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Find Jonathan. Find Jonathan. Find Jonathan. Will repeated to himself frantically, breaths hiccupping and stuttering in his chest as he fought the urge to cry. The cold nipped and stung his fresh bruises, but Will was willing to suffer through the pain if it meant he could reach the safety of his older brother.
Jonathan was at the big school down the block, Will knew.
“Just a few streets from where you are at the elementary school, see? It’s not so far.” His brother’s voice spoke from his memories, reassuring Will slightly.
Jonathan always stayed behind after school to help out the school’s yearbook club. Will now stood in front of a large building emblazoned with green and orange. This had to be the one, right?
Swallowing thickly, Will tugged at the heavy door with his good hand and slid into the silent halls. Silent, save for an echoing murmur of voices that faintly reached his ears.
Fresh pain washed through him from his bad wrist and cheek, already swelling uncomfortably. The reminder of his injuries and the memories behind them caused a fresh wave of tears to glaze over Will’s vision. He shook, trying to suppress his sobs.
Boys don’t cry.
Will stumbled forward, following the voices he heard in cruel hope that it would be the school’s yearbook committee. As he wandered closer, he started to make out the words being said.
“You creep down the dark, empty halls wreathed in shadows… and perhaps something more.”
Will looked around the dimly lit halls of the school nervously. He sniffled. The voice was wrong. There were only shadows here. Nothing else.
“Out of the corner of your eye, you see something twitch.”
Something seemed to shift just outside of his vision, and Will whirled around, panting. The first couple of tears broke their way free and trailed down his face. There was nothing there. Nothing. Just Will, the shadows, and the voice.
“Such a pussy.” His father’s voice sneered in the back of his mind and Will shivered again. Steeling himself, he made his way further down the hall. He wasn’t a pussy. Jonathan said so. He just needed to find Jonathan, and everything would be okay.
A skittering noise reached Will’s ears from the direction of the voice. “Scritch- scratch.” The voice intoned.
Will was almost to the door now.
“Scritch- scratch.” The harsh scraping noise continued from beyond the door to mimic the voice’s ominous words.
“You approach the noise. Closer. Closer.”
Will put his good arm against the door. He pushed lightly against it, and it slowly cracked open.
“ARGH!” The voice exploded.
Will screamed and toppled backward, his hands naturally reaching out to break his fall. His vision went white as his weight landed on his bad wrist, mouth opening wide in another attempt to scream without sound.
IthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurts
Will gasped for breath, frantically trying to get himself under control.
“Freak.” His father spat.
Eventually the pain faded enough for Will to hear exclamations of excitement and horror beyond the roaring of blood in his ears. The people beyond the door didn’t seem to have noticed his disturbance, clearly acting loud enough to have covered up his earlier noise.
He scrambled to his hands and knees, pushing up against the door again and crawling through into the room beyond. Find Jonathan.
It was an empty classroom with all the lights turned off save for a few illuminating a table in the center. Four boys were crouched over it, being the main source of the noise.
“Oh, god, we’ll never escape now!” One boy moaned, draping himself over the table dramatically and sending a couple of the plastic figurines that were sitting on the table flying.
Will shuffled closer, careful to hide evidence of his presence in the shadows. None of the boys seemed to notice, at any rate, all too preoccupied with their… game? Was it a game? He wasn’t quite sure. This wasn’t the yearbook club, was it?
The boy at the head of the group let out a yelp at the upset of the table the other one caused, smacking him over the head harshly.
“The Juju stumble closer as you blather along like an idiot instead of moving your ass. Roll for initiative, dipshit.” The boy twirled a piece of curly dark hair around his finger idly, eyes sparkling with his lips spread in a sharp grin.
Will couldn’t help but stare at the boy, all angles and pointed edges. Slowly, still cradling his throbbing wrist, he inched closer, careful to stay crouched behind the piled desks that sat in the dark.
The dramatic boy who scattered the table sent a strange die clattering across its surface, which Will noted was draped with a tattered old board with weird sketches across it. Will couldn’t help but stare at the drawing. They were strange, but also... pretty.
He crept still closer to get a better look at it. Will’s hands itched with the urge to grab his overused crayon nubs and recreate something like it on paper. He could already imagine the symbols covering his walls, decorating it with the essence of something more.
“Ten! I got a ten!” The dramatic boy exclaimed. He gulped, glancing worriedly at the dark-haired boy, who sat imperiously above him.
He chuckled. “So you have chosen the difficult path. The Juju lunges- ”
Will was enthralled. The way the boy spoke reminded him of Mike when his best friend told stories, putting his entire being into conveying the message he wanted Will to hear. The world could have ended at that very moment, and Will would not notice, nor would he care.
It was a tale of the undead, creeping forward steadily in their mission to destroy all life. The Juju were jealous of the brightness the world offered and used every aspect of their miserable existence to darken others, ever since they had been made hollow through the extinguishing of their own energy. All of this, thanks to an evil dark wizard hell-bent on taking defenceless towns for himself in a mad grab for power.
It was up to the brave Paladin, resourceful Ranger, and bold Barbarian to save them all.
Will forgot about the throbbing in his face and wrist, sinking to the floor behind the desks cross-legged. His new position laid him just to the right of the dark-haired storytelling boy. For once, his father’s voice was silent in his head, inaudible beyond the moaning of zombies and war cries of the heroes.
The game seemed to last a thousand years. It only ended when the Ranger used the final bolt of their crossbow to strike out the last of the Juju in a battle that would be commemorated by the rescued villages for years to come.
Will frowned faintly at the ending. Something about it seemed oddly... rushed. Perhaps it was only his wish that the game could last longer, but- no, something really seemed off about the whole story-
His thoughts were disrupted by a rush of movement. The boys chattered excitedly as books and papers were shoved into backpacks, chairs pushed back and feet pounding towards the door. He felt a sense of loss as the aching of his wrist seemed to double without anything to distract him.
“See you, Munsen!” The dramatic boy called as he sauntered out the door, leaving only the dark-haired boy behind. He began gathering the pieces of the game together, including the black figurines that represented the Juju zombie horde.
Realization hit Will harder than his father’s fists and he couldn’t keep himself from blurting out, “But the crossbow wasn’t magical!”
“ GAH!” The boy shrieked, whirling to face Will and throwing the figurines at him in a panic. Will winced as the plastic clattered against his bruised cheek before falling to the floor.
“Ow.” He muttered.
“What the hell why is there a small child sitting in the dark like a fucking gremlin-”
“ My name is Will and I’m really sorry!” Will blurted, feeling pinned beneath the boy’s frantic gaze. He immediately regretted saying anything in the first place. He licked his lips nervously, debating his next words before forging ahead anyway, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you or anything. I just- I got lost. But... the zombies can’t be harmed by normal attacks, you said so. How could’ve the crossbow killed the last of the Juju if it didn’t have magical prop- propert- properties?” He stumbled over the word, flushing bright red.
Stupid.
The boy stared at Will with an almost... baffled stare, panic receding. There was a beat of silence, and Will wished with everything in himself that he could turn invisible- or better yet, erase the last few minutes of his life.
The dark-haired boy pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other running through his curls agitatedly. “Figures that the five-year-old in the corner is the one to figure it out. I can’t get away with one short cut-” He muttered under his breath despairingly.
Will frowned. Wariness aside, he couldn’t let the boy’s comment pass. “I’m not five. I’m eight!” He protested.
The boy dropped his hands to his sides to look directly into Will’s eyes.
Will could pinpoint the moment that the boy saw his bruises. Surprisingly, he didn’t comment on them, instead choosing to look into Will’s face. “The eight-year-old in the corner, then. The name’s Eddie, kid. You’re a sharp one, huh?” He smiled, something strangely wild in his gaze. “Winter break’s coming up quick, and I needed the campaign to finish before the idiots left their braincells behind entirely. I didn’t have time for them to blunder their way to the enchanted quiver of arrows and back out again.”
Will’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But then you could’ve just-” He clapped his good hand over his mouth hastily, silencing himself before he could cause any more problems. The boy- Eddie- had been nice enough to tolerate him as long as he had already.
“Just shut up already, for crying out loud!” His father's voice hissed faintly in his brain. No, Will would not make that mistake again.
Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asked. Will was caught off guard. Eddie looked... not quite angry, but not happy either. Will wasn’t sure if that face was good or bad, and felt faint stirrings of panic within him at the realization.
“How would you do it?”
It took a moment for Will to register the question. He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, instead of the Juju attacking at the-”
“No, no.” Eddie interrupted instantly- loudly- and Will flinched back, startled. “Not like that.” He placed one hand at Will’s back and the other gripping his wrist, forcefully pulling him up.
Will found himself manhandled into Eddie’s vacated seat behind the worn binder. The dark-haired boy sat down in the seat next to him, looking down expectantly at Will.
“It’s not a science experiment, it’s a story.” He threw his hands out theatrically. “A performance. So.” Eddie swept a hand out to Will, who stared up at him with wide hazel eyes. “Give me a show, kid.”
Will swallowed. “I- I don’t- I’m no good at stories. There’s so many words, and- and- they get all mixed up and so loud -”
No one had ever asked him to do that before. Never asked him to perform, to be loud or the center of attention. His mom, Jonathan, Mike, Lonnie… all of them always preferred him to be quiet, unassuming.
If Will was quiet, then his dad wouldn’t remember just how freaky his son was.
If Will was quiet, then he could listen to the wild tales that Mike spun with shining eyes and a soft smile.
If Will was quiet, Jonathan could go out with his camera alone without having to look after his little brother.
If Will was quiet, then his mom could focus on keeping them afloat instead of an overbearing child.
Will... didn’t know how to be loud.
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, feeling an all-too familiar prickle behind his eyes. For some reason, the thought of disappointing this strange boy seemed unbearable.
The boy in question seemed to notice his distress, because he sighed, shaking his head. Will felt his heart sink, but when Eddie looked up, he was smiling faintly. He reached out, rapping his knuckles against Will’s forehead, careful to avoid his bruises. Will yelped, bringing a hand up to clutch at his head in surprise.
“Take all those thoughts crammed up in your brain and let them out. I know you’ve got ‘em.”
Will stared down at the table in embarrassment, eyes catching on the symbols decorating the board.
“Such a queer. ”
Something in Will cracked.
There, sitting in the dim light of a messy classroom, he opened his mouth and gave Eddie Munson the performance of his life.
It started out halting, words soft but firm. As Will got into the cadence of the story, he became more animated, arms waving in emphasis and eyes sparkling. He let himself get sucked into the world of monsters and swords, of warriors and zombies and magic .
Eddie remained an audience member. He let his chin rest in the palms of his hands, listening intently, interrupting only with murmurs of encouragement of exclamations of surprise.
Will was panting by the time he finished. His mouth ached; he wondered for a moment if he had strained the bruise on his jaw. When he lifted a hand to his mouth, however, he found the stretch came from the inescapable wide smile on his face.
Eddie clapped lazily. Will stared up at him through his bangs shyly.
“Was it... good?” Will asked hesitantly. He anticipated an accusation of fishing for compliments , but Eddie only looked throughtful.
“Well, you’re right. Your storytelling’s shit. But you have something better, anyway.” He laughed at Will’s baffled (and slightly hurt) expression.
“What, you think everyone goes around pointing out the mistakes in my campaigns?” Eddie leaned forward, eyes glittering. Will couldn’t stop himself from tilting inward to listen, each word Eddie spoke feeling heavy with importance.
“You watch. You listen. You get it. You can feel it, can’t you?” Eddie tilted his head backward with his eyes closed in a strange serenity.
“Feel what?” Will asked, voice hushed.
“The magic, kid.” Eddie collapsed back into himself. He wiggled his fingers in Will’s face, grinning. “There’s a whole world of magic and mystery out there, but most of the troglodytes around here don’t want to see it. They’d rather live out their dull little lives all perfect and neat and pretty- blind.” He spat, disgust twisting up his features before turning to Will and smiling again, softening. “But you- you get it.”
“The magic.” Will whispered, in awe.
“The magic.” Eddie agreed solemnly. “A lot of people think that DnD is nothing more than a board game.” He shrugged. “Maybe it is. But I see it as so much more.” Eddie gazed across the empty game board with a faraway stare. “Whole worlds. So much more than Hawkins.” He nodded at Will, “So much more than the dickhead who gave you those.”
The words poured an ice bucket over the reverie Will sat in. He flinched violently, shaking his head. “No. He- he didn’t mean to. If I hadn’t been-”
“What?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Existing? Breathing? Being strange, being weird, being a-”
“Freak.” Will finished, barely breathing anymore.
How did Eddie seem to just... get it, so easily? Mike had never understood, couldn’t understand- so how could this boy who he’d only met a couple minutes ago possibly understand?
He couldn’t. He didn’t. If he did, then he would know that it really was Will’s own fault.
Eddie seemed to catch on the moment Will’s features hardened. He sighed. “How ‘bout this, kid. When you get to be as old as I am, you look up this thing called Hellfire, yeah? Us freaks gotta stick together.”
“Hellfire?” Will asked quietly.
“The name of our club. It's all about DnD. Dungeons and Dragons. Started just this year.” Eddie gestured proudly to the expanse of the board in front of them. “You’ve got talent, gremlin, so don’t you go forgetting.”
“I’m not a gremlin!” Will pouted, frustration nearly forgotten in the face of Eddie’s change in attitude. He couldn’t stop the faint suspicion that lingered, however, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The old chair legs wobbled, squeaking with Will’s anxious rocking.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Eddie paused, grin faltering. He looked nervous for the first time since Will had met him. “Is there somewhere, uh, safe that I can get you to for the moment?”
Will gasped. “Jonathan!” He couldn’t believe he had forgotten in the face of everything that had happened that day. “My brother. I was looking for him when I got lost.” Will shoved himself off the stool with a screech, bolting to the heavy door and hauling it open despite Eddie’s protests from behind him.
He was forced to a stop when a pale hand snatched the back of his jacket, hauling him backwards.
“Whoa, kid.” Eddie cautioned, pulling Will away from the door. “Do you even know where your Jonathan is right now? I can’t let you just wander off to get lost in the woods for a week or something-”
“He’s in the school!” Will insisted, trying to free himself from Eddie’s grip. “He told me! He stays after for the yearbook club.”
Eddie’s brow furrowed. “The yearbook club doesn’t meet after school up here, kid.”
Will’s stomach dropped. “What? But- but he said- he said he was just down the street. The big building down the street, he said-”
Eddie seemed to sense Will’s spiraling panic. He crouched down to the eight-year-olds level, dropping both hands to meet Will’s shoulders.
“Hey, gremlin, cool it. How old is this brother of yours?”
“He- he just turned twelve.” Will sniffled, blinking back frantic tears.
Boys don’t cry boys don’t cry boys don’t cry-
Eddie laughed. “There you go then. You walked a bit too far there, kid, because this is the high school.”
“The high school?” Will asked in a small voice.
“Yup.” Eddie popped the p. “Hawkins Tigers for the win!” He cheered sarcastically.
“So- so Jonathan-”
“Should be just up the hill that way.” Eddie finished, pointing a hand towards the direction of the side doors.
Will’s heart was pounding, thudding steadily in a beat of Jonathan Jonathan Jonathan. Twisting, he ducked beneath Eddie’s outstretched arms and bolted down the hall to the doors without pausing.
“Kid, wait-”
“Bye Eddie! I won’t forget about Hellfire!” Will called, glancing behind himself. Eddie sat crouched in the dim lit of the classroom, face screwed up in a way that Will couldn’t help but giggle at.
He couldn’t find it in himself to be scared like he had walking into the school. He had the magic. Eddie said so.
Will couldn’t wait to tell Mike everything. He thought that his best friend would love this Dungeons and Dragons more than anything else.