Chapter Text
[ If you have to ask Why me?
When you’re feeling really blue,
When the world has turned against you
And you don’t know what to do,
When it pours colossal raindrops,
And the road’s a winding mess,
And you’re feeling more confused
Than you ever could express,
When the saddened sun won’t shine,
When the stars will not align,
When you’d rather be
Inside your bed,
The covers pulled
Above your head,
When life is something
That you dread,
And you have to ask Why me?...
Then when the world seems right and true,
When rain has left a gentle dew,
When you feel happy being you,
Please ask yourself, Why me? then, too. ]
[ Barbara Vance ]
__
Will chewed the inside of his mouth as he looked at the plate that sat in front of him, made by Mrs. Wheeler. Mike, Lucas, Max, and El were all seated at the table, all conversing earnestly about something Will couldn’t bother paying attention to. He doesn’t understand, because he always enjoyed the food at the Wheeler’s house, made with care and love for the Party. But now, the plate of spaghetti and meatballs make him want to vomit, the texture bumping and prodding against his mouth as he takes a bite, the feeling of the food lingering after he swallows.
Ever since the Mind Flayer, Will’s appetite had begun to… change. The consistency of the food he swallows has begun to be too obtrusive, catching on the inside of his mouth, each bite filling his tongue with the feeling of it. The smell of food that he knew should smell of home and nostalgia rot into this repulsive scent that made him gag. Every bump, crevice, and the surface of every meal he is served sticks out like a sore thumb, and he shrinks away from the vile-looking food.
“What is it, honey? Is there something wrong with the food?” Mrs. Wheeler asks, her hand outstretched to take the plate before Will even answered with an affirmative.
He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no, It’s just- I’m not really hungry. The food is delicious, thank you.” She nods, looks away, and replaces her attention with feeding Holly.
Will feels guilt settle into his core, bearing sanctuary inside of him. She had spent time making this dish for them, and Will barely finished a quarter of it, the non-existent raggedy texture almost provoking shivers to rack his body. Everything wilts into his surroundings as he wills himself to take another bite. This time, the food doesn’t even make it down his throat before he shoots out of his spot and rushes to the washroom. The washroom door was locked messily and he dropped to his knees hastily, spitting and gagging into the toilet. Gasping for breaths in between new waves of tears that roll down his face and splatter into the toilet bowl. The food has evidently departed from the environment of his mouth but he can still feel it, rubbing and poking the inside of his jaws, causing him to retch. A trail of spit leaves his mouth instead.
He registers pounding on the door, reverberating through the room and ringing in his ears. He ultimately reopens his eyes ( when had he even shut them?) and quickly flushes the toilet. The process of washing his hands took longer than it should’ve, hands sitting under the scorching water until they turned red.
(He was still Will. Not the Mind Flayer. He was Will Byers. The heaviness that sat in his chest was too familiar to the sensation of the shadow that was the Mind Flayer .)
He unlocked the door sloppily, hands shaking too vastly and deadened with pain to be used effectively. His friends were grouped outside the door, the surprise and concern of his abrupt sprint to the washroom displayed on each of their faces. He says some bullshit excuse, something along the lines of having an upset stomach before the attention is diverted to something else. Will tries to focus on the conversation, he thinks Max is taking a jab at Mike’s ego, and Mike is responding bitterly. He tried to shake the buzzing in his ears, as though there were beehives crammed into his eardrums, drowning everything out.
(His ears ring with an overwhelming buzzing that slowly drives him into insanity. His vision fades and he feels himself submit to the abyss, the darkness pushes into his chest, legs, arms, and head until the weight is practically crushing him alive. The Mind Flayer takes control soon after.
It was his first meal after being possessed. The flood felt clumpy, it looked horrendous, and smelled of rotten flesh. It sits uncomfortably in his stomach. The more he eats, the heavier his limbs get, and the weight is crushing him alive. This time, there was no Mind Flayer. It was just him, and his mom’s homemade lasagna in front of him.)
The plate of food that had been where his situation at the table was no longer there and everyone else’s dishes had been finished. The thought of food clawed at his mind and a nauseated feeling swirled inside his stomach. He fought the feeling as they returned back to the basement.
__
Dustin came back from summer camp, apparently harboring a new girlfriend alike Mike and Lucas. Trying to connect with Suzie hadn’t worked out, Mike and El abandoned them early on, Lucas and Max left later at night, and Will finally resigned as well. Regret ate at him for abandoning Dustin, but his head was pounding, his vision was swaying, it felt like his limbs were about to snap in half, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed.
He hadn’t seen Dustin anytime after that, but it seemed like he was the only one to notice the other’s absence, seeing as Mike and Lucas were too preoccupied with their girlfriends. Will’s tongue stung with a bitter taste at that thought. Even as El dumped Mike, all the boy could talk about was her, either trying to find out how to get her back or to denigrate her. Will wanted nothing more than to just be kids again. He wanted to be oblivious to the pain of living, he desired to ignore his decreasing weight and the food that shouldn’t be gross but is, for just a bit.
Maybe Mike and Lucas mocking the campaign he made eventually made everything a reality. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He could never go back to being an ignorant child, obsessed over a childish game. Being okay felt so much harsher than it ever had before, and the friendship with the party slowly started to wither. It takes a failed campaign, one argument with his childhood best friend, and a broken Castle Byers for him to finally get it through his head. The Will Byers today, would never be the same as the Will Byers from before November 6, 1983. He is living, breathing, surviving through nothing more than memories of a past too far gone. He can pretend nothing changed, that ever since the argument with Mike he hasn’t snapped into millions of different pieces. But he’s just lying to himself. He’s always been lying to himself.
“Dinner’s ready!”
He can’t help the dread that consumes him, can’t help the flinch at the thought of eating. His stomach is filled in an instant as though he had a four-course meal and extra beforehand. The reality is that Will can’t remember the last time he honestly ate something, the last time any food looked appealing to him. It isn’t any different this time, not when he’s staring down at his mom’s cooking, tears filling his eyes because why can’t he just fucking eat? His mom and Jonathan are worried for him, and it just causes the tears to spill over, mixing with the food his mom graciously made for him.
(Gross. The food looked dreadful. He wanted to chuck it in the garbage, anywhere out of his sight. Anywhere away from his swirling stomach and pounding head.)
And Will needed to tell them he was fine, needed something to say. So he said he ate at Mike’s, to which they exclaimed in surprise, having thought that their friendship was in shambles recently. “We made up”, Will lied because he hadn’t talked to his best friend (what even are they anymore?) since that day. All Mike’s attempts at communication were met with silence, because it hurts so bad right now, and Will is scarcely hanging onto the surface. Bellow him is the constant drowning abyss of never-ending darkness, and he is a rupture away from being enveloped by it.
Of course, by telling his mom that he and Mike were fine, she happened to conveniently answer one of Mike’s phone calls. It was an invite to go to Starcourt Mall with him, Lucas, and Dustin (who they somehow convinced). It was a pity hangout, Will could discern it just by his mom explaining the details. He was so fucking done with sympathy right now. But he didn’t have an excuse, and his mom was so excited that he and Mike ( supposedly ) made up, that he didn’t have the heart to try to think of one either. He hated himself for caving so easily. He’s always hated himself.
His mom offered to drive him there ( he cringed because now there was no avoiding this), and that was the start of the day he knew would turn to hell. His vision was fuzzy, and his head shattered at the resounding headache, not to mention the drowsiness that sunk into his limbs. The sun that shined in his eyes as he got out of his mom’s car did nothing to ease his already shitty mood. It’s not like seeing his three friends really helped either.
“Will!” Each exclaimed separately. Dustin said it confidently, considering he wasn’t there when the disastrous attempt at Will’s DnD campaign unfolded. Mike and Lucas, on the other hand, seemed hesitant, like they weren’t sure if they even deserved a positive response.
Good, he thought, and he shuddered because it didn’t sound like him. (He’s not the Mind Flayer. He is Will. Will Byers.) “Hi.”
The long sleeves of his sweater stuck to his skin in the summer heat, and he stops to think why he even chose to wear what he did. He remembered the anxiety of his thinning arms, or maybe it was because he was constantly freezing. No matter the layers, the cold bites at his skin and tears down any attempts at warmth (just like the Upside Down). His mom had questioned his choice in clothes today, but he’d shrugged and she let it go. She gave him more freedom to choose his clothing after returning from the Upside Down. He never got an answer to that mystery.
They all made their way inside the mall, and Will swore the tension would end up drowning him. Every little glance Mike and Lucas sent his way flooded him with unrivaled irritation. Dustin appeared to perceive the elephant in the room but didn’t comment on it, instead tried to lighten the mood. Will could feel his hands form into fists every time Mike opened his mouth and closed it like the words were locked in his mouth.
Spit it out already, is what he would’ve snapped if his stomach hadn’t done a double-take, the obvious warning of the need to vomit filling his throat. He registers Dustin leading them to a burger place, and the thought of any food right now makes the vomit running up his throat burn like acid. But he couldn’t be the only one to not eat. He couldn’t lead his friends to believe he’s some little baby that can’t get over the past. And he gets the most appealing burger he could find, but even so, the sight of it burned his eyes. Sitting at the table with his friends, all of them eating and enjoying their food, Will curls up on himself. What is wrong with him? Why doesn’t the food leave him happy and filled? It shouldn’t kill him inside when he takes a bite. It scratches his throat as he swallows it, refusing to blend with the rest of the contents in his stomach, it leaves him shaking and nauseated. Looking at the burger, with a single small bite in it, leaves him in aversion.
(Eat. Eat it. Finish it. It’s just a burger, there’s nothing wrong with it, but then why does it look wrong? It’s driving him insane.)
His hands find his wrists and he scratches in anxiety. His friends are here, and he can’t act normal because of some fucking made-up hallucination in his head. But he can hardly stand the sight of his burger, and the smell of all his friend’s meals makes its way to his nose and leaves him choking down a gag. Will’s world is twisting and turning, he’s shaking so bad he thinks his bones might crack, he stands quickly. “I need to use the restroom,” he rushes out, and he doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s scurrying to the nearest washroom.
The acid in his throat seethes more violently, and he barely makes it in front of the toilet before he’s emptying his already empty stomach. He’s retching into the toilet, his throat raw and aching. His gasps of breath sound pathetic, and his stomach gurgles in a painful way that makes him double over again. The coughing aggravates his irritated throat, and tears trail down his face in downpours. He refuses to open his eyes, not when he knows that the sight of his vomit will just cause another round of it.
He ultimately open his eyes sometime later, but the fluorescent lighting in the restroom blinded him immediately. Shakily moving his hand, he flushes the toilet and wipes any excess vomit that missed the bowl. He goes to wash his hands and catches sight of the red angry scratch marks on his wrists. Insecurity surges through him and he quickly pulls his sleeves further, until his hands were hardly visible.
(He’s not the Mind Flayer because the Mind Flayer hurts others. He’s Will Byers because Will Byers can only hurt himself.
But that’s just not the truth, is it? He’s also hurt others. Led the Hawkin’s Lab soldiers and everyone in that building to their deaths. Killed Bob, the love of his mom’s life. He’s indirectly hurt so many people by just existing.)
When he made it back to the table, his eyes were distant, and his presence had gone cold. He didn’t notice the worried eyes or the fact that all the food on the table had suddenly disappeared. When his mom came to pick him up, she asks if he wants dinner, to which he replies he ate at the mall. The lie passes through so easily, that he’s starting to question if it was him that was actually talking. At home, he shuts his room door on himself and cries until he passes out.
__
Mike, Lucas, and Dustin all go to wave at Will as he sits down in the car. Will doesn’t wave back at them, doesn’t even bother a glance in their direction. An unease sinks abysmally in all of their guts because something is wrong and it’s glaringly apparent.
“Maybe he’s still mad?” Lucas proposes as they bike home. The comment is such a ludicrous one that Mike can’t help but glower at the other.
“You’re kidding me. That wasn’t Will when he’s angry, that was something…different. This is something new, and I don’t think it's related to any supernatural shit this time.” He contemplates alarmingly because this was Will. His best friend for as long as evermore, his best friend that he’s done nil but treated poorly this whole summer.
“Is it just me, or did he start acting weird- well, weirder when we got food? I mean, he barely even ate, and he rushed to the washroom right after taking a bite, didn’t he?” Dustin pointed.
Lucas looked on puzzledly, “So, what? The burgers sparked some kind of emotion inside of him or something?”
It was like a light bulb magically materializing above Mike’s head. “No, wait, think about it. Remember when we were at my house, and my mom made spaghetti and meatballs? Will looked sick, and he hardly ate anything at all. He even rushed into the washroom after a bite of it. It doesn’t seem strange alone, but with today…”
“I don’t know man, what kind of conclusion are we leading up to anyway? Maybe he just has a stomach parasite.”
“A stomach parasite, Lucas?” Mike snapped.
Dustin yawned tiredly, “Guys let’s continue this tomorrow, we’re not gonna figure anything out in the dead of night, all alone. Let’s meet at yours at nine in the morning, Mike. Bring El and Max too.”
They all answered in the affirmative and resigned themselves to the comfort of their beds. Disquiet plagued them, though, and it was hard to reach the necessary amount of sleep with the all-consuming guilt.
“Well, what's so important that you had to drag us here? Going to grovel and try to win us back?” Max sneered the moment she caught sight of the boys. Mike paced nervously, not bothering to be slighted by her remark. Dustin fiddled with his fingers in a bout of anxiety, and Lucas was curled towards himself looking at nothing. El glanced at Max in bafflement, to which the other girl just shrugged. “Well? Guys?”
“It’s about Will.” Dustin started, causing Mike to shrink into himself, and Lucas to flinch like he had been slapped. That just confused them further.
El raised a brow in perplexity, “What about Will? Is he in danger?”
“No, no- I mean, maybe? Listen, we don’t really know, that’s what we're trying to figure out ourselves actually. He’s just been acting really weird recently, like weird as in worrying weird, you know? Like he seems like he’s in his own world or something, which- that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Okay, so like, we think Will is…wait, what do we think guys?” Mike babbled on like an idiot, his words holding absolutely no importance or any explanation for Eleven and Max.
“We think Will has a stomach parasite or something.” Lucas tacked on, which Mike hit him for with a “No, he doesn’t!” because that was definitely not the conclusion they had reached.
Max stared at all three of them with an expression that they can only describe as irritation. “Are you guys even hearing yourselves right now?”
Dustin groaned, “Shit, how do we explain this?”
“Listen, we think Will might have a problem with…food? I mean, we were at the mall yesterday all together, and his face paled the second we sat down with burgers. It looked like he had a hard time even being near the food and he completely freaked out when he took a bite. He rushed to the washroom and didn’t come back until like, twenty minutes later. The same thing happened when we were eating dinner at my house a bit ago.” Mike eventually explained, and sufficiently thoroughly that Max and Eleven get where their concern stemmed from.
“So, what…you think Will has an eating disorder?” Max questioned.
Mike, Dustin, and Lucas froze because they hadn’t precisely put a title to the situation yet. Memories of eating disorders vaguely being discussed in class, and from the short explanation they received, they shuddered at the possibility that that is what Will is going through.
“Uh, well, we didn’t really think of that but- yeah. Maybe, actually.” Mike looked to El, “I get if this makes you uncomfortable, but can you like…spy on him, maybe? Just for like, a second, to see what's wrong.” He should’ve seen the dirty looks coming from a mile away.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Mike?! That's a complete invasion of his privacy, he’d hate you- he’d hate us!”
Mike tossed his hands up, frustrated. “I get that, okay?! But Will obviously doesn’t trust us, and I know we shouldn’t rush this, but the more time we waste, the worst it’ll get! I have been a shitty friend to him, okay?! And I don’t deserve for him to open up to me, but I can’t stand around and do nothing while he suffers! Just…please, El?”
Eleven looked conflicted, but she settled with a sigh. “Okay, I will.” Mike gave her a thankful look. “For Will.” He echoed her statement.
In five minutes, El sat beside the obnoxious television, the rest of the party surrounding her. Blindfold bound tight around her head, she concentrated intensely on Will. She silenced one of the party members that wouldn’t let her centralize before she finally found Will, and her eyes shot open. She was in the black abyss.
She found Will, on his bed, reading some sort of comic book. He appeared absentminded and fatigued, she registered. Under examination, you could notice his pasty skin, and his eyes dragged with each blink, like staying awake was a challenge in itself.
(“What's he doing?” Mike asked from the exterior world.)
“Reading. He looks tired” She responded.
“Will, sweety, breakfast is ready! I’m going to work and Jonathan is going out!” Joyce yelled from the front door, hearing Will yell back an “okay!” before she left and shut the door. Jonathan followed soon after her.
He sighed, before leaving his bed to go see the food ready for him. It was toast with butter, as well as eggs on the side. He seemed to cringe at the panorama of them, before clasping the plate and chucking the food into the trash. His eyes shut, and tears wedge their way out. He placed the dish in the sink, before rushing toward the washroom.
El frowned. “He threw his breakfast away,” she informed the others, before entering the washroom as well.
(That caused them to look at each other in worry as if their questions had been answered from such a move. “Anything else?”)
Will sat in front of the toilet, coughing until vomit reached the toilet bowl. He gagged and retched, coughs interrupting his shallow breaths. When the vomiting ceased, he flushed the toilet and washed his mouth. While raising his hands to his mouth, his sleeves inclined a bit, revealing his scarily slim arms. The angry red marks stuck out against his milk-white skin.
El awoke with a gasp, throwing the blindfold off of her head. She wiped the blood that pooled out of her nose, eyes wide when she looks at the Party. “He started…puking. He looked really sick, Mike, and scared and so- so tired. He’s not safe, there’s something wrong.” She breathed out in unease.
Mike shot up immediately, rushing to leave the room before anyone could stop him. Tears trail down his face because how could he have been so damn stupid? His friend ( best friends. They were supposed to be best friends) was suffering and he had accomplished nothing short of ignoring and throwing him to the side. Now, he was hurting and isolated, he didn’t trust Mike, couldn’t trust Mike. And Mike couldn’t even blame Will, because really, what had Mike done at all throughout the summer that could produce Will to think any different? The endless requests to play DnD were met with mocking and belittling comments, hangouts revoked so he could be with El, and the argument he had been too prideful to admit that he was wrong.
“Mike! Mike, where are you going?” Dustin yelled, the rest following after him.
Mike grabbed his bike, “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going to Will, whether you guys come or not.” Dustin dragged his hands down his face at his friend's stubbornness.
“What, you’re gonna go barge into his house and question him? What exactly are you going to say, ‘ Oh, El used her powers to spy on you and we think you have an eating disorder!’, how do you think he’ll respond to that?” Max crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him.
Mike paused, his body shaking and tears escalating into silent sobs. “I don’t know, but I can’t just stand here and do nothing. I’ve been doing fucking nothing all summer. You guys- you don’t understand, all I’ve done is hurt him, I need to fix this.”
Lucas sighed, “We will, but if we confront him now, he’ll just continue to push us away. We need to be careful about this.”
“...Fine.”
__
They left Mike’s house at eight, and in reality, it was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours of all of them waiting for the Byer’s household front door to be opened. The knocking was unanswered, and the lights were closed as if no one had been home in years. They yelled for Will from the outside, the rain drowning out their exclamations. El took a step forward, and with eyes lowered and blood coating her nose, the door was unlocked and creaking open.
“This was a terrible idea,” Lucas says distressed because, despite what he said about doing this carefully, they still went barging in without a plan. He was ignored.
They halted in front of Will’s bedroom door, and not a sound was created. It was shut, with no lights on, but you could hear the soft breaths of someone inside. Actuality shortly struck them, and they wavered, because what exactly would they articulate to Will?
But Mike was done standing about, and he knocked on the door faintly. “Will?” The breathing stuttered, and shifting could be heard from the inside, though there was continued silence. “Will, can you please open the door?” Will was still unresponsive, and Mike slid down the door and curled into himself.
“Will, uh, It’s Dustin. Lucas, Max, and El are here as well, and obviously Mike. Sorry, I guess we kind of broke into your house, but we really need to talk to you.” The silence was overbearing, and Dustin let out a sigh in defeat. Each of them seized an opportunity at trying to get a response from the boy on the other side, and each failed.
Mike started again, and he finally, finally said everything he had to say. “Will- fuck, how do I even start. I’ve been such a shitty friend, and I know that I don’t deserve to have you forgive me, but please hear me out. I’m sorry, I'm so sorry that I pushed you away and that I never tried to think about what you were going through. We used to be so close, I used to be able to tell everything that was going on in your head, but now, I couldn’t feel further apart from you. And it’s my fault because it’s always my fault. You’re the kindest, bravest, and most amazing person ever, and I haven’t treated you like you were as of late. And, about the argument we had, you were right. The party was falling apart, but I was too caught up to see it, too caught up to understand how you were affected by it. We shouldn’t have ignored you or faulted you for wanting to play DnD. You’ve been through so much and we just stomped all over everything you wanted to do and walked away.”
He gasped for breath, tears flooding his face. He ignored the flabbergasted faces of his friends, because Mike Wheeler, the most stubborn of stubborn, was admitting all of his faults. But he wasn’t done, and he needed Will to know everything. “Im sorry for ignoring you, for not noticing that you were hurting, for that stupid fight we had, and I’m so sorry that I’m only apologizing now. Sorry doesn’t even cut it, Will, you deserve to be angry, to lash out, to blame me for everything. But please, please don’t hurt yourself like this. I can’t stand the fact you’re enduring this alone.”
It was quiet, and Mike was burying his face in his knees, vanquish sinking into his shoulders as they curled inward. But, quietly, and if you weren’t bearing any alert, you would’ve missed it, shuffling commenced again from behind the door. And when the door opened slowly, Mike’s rigid form shot up, and he zipped around straight away. He finally sees where his ignorance led him to. Will was shaking, eyes red and soaked with tears. The door was barely open a few inches, but Mike couldn’t help widen it more and drench Will in a hug.
He thinks he’ll sob again because his best friend was so light under him. His weak grip on the back of Mike’s shirt, his pale face, and sunken eye bags. The sight had shocked him into plunging fear, because how could he let Will get to this point? But he solely hugged him securely and made sure to let Will know that he was here, and he wasn’t leaving. Will sobbed into Mike’s shoulder, his entire form shuddering, and they slide down the door frame, still wrapped in an embrace. Apologies flood out of his mouth, and Mike could do nothing but endeavor to alleviate him. Eventually, Max sat down beside them, followed by Lucas, Dustin, and El.
They hadn’t been capable of doing anything earlier, but then is then, and now is now. They will do something now, and together, Will would be okay. Eventually.