shit.

“What… What did you say to him?”

“I don’t think it had an affect, Will. He didn’t understand.”

Will looks defeated. His fists relax.

“How did you… How did you know ?” He croaks out. His — Oh no, are his eyes watery?!

She doesn’t answer him. She takes him by the hand, and they sit in El’s room, nestled in soft pillows and fluffy blankets.

“The energy,” she murmurs. Will looks up at her, eyes wide. “The energy felt different. It’s just… It’s there. You can’t deny that, can you?”

Silence. A small, tiny nod.

“Do….Do you feel alone, Will? Is that why this is so hard for you?”

Another nod. But he laughs, and it’s empty. El winces. 

“I do. I really, really do, El. And I don’t know if you understand, but being like me, liking — liking him … It’s considered bad. Unholy.”

“That’s stupid.” She murmurs. There’s so much intelligence in her eyes. And kindness. Will feels safe.

“That’s stupid, because love is love, and I’m like that too.”

Will pauses and looks up at her, shocked.

“You — You are?!”

She nods. “How do you feel when you like someone romantically?”

Will swallows, and bites his lip.

“I, well, I think about them, details of their face and the like, like all the time. I doodle them constantly. Every time they smile, I’d… I just feel so warm and happy inside. Fuzzy, even. When they — He — He says my name or laughs at a joke, I just feel ignited, but in a soft gentle way, like a candle or a small campfire… God, that’s so sappy — Did you even get that?”

Will’s embarrassed, sporting a red face and messy hair, because his hands won’t stop running through it. It’s so tender, and Eleven smiles.

She takes his hand, and there’s so much happiness beaming out of her.

Max. Eleven thinks, and then she says it.

“You’re not. You’re not alone. I feel that way about someone … a girl, too.”

Will’s jaw practically drops to the floor, because weren’t Mike and her deadass in love? Aren’t they going to get married and live that happy perfect life?

Apparently not, because El keeps talking.

“I never really… thought that way. With Mike. He was warm. He was so, so nice. And okay, I liked him, but with Max…”

Her voice cracks. Will’s about to start crying.

“With Max, I remember every single freckle. With Max, I never stop smiling. With Max, when we fight, we build each other back up. Max believed in me, trusted me, always. Always.”

Will looses it. A tear. Then five. And he’s quietly sobbing into El’s arms, because she gets it, she gets everything, and he’s never felt more safe, more accepted, more at home.

“You may have just saved my life, again, El,” Will murmurs, and she just hugs him tighter. 

The two fall asleep like that, tear stained cheeks shining in the night. They’re in complete solace, complete solidarity.

Chapter Text

Will persuaded himself not to throw up. With Eleven’s help, they managed to put a wet blanket over his brain and new found… sense.

Will was hesitant to call it a power. The conversation about it was very clipped — it was at three am when Eleven woke up to use the bathroom. Will is already a light sleeper, so he waited for her to get back, and let the truth go.

“I think I can hear people’s thoughts.” He said. Eleven stared at him, and nodded.

“Okay. Is it… All the time?”

“All the time.”

“The reason for the sickness?”

“Yup.”

Silence. Eleven pursed her lips. She believed him — Will knew.

“Okay. I can try to help. Silence the chattering. I don’t know how long I can hold it. We can test it tomorrow.”

Will beamed. “Thanks, El,”

She gives him a little nod, and just crawls back under the covers, and goes back to sleep.

“Ready?” She said, holding Will’s hands. He nodded, face pale.

She closed her eyes tight, and let her power surge through Will.

It worked. He couldn’t hear anything. He let out a sigh of relief.

“How hard is it to keep doing that?”

“Not that hard, but… It’s protesting.” She murmurs.

“This can’t be a permanent solution, Will, we have to find another way.”

He nodded in agreement, and that was that.

The Byers new residence was close enough to and from school. While Joyce was still paranoid — how could she not be? — she managed to be convinced that they would be safe together.

“Now, are you two absolutely sure you don’t want me to drive you guys? It’s really — It’s no problem,”  Joyce clasped her hands, causing Eleven and Will to share a look.

“Mom, we have to be independent at some point. We’ll be fine, promise.” Will gave her best most confident smile.

Joyce squinted at him and bit her lip. Even with his sense suppressed, Will could still feel the doubt in waves. He groaned and mocked offense. She backed down almost instantly —

“Okay, okay I just — I’m worried, you know? Don’t you dare ditch each other, okay? The minute I hear of such a thing, your walking privileges will be revoked!”

Her militant attitude couldn’t be taken seriously— she couldn’t help a glimmer of pride in her eye and the subtle cracking of a smile. She knew she was being overprotective, but there was no way in hell she was ever diluting that. 

The duo left the house with identical paper bags, devilish grins on their faces. Shenanigans was abound!

Since yesterday’s reveals (plural!) the two already felt closer than ever before. Still… silence dominated, and they walked in silence. They may feel emotionally close, but neither were enthusiastic talkers.

They arrived. Will stood closer to Eleven instinctually, intimidated by the number of students and the size of the campus. It was divided between a number of decently-kept portables, beautiful oak trees and red lunch tables. 

“I… Wow. This is… This is intense.” Will breathed out, wide fawn eyes taking in his surroundings. El grabs his hand, and squeezes it tightly.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but … Just wait till you see it full of people.” She murmurs.

The two had gotten there relatively early to check out Will’s books with ease. El guided him to the library, and his eyes widened at the number at books. It was decently sized, which meant larger than Hawkins Middle’s library. The sight and familiar smell of books and paper put Will at ease, tension leaving his body. 

A mousey looking woman was hunched over a computer larger than her whole body, and only peered over it when Eleven cleared her throat. Her glasses were round and shiny, and looked too big for her body. 

Will liked her immediately.

“We… Have a list. For textbooks. For my brother Will. I came in yesterday—“

The woman jumped up from behind the desk. She was surprisingly spry and full of energy.

“Yes! Of course! The Byers siblings! Welcome to our humble school! I hope you’re fitting in well, Jane!”

Eleven nodded. She still wasn’t used to her “real” name.

“Ahh, let me see that list!” It was tenderly handed over, and the librarian read it at the speed of an Olympic sprinter.

“Okie dokie! Just follow me to that cart over there.”

She pointed with her finger and just as the siblings walked over, she jumped up from behind. Will was startled — had she just teleported?!

She was the least authoritative adult Will had ever met. She was smaller than both of the siblings, and her giant eyes were reflected in her classes. She almost looked like a child — an older, slightly wrinkled child. 

She took the stack of thick textbooks from the cart with ease, and Will was once again surprised. Teleportation and strength?! What in the —

Then she put the books in his arms, and he almost crumpled to the floor. Eleven hid a snicker, and took a few to help lighten the load. Will glared at her (teasingly, of course) and thanked her anyway.

“Uh, thanks, Miss—“

“Miss Owlery!”

“Right — Thank you.”

As they left the library, Will and Eleven burst out into laughter.

“Her name is really Owlery?!”

“Yes!”

“That’s too perfect! She totally reminded me of a little owl!”

“Right?!”

“I like her though,” Will said, tone softer. “She seems genuinely nice. Not like, fake nice, you know?”

“She’s eccentric.” Eleven said, saying the word slowly. “I like it. A lot.”

Will beamed. “Me too.”

After stuffing as many books as they could in the locker, the first morning bell rang.

“Well. You have your schedule?”

Will pulled it out of his pocket and waved it in front of their faces. 

“Yup.”

“And the map?”

He pulled that out too, and repeated the action.

Eleven smiled. “Good. I got my way around easily. Thankfully everything is correctly labeled.”

Will nodded, but he still felt nervous. He knew Hawkins like it was the back of the hand. This place, though?

It felt like an alien planet.

Students started to pour into the school gates. Eleven stared at them, wild eyed.

“I’ll see you in ceramics, okay Will?” She said, anxious to go to the class.

Will got it. He didn’t like crowds either.

“Bye, El.”

They parted, and Will’s first school day began.

Chapter Text

Lucas feels lonelier without Byers around. And, yeah, he even misses Eleven. Big Shocker. It helps having Max around, but they’re off and on. Always. It’s unstable, and it irritates the hell out of Lucas.

And then, he gets what he bitterly wishes: Max breaks up with him. 

“I’m just -- You’re just so infuriating!” She yells.

“Yeah, well, well, you just get mad at everything!” he complains back.

Their personalities were never romantically compatible. They’re better as friends, anyway. But, with everyone broken up…

It brings Lucas’ mind back to Will. To Byers. The heart of the group, their cleric . 

He misses him. So much. So does Mike, and Dustin, and Max, and it’s hard enough to face high school. 

Lucas doesn’t sleep much anymore.

“What, you staying up thinking about the coconut head with the short shorts?” Erika taunts, and he throws a pillow at her head. 

Maybe she has a point. Lucas is just lonely. Will was the glue. And Lucas is falling apart without it. 

The rest of the school day for Will was a complete drag. Second period with El wasn’t the worst -- Will’s actually rather excited for ceramics -- but Will hardly had the energy to introduce himself to the teacher and ask him about the ceramic garden. Mr. Fuentes had a smile that was too bright and hair was definitely too blue and Will really really thought he was cool.

Hell. He was never going to introduce himself to the teacher.

Will’s anxiety in ceramics was nothing compared to the shit he went through in gym. Gym was a literal hellscape -- and Will’s been to the Upside Down . Gym was never Will’s strong suit, and he always had a group of friends to hide behind, and hell, this sucked. He would need a long call to every one of his friends to make him feel better. It only really escalated though after a rather intense basketball game -- the gym teacher sent everyone to the showers -- Yes, you too, Byers, I don’t care that you’ve been benched all game.

Showers?

Shit.

He hid in the back of locker rooms for as long as he could, praying that Dustin or Lucas or even Mike would just spontaneously show up to shave his skinny ass.

But nobody came. 

Three burly looking guys that caused Will’s head to scream DANGER!! cornered him anyway. 

God, did Will wish that he had a friend right now. He missed them more than ever. 

“Bench-sitter, you heard Coach, why don’t you jump in showers? Or, what, are you afraid of something? One taunted, leaning down with a cruel smirk. 

“You said it yourself. I’m the one sitting on the bench. It’s not like I need a shower.” He murmurs, and stares at the ground, praying that the teens would just go away. 

“Oh, don’t make it Coach’s fault you’re a limp noodle!”

“Yeah.” The blonde sneered. “A limp… Useless… Fairy,”

Will froze.

How -- 

It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!

“I’m not,” He stutters out.

The blonde and the dark brown haired kids roar with laughter. 

“Bench-sitter’s got a stutter!”

“Fucking fairy!”

Will frowns. God, he wishes someone --

It’s not my fault! You don’t like girls!

You don’t like girls!

My fault!

My fault!”

“I’m. Not.” He growls out.

They continue laughing. 

God, Will wishes Lucas was here. He’d put up a fight. Will just wants to cower. And run away. 

Run away. 

“Run away.” Will growls out, and the three laughing boys pause. They swivel to stare at Will, and their eyes jump out of all their heads.

It bursts out from the seams. Blood gushes from Will’s nose. 

“Run away.”

He’s levitating, Will knows he somehow became taller, and he feels weightless. 

“RUN. AWAY!”

Will’s eyes roll back into his head as he screams the phrase. It feels like taking a breath of fresh air, as power radiates from his lungs out his mouth. The boys scream, and sprint out the door.

They’re still only wearing towels.

Will collapses onto the ground, and the world goes black. 

“Honey… Honey… Will, baby, come on --”

Will groans. It’s too bright. Is he …?

“Mo-Mom? What -- Am I home?”

His mother winces. “Yeah. I picked you up early. Do you remember what happened?” She’s concerned. What happened to him? What happened to my son? Great. The thoughts are back. 

“I…”

He remembers screaming. He remembers the horrified looks on their faces. He remembers…

“Fucking fairy!” “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

“Nothing.” He lies. “I don’t remember anything.”

His mother purses her lips, and nods. 

“Some boys found you out cold, surrounded by blood, in the locker room.”

Will winces. Yikes. That’s embarrassing. 

“I… Huh. Isn’t that a predicament.” 

His mother frowns. “Will? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He frowns. And then --

“I just really miss Dustin and Lucas! Okay?! Is that so goddamn awful!”

His mom backs off after that.

On the opposite side of the wall, El sits and notices the lack of Mike in Will’s words. Maybe she misread the situation after all… 

“Mike. Remember when I told you not to hurt him?”

“I… Yeah?”

“Well. I think you already did. Really, really badly.”

“I -- What?! I thought he was over that!”

El glares at the phone, and hangs up. She doesn’t pick it up after the sixth ring.

How can you just get over someone betraying you like that? Friends don’t lie. Eleven is pissed.

Will crawls the phone after the headache recedes and he calls Lucas.

“Byers! How are you?! How’s school?!”

Will can’t help but break into a giddy smile. He’s just so damn excited. 

“Decent, Lucas, decent, but shit without you guys.”

Will hears Lucas sigh over the phone. 

“Yeah, man, I hear you. It’s felt so lonely without our cleric -- and mage, of course.”

Does Will’s ears betray him, or does Lucas actually sound sad?!

“You… You okay, Lucas?”

“Yeah, I just -- Did I tell you? About Max and I?”

“I -- no -- What happened?”

Lucas lets out a long dramatic sigh. “Man, two days, two days! into the new school year, and she’s done with me. Done! Like, perma-done! Finished?”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Uh… I’m really sorry to hear that, Lucas --”

“Don’t be, Will. It’s better off this way, I think. I have a feeling we just have different… interests.”

Interests. Interests? What the hell did that mean? Either way, Will’s cheeks are flushed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m tired of drama, man. Especially with girls. So, what’s going on with you?”

Will pauses.

If he were to tell anyone other than El, it would be Lucas. It really would be. He was focused, pragmatic, and logical. He trusted him. 

And, besides, Dustin would tell Lucas anyway and Mike was just out of the picture. Will didn’t even consider Max, but maybe he should --

“Will, you still there?”

“Are you free this weekend? Can we hang out?” Will blurts out, and it stuns Lucas into silence.

“Man, did you read my mind?”

Will blanches, but he chuckles. Maybe. Maybe he did, just a little. 

“Maybe. Why?”

“I miss you man, let’s do it!”

Will’s cheeks warm. 

“Yeah. Let’s.”

Chapter Text

Even with a concussion and Lucas’ friendly phone call, the days don’t float by like Will begs them to. They drag on like sludge, like trying to breathe after having shit shoved down your lungs. Every day proves to be harder than the last, Will stuck in bed staring at the ceiling for hours at a time. Internally, there’s a storm, and everytime he closes his eyes, he sees red clouds and hears thunderstorms. For this to all be in his head, it’s all too real. The concussion doesn’t get better after a week, and Will develops a fever. Eleven graciously picks up work for him to do at home, and he works up the willpower to at least do some science worksheets. Still, it’s painful, his brain thundering in his skull 24/7 makes processing information difficult. Will vaguely wonders if his body is preparing itself for something, regaining energy after the events that had happened. He feels repaired by the end of the sickness spell, and he feels stronger than before. His body really was just configuring itself to hold this power , wasn’t it?

It’s a theory, but even if it were true, Will wouldn’t have anyone to ask. 

Three weeks, and Will feels stronger, but he starts to feel fidgety. He starts to have cold sweats in the middle of class, hyperventilation in the crowded hallways of his school. It’s all too much, and after failing his biology pop quiz, Will barely makes it home before passing out right there on the doorstep. Eleven’s too slow to catch him, and he feels his nose break, a crunch on the concrete. 

He wakes up three hours later. His mom is on the phone, and he can hear her yell, even from a distance. He turns his head and sees Jonathan on his bed. Will struggles to move, but he’s able to lightly tug on his sleeve, dragging his older brother out of his dissociation. 

-- God, what is happening? Is this the mind flayer all over again? I can’t go through that again, I swear to God, I can’t -- 

“Jonathan,“ Will whispers, and his brother jumps, and stares at his little brother with owl eyes. 

“ Will. You’re awake. Are you okay? How do you feel?” Jonathan asks, voice quiet enough to not instigate any headaches. Will blinks, and he realizes -- 

He doesn’t have any headaches. He doesn’t feel bad . 

“My nose feels a little funky… Wait… Are we--?” The walls are white. The sheets are white. Will looks down, and he sees -- 

White. White. White. It’s all white, and before he knows it hot tears are falling down his eyes, staining his cheeks with salty tracks. 

“Hey, hey, buddy, it’s okay, you’re okay, they won’t take you away, I’m right here,” Jonathan tries to consoles his baby brother, but Will can’t fucking breathe . 

“I want to go home,” Will whimpers, and an hour later, Will falls asleep in the car, an angry Joyce driving her sons home. 

Will wakes up and drags Jonathan to Eleven’s room. They all sit together on her bed, Will splayed out on both of their laps. 

“It’s me,” He says, choking the words out. “I’m the flayer.”

“My body is making room for something big. And bad. I can feel it.”

“That’s insane!” Jonathan sputters, wrinkling his nose. Eleven nods in agreement. 

“Whatever powers you have, it’s yours. They are your powers, Will. It doesn’t matter where they came from. What matters is what you do with them,” Eleven says, and nods at her own words, seeming satisfied with her words. 

“I… I already hurt people. What if I can’t control it?” Will breathes out. He’s scared. Shaking. He feels another session of cold sweats. 

“Bullshit, that was self defense. You are the best of us all, Will. You can control it. Just think of it as like, art, right? You control the pencil.” Jonathan says, crossing his arms. 

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t control the art, it just flows out of me!” Will’s close to tears, now. He can feel himself get choked up. 

“It’s beautiful anyway, Will. You thought it up. You are in control,” Eleven says, and she leans down to give Will a gentle hug. He chokes out a sob, and the siblings sit in silence, all wondering how to cope with this. Whatever they do, they all make a silent promise to fight it together. Like always.