Chapter Text
June 1985
One minute. Two. Three.
Will waits until the nightmare's effects wear off; until his body isn't frozen, his mind racing with a million thoughts he can't keep up with. He can't remember what has him stifled, not that it truly matters. It could be any moment in his life because it’s been in shambles since the beginning.
(He knows it's not fair— that he was as happy as he could be at some point. But it's so long ago, so far removed from his memory, that he's not sure if that "point in time" ever occurred in the first place.)
Four minutes. Five. Six.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. He's out of the Upside Down. He’s safe. The Mind Flayer isn’t there anymore and isn’t capable of reaching him.
Stretching his limbs, he’s in control. His body is still his. Will just needs to wait until his brain finally reaches that conclusion and calms itself.
(People are screaming; blood is on the wall, and dead bodies litter the floor. While his friends and family will blame the shadow monster for his possession's consequences, Will knows he's the one who spilled the blood. It was his hand that pointed to the trap, and he was the one who listened to the Shadow Monster’s command. Whether influenced or not, the weight of his actions will always leave a deep chasm inside of him.)
Seven minutes. Eight. Nine.
“Will! Come on, get out of bed; you have school.”
(He killed Bob. Bob, who didn’t coddle him, truly cared and sympathized. A life that was taken, a life that was far more valuable than his. Day after day, he lies in bed and pretends that he’s moving on like everyone else seems to. That the world isn’t practically caving in on him. And day after day, he is confronted with reality.)
Deep breath in for one, two, three, four, and five. Deep breath out; six, seven, eight, nine—
Ten minutes.
Will's headache fades away, replaced by a numb sensation. His eyes are burning, his breathing is painful, and his ears are buzzing incessantly.
Even though the Mind Flayer incident occurred almost a year ago, days such as these continue to be frequent. He often used to assume that the trauma of being imprisoned in the Upside Down for a week, foraging for food while attempting to avoid becoming a meal for a blood-hungry monster himself, would be the end of it. He was mistaken. He is still occasionally reminded of the entire month of October, which involves all the awful days that passed during his time under the shadow monster's command. How he was forced to watch as he gradually lost control of his life, allowing something that had no other intention than to cause harm to seize control and obliterate everything that used to be Will’s . And as more time passed since the incident, it had just gone and got shittier because he no longer could have Mike. Will had foolishly assumed that Mike would be by his side no matter what he was going to go through, and Mike had been there with him throughout the entire process.
However, he had completely misunderstood his friend's presence in his life because as soon as it appeared that Will was no longer in imminent danger, he turned and ran to be alongside Eleven. Amidst it all, the truth that Michael Wheeler no longer wants to be in Will's life seems to have been what crushed him.
“Hey, baby. Finish your breakfast, and you’re okay biking to school, right? Jonathan left early to pick up Nancy and I can’t be late again today.” She walks over, moving the hair out of his face, and kisses his forehead.
Inhale and exhale. It's the final week of school; surely he'll be capable of maintaining his episodes until summer break.
He hugs his mom goodbye at the door and was left alone as a result. Will treasures the liberty of being by himself, where no one can hear or see him. In contrast, he also looks around him for danger. The last time he was alone, he was screaming for his mother and brother and running from a monstrosity that a 12-year-old Will couldn't ever hope to comprehend.
(Only two years later, he has become that monstrosity. Something that draws out fear from those around him. He’ll lock that thought away in a box, never to be dealt with again.)
Will shivers as he examines the food that was prepared just for him. There is a heavy feeling pressing down against him with each pedal stroke of his bike, and he ultimately left his home without finishing his meal. Similar to the way that the Mind Flayer once tore at his brain for an entry, he chooses to ignore the twisted spike of pain that is gnawing at him for any type of nourishment, his body weighed down by exhaustion.
It was a familiar feeling.
It’s also an unfortunately familiar feeling, being shoved against a locker.
In recent years, bullying had declined— at least for Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. But given that he gets the worst treatment of the four of them, it would appear that Will is still a popular target for harassment. At the beginning of the year, when the group would come together to support him, it was manageable; however, these days, he is frequently left on his own as the others talk about plans with their girlfriends and various other things. Thankfully, Dustin still lingers alongside him the majority of the time, and when Max is present, the bullies flee like flies.
Alas, today he is alone. Due to his camp, Dustin left for summer vacation early, and Max was nowhere to be found. He was in his most defenseless state, and it seems that people noticed. He comes to the conclusion that it is reasonable to assume that the day will not be pleasant when the first event upon entering the building is being shoved up against a locker and having death wished upon you. Although he thinks when they make light of his friends' absence, it stings the most.
“Even if they are freaks, at least they know not to hang around a queer.”
He shoves away from them and stumbles off to the bathroom. They chase after him until a teacher blocks and scolds them for causing a ruckus. “That’s right, run away! Pussy.”
The bathroom door opens with a slam as he makes a beeline to the stalls, and he curls up in one of them, safe from the prying eyes of others, to cry in isolation until morning class begins.
He listens as students filter in and out of the washroom, steps paced with the anxiety of the morning bell ringing while they rush to make it to class. It’s amusing, that all they’re fearful of is getting reprimanded by teachers for their tardiness. That, long ago, all he was afraid of was his teacher, Gursky, surprising him with another pop quiz.
That long ago, all he had to worry about was how long Mrs. Wheeler would allow them to stay in the basement past eight. Or if the storm that passed by Hawkins would cause Castle Byers to fall (a storm of emotion would end up being the downfall of his beloved childhood hut, but Will wasn’t quite aware of that, not yet.)
Will used to be just like the kids just outside of the stall, oblivious and unaware of the horror living just underneath them. Sometimes, even if it meant never meeting Eleven and Max, he wishes he could go back to the way it was before. Guilt always trails behind these wishes, but he thinks he could live with the guilt if it meant taking away the torment of the last two years.
The bathroom door opens, footsteps fade, the morning bell rings.
( The Hawkins Lab alarm rings loudly, people screaming becoming audible. Will warns the—he does, but it’s too late. The demodogs are already infiltrating the building, slaughtering anyone in their sight.
The creatures tearing through skin and eating their victims flash in his mind, and as if he’s one of them, he relishes the sensations as well.)
There are people cursing, rushing out, and dragging their friends along with them to class. He waits, waits for the silence to return, for the panic to subside. Three kids left, two, then one. It’s just Will. It’s always just him now. At school, at home, in his head, it’s just Will. Little Zombie Boy, wandered too far into the forest and stepped into a cold, cruel world, returning forever damaged.
The events that followed after his disappearance are a consequence of his outliving death, repercussions that others have to suffer with him.
He staggers into class and falls onto his seat, and when Lucas and Mike shoot him confused looks but don’t push past that, he exhales a sigh of relief. In some ways, their apathy makes it easier to exist among them while falsely claiming to be perfectly alright.
It repeats; the next day, and the one after that, almost as if he's in a time loop. His final few days at school are just a miserable experience, and he endures alone. In the near past, Mike often remained by his side and helped him through every little inconvenience he encountered.
Will shudders as a chill racks his spine, and tries to think about those simpler times throughout the last few hours of school.
Splinters impair his hands, as he tears down Castle Byers; brings a bat down at its structure, rainwater sinking into his clothing. The ground is rough against his aching knees, sobs racking his body. He thinks of the DnD game he spent so long preparing for, of the words Mike threw at him. The remark sinks into his body and ceases the air from entering his lungs; doesn’t allow Will the luxury of breathing when he shouldn’t really be alive in the first place.
(“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”)
The lack of oxygen helps him recall the agony of breathing in the atmosphere of the Upside Down. When the air harshly intruded his body as if it were a solid rather than a gas, scratching painfully down his throat, compressing his lungs and leaving him suffocating on the effort of merely existing.
It took his body far too long to readjust to the conditions of the ordinary world again when he returned from the Upside Down, and Will sometimes wished it never had. He desired his body to simply forget how to breathe and leave him gasping until his last dying breath. But he was never meant for easy endings. No, being killed by someone filled to the brim with hatred for individuals such as himself is a far more likely death. If his father and bullies managed to see through him, surely it’s only a matter of time before someone takes action against him.
Because he’s broken; Loving your best friend is normal— natural even. The person who’s been by your side through thick and thin, and hangs by you despite seeing your worst sides. But it’s different for Will. His best friend is a boy. And no matter what, his best friend will never love him back, because Will is a boy too.
They were always right. He was a freak— a dirty queer whose taking advantage of his oblivious friend. If his father, the bullies, and now Mike were able to notice it, it’s only so long before everyone knows.
Will Byers. Will the Wise. Zombie boy. From start to finish, a mistake.
“Will! Will, what happened? Are you okay?”
Castle Byers lays in the wreckage, and Will isn’t able to let that settle in before the Upside Down crawls back into his life.
March 1986
Nothing. The mailbox is empty, besides one lone letter, addressed to a “Jane Hopper.” Never before had Will yearned to see his cursed name written upon a piece of paper.
California had somehow managed to become the worst and best thing that has happened in Will’s life. The Upside Down no longer being at every corner he turned, and restarting his life with people who knew nothing of his history was a blessing. However, his happiness was dimmed by the lack of his friend’s presence.
However, he is beginning to believe that their absence is no longer involuntary. The 2000-mile distance between them can account for their physical distance, but Will was running out of explanations why they weren't bothering to contact him at all. Throughout the torturous five months in California, there were no letters, only a few phone calls, and complete radio silence. Will knows they can reach out, whether it's through a letter, no matter how brief, or a phone call that doesn't have to last hours, as he had dared to hope, but then why hadn’t they?
He's never felt more alone in his life than he has over the last five months. Of course, he keeps his mouth shut and complies with his friend's wishes to be removed from their lives, praying nothing worse occurs.
So naturally, it does. Everything bad that could possibly happen, happens, and it hits him smack dab in the face.
His birthday goes forgotten, Mike blows him off throughout the whole day, and El is humiliated in front of everyone. It’s not long after that she then proceeds to deck Angela’s head with a rollerskate, and he and Mike have a heated argument as they have been having for what he thinks is approaching two years, El gets arrested, they get shot at, and escape narrowly with their lives.
Oh, and they bury a corpse in the middle of the desert, Argyle gets high, and they spend the rest of the day driving around in the hopes of finding “Nina."
But at least he and Mike reconciled, right?
Wrong.
He tries to tell Mike about his excruciating love but conceals himself behind Eleven's name. Mike, ever oblivious, cracks a smile as though nothing has happened in the last few days and would seem to have sorted his shit regarding El. He's holding the painting gently in his hands, and it kills Will that his best friend would never be as delicate if he knew the true nature of the piece— who it came from. And Will is back where he started: in love with no hope of ever unveiling it. It’s fitting, in a cruel way.
It’s fitting that he would end up just like his father predicted. Even after everything the man had done to his family, the hatred he’d held for Will was at least deserved. Because what Will told Mike, feeling like a mistake because you’re different, was only the surface of what he felt towards himself. He doesn’t just feel like he’s a mistake, he knows he is. Deep down, everyone else, no doubt, knows too.
Everything that happens after that is a shitshow, and he just goes along for the ride. Somewhere within, impending doom nags at him, warning him that he will not be so fortunate this time.
He ignores the warnings and continues on, listening to the obnoxious beeps of Max’s heart detected on the machine. Perhaps that's what he wants— to not be so lucky anymore. For the world to deal him a final blow, for everything to fade to black. It’s a selfish thought, especially when Lucas tells them of Max’s final moments, where she cries for a second chance at life.
Will doesn’t deserve this opportunity to live when Max’s was robbed of her. When he can’t appreciate being alive as much as she could.
April 1986
Nearly a month following the earthquake (?) in Hawkins.
He believes it began that day in the flower field, with the Upside Down slowly spreading and decaying everything in its path. The day on the field was when he encountered the first indication of his approaching fate.
He reaches up a hand to his face to swipe at the recent uncomfortable feeling under his nose and above his mouth. A streak of blood taunts him when he pulls his hand back and observes it, the ruby now smeared across his hand sinking into his skin.
Will naively disregards it, unaware of its implications at the time.
The nosebleeds ensued every now and then, but their occurrences varied, and he spent the next month attempting to counteract the tragedy engulfing his hometown. The majority of his time was spent visiting Max and volunteering at the school, and he couldn't help but be grateful for the distractions.
It was bittersweet to reside with Max in the hospital room, always accompanied by Lucas reading or simply talking to her. Will was far more pessimistic about her condition than his friends because her form was practically lifeless. Of course, he didn't say anything, just smiled whenever Lucas assumed he had seen a motion in her hand. He doesn't say much of the truth anymore, and who is he to dampen his friend's spirit?
Life appeared to be going on a repetitive path like it had last year before the summer break. Sometimes that fact messed with Will's head, leaving him unsure if time had progressed at all from the day before. The same mundane routine sinking into his very core until he loses his mind from the redundant motion of his life. When he looks around, it's clear that everyone is attempting to deal with some sort of crisis, so he supposes it's irrelevant that he periodically starts wondering if he’s stuck in some sort of time loop.
He was at his wit's end, to say the least, and it, apparently, was becoming painfully obvious to everyone. Dustin, Steve, and Robin, while at the shelter, made an attempt to strike up a conversation with him in hopes of eliciting a confession. His mother, El, and Jonathan were troubled, the slightest change in his demeanor arousing their suspicion and, regrettably, their attention as well. Instead of their usual silent comfort, Lucas had been more engaging (talkative, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the underlying reason) in Will's time at the hospital, speaking about topics that had no real value in the grand scheme of things.
And Mike? Well, Will remembered desperately grasping for Mike’s attention the year before, and now he wanted nothing more than for Mike to stop noticing him. He’s thrown back into 1984 when the Mind Flayer was tormenting Will’s life, and his best friend was a constant, an unmovable force in his life, and now he has that again, but it’s too much to handle. There’s never been more distance between him and Mike than there is now.
And that distance was all his doing. He was pushing away anyone who so much as threatened to tear the last thread of Will’s sanity. Not that his sanity was all that intact anymore, especially when he could feel Vecna looming over him.
Even in his sleep, he was never freed from the Upside Down’s grip on his life. While nightmares weren’t exactly foreign to him, these were different. Worse. They were the same every night. It started with the Upside Down, the week he spent there, and then the Mind Flayer possessing and using him. But it always ended with his friends; Of them leaving him behind, forgetting he ever existed in the first place. And they were happy, no longer with a person who only brings pain and suffering. No longer burdened by a mistake.
When he awakes from his terrors, he is facing Mike’s closet, alone.
Today is no exception. Will takes in gasps of breaths, ones that enter too fast and leave quicker, holding his hand to his chest to quell the pang of his strained breathing.
Deep breath in. One, two, three, four, and five.
(The Demogorgon's hollers are deafening, they sound all around him and he squeezes his eyes impossibly tighter. Hands covering his ears, he blocks out the sound of the monster pursuing him. The weird girl he saw said that his mom was coming for him. He just has to stay alive for a bit longer.)
Deep breath out. Six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.
(His friends are no longer there. Not when Will’s bullies rear their ugly heads and torment him, and not when Will wants to play a simple game of DnD. Castle Byers destroyed, and friendships along with it. Everyone moves on, and Will is stuck.)
When the nightmare’s influences wear off, he is still the lone one awake. Closing his eyes seems like an invite for more misery, but Will was supposed to go to the hospital, then help at the shelter the next day. He doubts he’d be all that welcome if his eyelids could hardly keep themselves open.
So Will sleeps, and in his slumber, his torments greet him.
It was in Max’s hospital room, with Lucas, that his life began to deviate from a prosaic path.
The entire day had felt...off. There was no other way to phrase it; he was simply depleted from the moment he awoke. The repetitive bloody nose had already been present since morning, only this time it seemed an external force was actively trying to drain all of his blood. A familiar feeling of dread captured him, and every action from the corner of his eye elicited a knee-jerk reaction.
In every dark corner, he couldn’t help but simply stare, at the slimy creatures of the Upside Down moving around in the darkness.
“Thanks for being here, by the way.”
Will looks up to Lucas, who’s gazing at him with suspicion, mixed with gratitude spoken in his words. Will stays silent. He thinks it’s a pretty dense conversation starter, considering Max is his friend, and she’s in a coma indefinitely. Ultimately, he remembers he’s supposed to actually respond.
“Oh, right. It’s nothing, Max she’s…I’m worried for her. I just wish I could’ve been here.” Will looked back down to the corner of the hospital room and is dazed to see that there is nothing there. The gleaming skin of the slugs he was so sure was there, absent.
Lucas returns his vision to the occupant on the bed, before looking back up at Will. “She’s glad you’re here, I know it.” He gave Will a more serious expression, “Hey, I haven’t had the chance to ask you this but, how’re you doing? Must be hard being back in Hawkins after everything, especially now.”
Will’s skin itches at the question. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?” He tried to deflect, find a way to make the conversation about anything other than his crumbling well-being. “You were the one actually here, after all.”
Lucas doesn’t seem to be taking the bait though, “Will. Seriously, I’m worried. We all are— the whole party, we care about you. If something’s wrong, talk to us, or me even.” He adds in as an afterthought, breath stuttering before the words, “I can’t lose anyone else; I can’t lose you too, Will, please.”
We care about you. We care about you.
(“I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay, but we’re not kids anymore. I mean what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. I really did.”)
Then why doesn’t it feel like they do?
(March 22nd. The day was marked with a red circle on the calendar, but in the middle was not Will’s name. In the middle was not a silly little doodle of a birthday cake like it had been years prior. In the center of the date of March 22nd, was Mike. Not Will. Never Will.
A heart was drawn beside it.
Will’s heart cracked just a bit more. Will’s heart was aching with a pain that he didn’t think he could ever forget. No letters, no phone calls, no birthday wishes. Nothing, for a boy who deserves nothing in return.)
Will replaced his gaze back to the dark corner of the room. “I’m fine. It’s fine— it’s okay, Lucas. There’s nothing wrong.”
(“We care about you. I can’t lose you too, Will, please.”)
What a load of bullshit.
Will attempts to make it sound venomous in his head, but he only sounds resigned. Tired, as if he wasn't truly angry that they didn't care about him, just unhappy. He knew the truth but still tried to believe their words of love, despite the fact that their actions spoke of entirely different emotions.
A phantom pain echoed within his skull, and he had to close his eyes to keep from wheezing at the sudden ache. If Lucas did respond, it'd be futile straining to listen, especially as the pulsing intensified and his eyes felt like they were bursting from out their sockets. He brings his knees to his chest, with his palms drilling into his face, and his breathing becomes labored.
There’s a voice in the back of his mind, calling his name, lulling him into false security. It’s an unfamiliar yet familiar voice simultaneously, and it causes the pounding in Will’s head to intensify severely. He thinks he’s crying, but his body feels numb and his mind is static, so he can’t even be bothered to check for sure. Lucas is still there, he knows because his hands are suddenly placed on his, repeatedly calling Will’s name to get his attention.
There are calls for his name, deep and distorted voices, asking him to come back. Sinking their hands into his skin and dragging him back into the Upside down, where he belonged. Will tries to push back, but that almost seems to make them more persistent.
The pain, almost abruptly, fades into a simple ache, and he uncurls himself to look at Lucas, whose eyes are blown wide and terrified, looking straight back at him. He was already exhausted and being bombarded with questions and concerns only further drained his energy.
“I’m fine, Lucas, really I am,” he answers the other’s questionnaire.
Lucas gazes at him, unamused. “Fine, Will? That wasn’t fine, you were freaking out. Come on, just— just talk to me. What was that? Was it-”
Static and his breathing are the only sounds he can hear while everything else recedes into the background. Lucas’s face blurs in his vision, and Will feels somewhat nauseous.
Shut up.
It's loud and bright, the fluorescent lighting exacerbating what was once a minor ache and now returning to that same nightmarish pain. The voices are back, and so are the hands, grabbing at him, begging him to return.
Shut up, please.
Will needs to get out, but Lucas is obstructing the path to the door, and at the current rate, there's really no way he'll allow Will to exit without getting the answers he sought.
Before Will can registerer he’s moved, Lucas is shoved to the side, and he scarcely catches the surprised expression on his face. Will throws open the door and rushes down the corridor. He’s not sure where he’s venturing to, but when a restroom enters his vision, his answer is quickly discovered.
Will grips the sink firmly, steadying himself as his vision dangerously sways, then simply stares. Time seemed to pause, a ticking resounding, even though there wasn’t a clock in the washroom. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there until blood appears and plummets onto the pure white. One, then two, then three times. They merge, pile up, and then slowly descend to the drain, leaving a ruby trail that contrasts with the surroundings.
The blood is rapidly discharging from his nose and he looks up and takes notice of his appearance in the mirror. The crimson liquid continues dropping while he scrubs at it vigorously, but that fails to have significance because more streams out and completely encompass Will's chin, lips, and philtrum. When he turns back to look at the sink, it is splattered with blood, and fear seizes in his throat as he pulls back in terror.
The lights dim, the incessant chatter of the hospital dissipates, and a clock rings aloud.
Will’s head is unexpectedly blank, and he looks around the empty room with fatigue that is quickly becoming expected. The bathroom is empty, despite the occupants that surrounded him before, and darkness encompassed the room. He slowly begins approaching the bathroom door, which has suddenly become far more ominous than he remembered, as his legs tremble, almost like bearing his weight has simply become too much for them. His breath caught as he presses against and pushed the door open, revealing the outside.
Hands trembling, screams echoed throughout the hospital.
Will walks out to an empty main room, no signs of life if it weren’t for the blood that coated the floor and walls. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the chitters of what was undoubtedly a demodog, or maybe a few of them.
For a brief moment or two, there is silence. Then, instantly, Will is running down a hallway, his shoes splashing in the blood that now was smudged to them and the bottom of his pants. He is followed by a squelching noise that is most definitely not his own but that almost sounds like footsteps. It was moving at a slow pace, yet Will still felt as though it was somehow gaining on him.
He reaches a halt at a corner and turns to continue forward, but he freezes in place.
A tall, menacing grandfather clock was located at the very end of the hallway. Bodies were scattered across the ground in the area leading up to the object, and the wounds they bore resembled those caused by demodogs.
The clock chimes. Once. Twice. Three and four times. There are more screams, echoes of demonic creatures, and gunshots. Finally, after a long pause, there’s a fifth chime.
Will finally fell apart. Once the sobs began, they flowed easily from his lips. His back hit the wall, his feet moving in an attempt to establish as much space as possible between himself and the clock on the opposite side of the hallway.
“William.”
…
Will gasped sharply. His eyesight is still blurry, legs still shaking, and ears ringing, but Will ultimately hears the sounds of a busy hospital. Workers and visitors alike gave him strange looks, but otherwise, walk right past him.
Will blinked as the bodies and grandfather clock disappeared. He was still where he had been during his episode (is that the right word for what he had just experienced?) but it wasn't the same icy, forlorn hallway where he'd been witnessing the incident he wanted to be erased from his recollection.
He lifted his hand to his face as something dripped onto the ground beneath him. He looked down, and shock settles in as he finds that the fluid he had just been splashing in and unavoidably getting on his shoes and pants was gone. Even so, the blood that he had observed in the mirror remained around his nose.
Reality melded with imagination, and Will’s head twists trying to garner what was real and what was not.
He left the hospital quickly, although after awkwardly returning to Lucas to utter a farewell. Rushing to the school to help at the refuge like he had promised Dustin he would, was his next journey of the day. His limbs screech in protest, eyes watering, head buzzing with everything and nothing, yet he still continues his trek, if only to think.
“Byers, you came!” Dustin ran up to him, engulfing him in an embrace Will wished he could reciprocate with half of the enthusiasm. “Of course I did.”
They were on PBJ sandwich duty, and Will fell straight into that same repetitive pattern. It almost felt as though his life was returning back to a mundane copy of the past month, but the things he saw while at the hospital haunted his mind; every blink, every moment in that darkness, it would reappear again, flashing pictures in his head.
The unbearable headache resurfaced, and Will should remember to ask Mike if they had anything that would help the pain subside.
“Will.”
He was startled by Dustin’s voice, looking up to notice the boy staring right at him. He clears his throat, his hands frozen and no longer making sandwiches. “Right, sorry.” The ache spread throughout his temple, and each pulse hurt worse than the one previous. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them and continued his task.
Dustin’s eyes never left him though, and he seemed to want to start the dreaded conversation Lucas had formed with Will earlier.
Will wouldn’t let him though. “How’re you doing? I heard what happened…with Eddie.” Perhaps it was underhanded bringing up past wounds, but maybe this is what Dustin needs (And maybe it’s what Will needs too: to ignore his own crises).
It worked effectively, at least. Dustin looked down at his hands, reliving something Will couldn’t even imagine undergoing. “I’m trying to move on, but…he— he died right in front of me, Will. I felt him take his last breath.” He took a shaky inhale, “I could’ve saved him in time— I should’ve saved him in time. But I didn’t, I just watched him die. I was useless. I was useless. ” He repeated again, for good measure.
Will observed Dustin when he caught him from the corner of his eye. He was familiar with the sensation, of feeling insignificant. He never managed to bring anything worthwhile to the table, regardless of where he was or who he was, in contrast to those around him who were all able to contribute. He was nothing more than a curse who spread his misfortune to anyone who gave him any consideration.
Dustin, however, wasn't like that. Because he was required—wanted—he could never be anything else. He was everything that Will wasn't, and he needed to know it too, despite how painful it was. Dustin was struggling, and for the first time in his life, Will can actually do something for someone who deserves it.
“You did everything you could, Dustin. It was impossible for you to know what would happen, and you were there for him until the very end. I’m positive that meant everything to him. He’d never want you to blame yourself, you know that.”
Will doesn’t particularly know Eddie all that well; In fact, the only knowledge he had of him was Mike’s momentary talkative snippets, but it was enough to know that the other seemed like an incredible person. Someone Will wished he could’ve met, someone who didn’t deserve any of what had happened to him. None of his friends and family deserved the short end of the stick they received, and it’s all his fault that they have to suffer through this grief.
Dustin gave a little laugh, “yeah, he told me—,” he smiled, “he told me to never change. I’m sure you guys would’ve gotten along.” One look at him and Dustin’s slight smile turned into a full-sized grin, “Thanks, Will.”
Will returned his attention to the sandwiches, “It’s nothing.”
It was truly nothing because it was just the truth. Dustin was the best friend anyone could ask for, someone who was put through too much, suffered, and yet still carried on. And from what Will knew of him, it seemed Eddie was the same way. He understood why they were close now.
And in the same way, it is also the truth, that Will is the polar opposite. He is unworthy of love, or compassion because he is rotten. William Byers is a coward— a liar and his torment is karma for all the pain he has brought those he loved.
He continues spreading the peanut butter on one loaf, and jelly on another. It seems Dustin is satisfied with the silence, his previous concerns forgotten, as he returns to the same pattern.
Unbeknownst to all his friends, he has less than 24 hours left to live.
11 hours remaining.
“Nightmares.
Headaches.
Nosebleeds.
Hallucinations.
Past Trauma.”
Though it could just be a coincidence, Will considers the universe is maybe just laughing at him. He informed El that Vecna was getting stronger, which Nancy conveniently overheard. In case the worst happens and he goes on a murdering rampage, she made the decision to inform them, along with Jonathan and Mike, of the specifics of Vecna's curse. She hadn't had time to do it sooner because things had been hectic since the "earthquake.” Will came to regret that she had told them anything at all.
Nancy mentioned dying within the next 24 hours, once you’ve seen the grandfather clock. Of course, she also noted that Henry had already obtained his four kills (Max wasn’t dead, but she glossed over that), and he is considerably weaker, so it’s unlikely he’ll use this method again on anyone.
Will has always been the exception to these sorts of rules, it would seem, and now, there is a metaphorical ticking clock placed right upon his head, counting down the hours he has left to live. Still, there were things he couldn’t figure out. For one thing, he finds it strange that his symptoms occurred over the span of a month, instead of a week, as it did with Max. He doesn’t have much time to ponder on any of his concerns, anyway, before they’re told to get rest for tomorrow when the entire group has to hatch a plan to stop Vecna.
“You okay?” Mike asks once they’re alone in his room, getting ready for bed.
No. He’s tired. So tired, and the thought of dying such a gruesome death conflicts him. But Mike wouldn’t understand that, would think Will is stupid for even thinking that he deserves this kind of death.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
After 15 years of living this miserable life, which is now coming to an end, he still lacks the courage to say everything he has been meaning to. What's preventing him now? It's not like he'll be present to see what happens after telling Mike he loves him or telling his friends that every slur he has ever been called was the truth.
From start to finish, in birth and death, Will is still all that he knew he ever was. A mistake.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Mike sighs, then gets in bed. “Okay, ‘night Will.”
Will lies down in his sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling with silent tears staining his cheeks. He wants to stay in somebody’s arms, wants someone to tell him it’ll all be okay again like he’s a kid. He wants to be loved and held like he’s actually important. Will shuts his eyes, silently sobbing into his hand as Mike rests above him, oblivious. He’s reminded of the van ride, of confessing under the veil of El’s name. Maybe this was his condemnation.
“Goodnight, Mike.”
It almost sounds like a goodbye.
His sleep is barren. He almost expects to encounter another nightmare, perhaps worse than all the ones previously, as his final dream. But it’s just empty. He’s not sure whether or not he enjoys the quiet, devoid nature of it, but he assumes he can appreciate the lack of terror. It doesn’t particularly mean that he had a peaceful sleep; it was quite the opposite, too restless for him to truly savor his slumber.
Unfortunately, that lack of rest was evident on his face, dark eyebags, and limbs sluggish. No one points it out, most likely preoccupied with their own worries.
For the rest of the day, Will attempts to stick around Jonathan before his inevitable death comes to pass. However, the other was distracted by his crumbling relationship with Nancy and Will decided to leave them to it; they could simply spend time together later.
There is no later, but Will doesn’t say that. He allows Jonathan to disappear around the corner, unaware of his little brother’s affliction. That leaves him killing most of his time drawing with Holly, who’s older now, and starting to turn out like a mini Mike and Nancy, which he finds humorous. She leaves a few comments here and there as he sketches what plagues his mind: The clock he saw, imbued into the wall. It’s been a while since he drew anything, painting being his chosen form of illustrating lately.
It’s nice, almost nostalgic of when he’d doodle on any paper in class, then hand over his finished work to Mike. He sometimes wonders if his best friend still kept those drawings, but Will assumes he threw them out. The drawings themselves weren’t anything special, just illustrations of random objects that came to his mind during a boring class. He couldn’t imagine why Mike would preserve them.
However, the moment Will handed those papers over to him to keep, a piece of his soul was bestowed as well. It would be fitting if they ended up in the trash.
It soon came time to leave, and he closed his sketchbook, looking at it a few times before stuffing it in his bag and bringing it along with him. The extended party agreed to meet up in Hopper’s cabin, so they could be reunited with El to have her insight on the plan.
He draws in a long breath. He has just a few hours left before his time runs out (If Henry decided to stick to his original MO, but Will isn’t sure how likely that is, considering how far he’d already strayed from it.)
“No way,” Lucas argues. “No way, we have no idea what that could do to Max!”
And that’s all they’ve been doing: arguing. They’re voicing raising louder, the apprehension in the room exacerbating as everyone grows more frustrated. No matter what they decide, someone has an objection to it, and Will can’t see how this is getting them anywhere.
There’s less than an hour left, and Will’s becoming fidgety; More sensitive to the words and actions of those around him. Lucas has glanced at him far too many times as if trying to discern the reason for Will’s jitteriness. In fact, everyone has looked at him— is looking at him. Eyes plastered onto his form, attempting to peel Will’s skin off to see the truth underneath.
There’s a ticking in his mind, and he can’t tell if it’s his brain trying to warn him his time is almost up, or some sort of trick Henry is playing on him.
Tick, tick, tick. Over and over, like a broken record and Will is losing his fucking mind.
Someone is staring at him, yet he turns around to catch who and sees no one. His friends and family flickering in and out of existence, words fading in and out.
One breath in, another breath out. He’s just distraught. Maybe he should tell someone about everything, but then he’d have to explain why he kept it all a secret and Will would almost rather die than do that.
He is going to die. It may be right now, or within the next few minutes, but Will is going to die.
Tick, tick, tick. One breath, two, three.
He needs to leave. The lights are burning overhead, voices overlapping each other, and a clock chimes somewhere in the back of his mind. He needs to leave, now.
“I need some fresh air,” he manages, bolting upright and pacing to the door. Some turn to face him in confusion, while others are too engrossed in the discussion, to even notice.
He ends up sitting on the steps of Hopper’s cabin, gasping in the atmosphere tainted by the Upside Down.
One chime, then two, pursued by three and four. After a pause, a fifth one follows, except it’s distorted, and seems weirdly out of place. For all of Will’s sureness that he’d be ready when the time comes, he’s completely and utterly terrified.
He doesn’t remember bringing his bag outside with him, but he’s immensely thankful that he did, because he takes out his sketchbook and pencil, and continues his previous sketch. The clock in his illustration is nowhere near as ominous as the real thing, despite Will’s attempts to portray it accurately. No matter how many streaks of lead are marked across the paper, it doesn’t satisfy Will in the slightest.
Tick.
The conversation from within the cabin dims until it’s absent. Will continues sketching, lost in his own world and ignorant of the sudden lack of background noise.
Tick.
He shivers at the sudden cold biting at him, even with all the layers he has on. The light from the abode that illuminated his drawing darkens until Will is obscured within a wide shadow.
There’s a final ring of a clock before silence encompasses the world.
He chances a look up and is met with darkness, despite it being early in the morning. Hawkins hadn’t been all that bright recently, considering the fog that had concealed the skies, but it certainly hadn’t been this gloaming. Will lays down the items in his hand, as he stands up on shaking legs.
Nancy had mentioned that the events Vecna forced you to witness had been hyper-realistic, but still, it was almost an exact copy of the real world. No one would have ever known they were only witnessing an event from within their own mind, and he abruptly feels an overwhelming sympathy for the past targets.
The empathy is dulled, and dread substitutes it when a sudden noise comes from within the cabin, the door creaking just the slightest bit open as if beckoning Will in. And he obliges, taking shaky steps toward the structure until he passes through the entry.
It's empty, and the only light source is a television Will hadn’t even remembered being there. He looks around the barren room, his friends and family missing, and only when his vision circles back to the television that he actually pay attention to what the program was saying. He stands there, paralyzed.
It’s a children’s program, and there are kids sitting around a table, with hats on and decorations on every surface. There’s a cake in the middle of the table, and despite the children looking no older than ten, the candles add up to fifteen in total.
They’re singing happy birthday, but around the end of the song, it’s contorted, and static erupts on the screen.
Will finally unfreezes himself, and walks toward the television, kneeling down on the floor to see it up close. The static ceases, and it returns to the same location as before.
This time around though, all the children are gone, with only one remaining and sitting in the same chair. Will assumes he’s the birthday boy. The decorations are ripped apart and hanging by a thread, and the cake is smashed and coating the walls. The birthday song is still playing, but it had gone from contorted to downright demonic.
It’s here, that Will realizes, that the child is supposed to be him. And now that he paid more attention, he eerily resembles Will’s younger self.
He continues watching, as the video fast-forwards what has to be hours of himself sitting alone at a birthday party before the video abruptly ends and the television shuts down. Without the source of light, Will is once again encased in darkness. He’s stuck in his own mind, a monster preying on him, yet the reminder of his forgotten birthday seems to overwhelm him.
He’s not given the chance to get used to his new surroundings, as the ground shifts and he thinks that he must be somewhere different now, although unable to distinguish where through the dark. A loud banging sound bursts from somewhere close, and it reverberates all around him. He must be somewhere more open, then. Far away, lights are switching on, one after the other, and eventually, it reaches his location and the sudden light blinds him.
He blinks away the soreness and looks at his surroundings. His stomach drops, and his eyes widen, recognition immediately snapping into place. He’s in Hawkins Lab. It’s unmistakable, really; Will can recognize the place that’s haunted his dreams for years now, with ease. The door behind him is the one he was taken to after the Mind Flayer’s possession, and in front of him is a hallway, the same one that Mike ran down to warn everyone of what Will had done.
“It’s a trap!”
Will walks down the corridor, pushing open the doors to view the other side. Almost expectedly, he was met with the bodies of those he had killed, sprayed across the floor, some carrying guns and others in doctor attire.
Demodogs attacking their prey echoed along the halls. People were screaming, some begging for their lives. Will doesn’t remember these details, having been passed out during this incident, but he can remember what the monsters felt. The delight as they tore at those who had injured them, angered him.
The thoughts weren’t Will’s own, yet they haunted him all the same.
“Jonathan! Jonathan, help! Please, someone!” It was meaningless, there wasn’t a soul who could hear his cries, but it was practically instinct at this point.
Footsteps followed after him, ones that he couldn’t pinpoint the origin area of. “They can’t hear you, Will. They are ignorant of your condition, just as they are of your sufferings. You’re alone, you always have been.”
Henry. His voice was grueling, and Will almost tripped over himself at the sound of it. “You don’t know anything about them! They— they care. I know they do.”
One was silent as if turning over what Will said and contemplating. “You misunderstand me. These are not my musings, not the observations I’ve made myself. No, these are your thoughts, William. Reflections that you have indulged in before. They may have regard when it’s for someone such as Maxine, but not for yourself. They do not know you, and they do not care to try.”
It’s not true, Will chants in his mind, and Vecna laughs almost as if he can hear the thought. Maybe he can since this entire situation is just some illusion in Will’s head, and he shivers knowing that his mind is left unguarded for this monster to look through.
He doesn’t stay in one spot for long, running out of the hallway, and skipping by the corpses on the floor. Blood stains him, and it's reminiscent of the time he saw the grandfather clock, only this time, it doesn’t end. He doesn’t get to be free from the horrors of what he’d done in the past. This time, he remains.
A clock chimes. It isn’t real. None of this is real.
Corner after corner, he meets the same view. Demodogs eating at bodies, people shooting in vain, trying to live. He comes across an emergency exit and rips it open. It’s boarded up, and Will lets tears fall down as he finally comes to terms with reality. He’s going to die. Everything will be over, and instead of that thought filling him with solace, he just feels terror.
Will makes it to the main lobby and almost cries in relief. The keyword is almost, because unexpectedly, a hand shoots for his ankle, pulling him to the ground. Will’s heart jumps to his throat, and he writhes on the floor, kicking his leg out in an attempt to free himself. It doesn’t work, simply makes the hand hold on tighter, and he tries to turn his head to see who’s holding him.
The disfigured face that once belonged to Bob gazed up at him, with no recognition and pure hatred. He sobs, so loudly that the echoes can be heard everywhere. “Mike! Dustin, Lucas, anyone! I’m here, I’m right here, please!”
Bob is speaking, angry words— accusations. Will shuts everything out, skews his eyes closed, and prays to anyone or anything that this will be over soon.
It’s not over yet, and he knows it. Everything shifts once more, and it’s silent. The pressure on his ankle disappears in an instant, and Will is alone. He breathes in quick, shallow breaths, and tries opening his eyes but they refuse to listen to his command.
He’s scared. Shit, he’s so scared, and It’s a stupid realization, and he nearly laughs at himself at that moment.
The shock of the event takes full control because Will simply curls up in a ball and just thinks. He thinks of the moment they see his twisted, broken body, limbs all wrong, and eyes stolen. How would they react? What would they think? Would they hate him for not telling them, for forcing them to deal with yet another tragedy? He never would’ve been able to truly fix his friendship with Mike, reconnect with Lucas and Dustin, or remind his family of how glad he is that they’re in his life. He wants to tell El how thankful he is she became part of his crazy, insane family. No more campaigns with the party, or sleepovers with stupid games that cause fights.
This is the end, but it’s not yet, because Henry seems to want to draw on all of Will’s worst fears, and there are too many of those for him to be done anytime soon.
He becomes aware of a liquid seeping into his pants from where he’s huddled on the floor and finally opens his eyes. He’s in a stall. Or more specifically, his middle school’s washroom, and it’s flooding with blood. He chokes, then he is springing onto his feet and racing out of the stall. Will’s not even sure why he’s still running, despite knowing that no matter how much he ran and hid, he wouldn’t escape. It was the same way, back when he was trapped in the Upside Down for that hellish week. Perhaps it was in his nature to run for a different outcome, even in the face of absolute certainty.
The sinks are spilling over with the same crimson fluid, and it’s quickly filling the room and rising higher, reaching Will’s chest. He navigates his way to the door, trying to push it open, but it doesn’t budge, and panic sets in. A string of curses rushes out of his mouth as he practically throws his body at the door, the impact lessened by the liquid slowing his movements. It’s up to his face now, and Will doubled his attempts desperately.
He’s falling through the now open doorframe, coughing up the blood that had forced its way down his throat. He’s soaked head to toe, and the chill of the Upside Down bites down at him more. Shivers rack his frame, as he steadies himself on his feet, and lets it sink in where he is.
“El! Mike! Mom!” Nothing.
Vines wrap snugly on the structure of his old school, and he turns to the side as he had done years prior. Sure enough, a black fog rounded the corner, pursuing him.
(“Only this time, I didn’t run. This time, I stood my ground, and I said go away! Go away! Just like that, he was gone. Never saw him again. Easy peasy, right?”
“Yeah, easy peasy.”)
An ache settles in his chest, and the same way the 13-year-old had, he ran. He didn’t run out of the school like before, though, instead, he stopped short at a familiar locker; One that Will could recognize anywhere, with words jeeringly scribbled on it.
Freak. Fairy. Queer.
There were more written in sharp black, but those stuck out the most. Distantly, he could hear the swishing of the Mind Flayer nearing him, but he stood in a daze, reading the words over, and over again.
“Even if they are freaks, at least they know not to hang around a queer.”
It plays like a mantra in his head—freak, fairy, queer—, drowning out the monster turning the corners and trailing him. Why him? It’s a question he hardly allows himself to think about, but it’s always there anyway. Why him? Why is it always him? It’s not fair, he could yell, to the world, or the monsters listening in, because they are the only ones who will ever hear Will’s last words.
Why me?
The black particles turn the corner of the hallway he was in, and Will jolted back into his body. There was a strange pulsing coming from within his locker, the locker door vibrating slightly. He pulled it open to be met with a gate and knew it was absurd going through, especially when he wasn’t sure where it led, but he didn’t have much of a choice anymore.
Traveling through the portal was a strange sensation, the sticky substance latching onto his frame, stuck in his hair, and he shivers when it comes in contact with his skin. He ended up in his childhood bedroom, the nostalgia of being back rotted by the man who Will thought he was free of. There was a pounding on the door, the lights in his room flickered and broke, joyful memories replaced by flawed ones.
“Open the goddamn door Will, you hear me?!” His dad’s voice was one he would never forget. “You fucking queer, get out and face me like a man!” The thumping was loud, and the whole room shook with the force of it.
Will faced monsters, interdimensional horrors, and dying friendships, yet he could never face his father. This sentiment rings true, even now, at fifteen years of age. He drops to the floor and hugs his knees tight to his chest, shutting his eyes forcefully. Not now, not him, anything but him.
“Will, you hear me?! I’ll fucking—”
Distortion is starting to settle with Lonnie’s regular voice, and Will continues rocking back and forward, trying to soothe himself. Perhaps if he could believe that all of this wasn’t real, he would wake up now. Find out that it was all a terrible nightmare.
He doesn’t wake up, and his dad’s voice fades away as his surroundings shift for the final time. Something starts dripping onto him, in a motion too realistic and familiar. It’s raining, and with one glance at his surroundings, Will is aware of where he is: Castle Byers. But not the one he and Jonathan had built after Lonnie had left, it was the one Will ruined, the one he had brought a bat down on.
(“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”)
Will stands and walks closer. Atop the wreckage of Castle Byers, lay a larger paper ripped in half. Heart torn out of his chest, Will realizes it's the one he’d painted for Mike. It was soaked, the paint mixing together and creating an ugly mess. Beside it, is the Halloween photo he had destroyed last summer, the tear separating him and Mike.
Footsteps sound until they stop right behind him. “Don’t you see, Will? Those who you call your friends, will never truly return the phrase with the same emphasis. You are blinded by love, and that makes you weak.”
Will’s knees shake, in fear, in acceptance, in despair. Henry circles around him until they are standing face to face. Will is gazing at his blood-soaked shoes, tears pooling out of his eyes, and he can’t even bother to wipe them away anymore. Stupid. So stupid. Vecna nearly chuckles at his cooperation, relishing the triumph of having finally devastated him.
“Just as you had once wished, it will all be over soon, William.” A clawed hand reaches up, above Will’s face, and like every other perilous moment in Will’s life, he’s frozen. “It’s time for your suffering, to end.”
It hurts. It burns, tears are cascading down Will’s face, and he would scream from the pain if he could, but his jaw is locked. His limbs won’t move or attend to Will’s wishes and he is stuck there. The ache travels throughout his body, and there’s a phantom pain in his arm, but it blends in with all the other agony he’s feeling, that he’s practically numb to it. What he feels the most are his eyes. Will lets out a feeble cry as they are forcefully kept open, and he sees flashing visions of every dark, dreadful moment in his life. The strain is too much, and his sight fades in and out, unable to bear the exertion. There’s a buzzing in Will’s ears, and he feels his body sag like a ragdoll as the fight leaves him.
(Bob’s funeral, his mother in a state of paralysis as she copes with the loss. Will can hardly look her or anyone in the eye, knowing that they know. They know he’s a monster, a murderer. He’s ruined their lives, again and again. Everyone knows it, and Will does too.
Mike and Lucas, laughing at his campaign, mocking the fake injuries they sustained, and doing anything to get out of playing. It was humiliating, and he took that anger out on the only place he ever found consolation in. Will’s childhood crumbled in his hands that day, slipping through his fingers.
The Upside Down leaks into his life, gripping it with claws too sharp and tearing at any semblance of peace Will has made. Again, and again, and again, it returns; like a parasite attached to its host, unable to part the connection. And that’s exactly what it is— a parasite, and Will is hosting it. Allowing it to poison his friends and family.
Zombie boy. Freak. Queer. All the names hurled at him throughout his life contain some piece of the truth.)
The pain vanishes, leaving behind an excruciating ache, and Vecna shoots backward, pressed against a tree. Will shuts his eyes, now that he is able to do so, and curls into himself. This is like nothing he had ever experienced before, all the intolerable, plaguing sensations Will has felt in the past mixing together to create his worst nightmare.
There’s a song in the background. Boys don’t cry, his delirious brain provides, and he distantly wonders how they even knew to play this song. Not that it matters anymore, because he’s sure that this is the end for him. This is his demise.
Moments of happiness are flashing throughout Will’s head, but they do not do for him what they did for Max. He does not have a sudden burst of strength, able to fight the agony coursing through him as she did. In fact, it does nothing. He barely registers the memories at all— the yells for him to wake up, coming from a tear in the fabric of Vecna’s illusion, go unheard.
“Will! Will, get up. Please, get up.” Two petit hands are pulling his shoulders and laying him on his back. It’s El, he can make out from the ringing and blaring noise of his favorite song, but he feels no relief at her presence.
Everything hurts. Every movement, thought, and feeling, was unbearable. His sister is telling him to run and get to the portal, but Will can hardly move his sore body. She’s pleading at this point, crying in fear and desperation, and he wants to console her, truly, he does, but his mouth is slack.
Leave me, he wants to say. Get out, run to safety. I’m not worth it.
Henry is fighting his way through El’s hold, using the last of the power he had recovered doing so. It won’t hold for long, Will knows, tries to say, but he’s stuck.
He’s always been stuck. In the past, in the part of his childhood that was robbed from him, taken away before he could truly live it. Stuck, watching his friends leave him behind, move on and grow up. He was stuck watching Mike and El attached at the hip, in love, and he was anything but loved. It was MikeAndEl, no longer MikeAndWill. He is always stuck and now, he’s lost in a dark haze, alone.
Will is nothing but a liability, and he’s just starting to make peace with this kind of ending for himself.
“I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry.” He opens his mouth, closes it, then simply surrenders to the darkness. Why? Why are you sorry, it’s all me. Everything is all my fault— always, my fault. It is something he isn’t able to say aloud, as everything fades into oblivion.
The silence is deafening, he feels nothing.
Will awakes, gasping, and heaving, but everything is still deadly silent. Hands are grabbing at him, checking, affirming that he’s alive, that he’s here. He’s being held in someone’s embrace, but he can’t see who or comprehend what’s happening.
“Will, it’s okay, you’re alive— you’re safe .”
But he can’t feel anything, the numb having followed him through whatever portal he must’ve gone through to get back here. It’s silent and dark, and Will is scared but there are no weeps. He’s not in hysterics or pushing away the hands breaching his personal space. He is still stuck. Still lost in that mindless haze of darkness. There are people talking over each other, speaking words of comfort, but he can’t feel or hear anything.
There are still headphones on his head, blasting a song that’s meant to evict emotions from him, but there is nothing. He can’t make out a single word. Maybe he’s dead. Or perhaps this is Vecna still playing some cruel trick on him.
The phantom ache he had felt on his arm had turned into a pain so unbearable, consciousness is slipping from his grasp. He can’t open his eyes, he realizes, desperately trying to pull his eyelids apart. His limbs won't move, his mouth won't form words, and Will is stuck.
He can’t control any part of his body, and now he truly allows himself to delve into terror. He breathes deeper and tries to squirm away from the arms locking him in place, but he can only slightly lift a finger.
“What’s happening? Someone, seriously, this is freaking me out!”
“Byers! Will, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay. Stay with us.” It’s Steve’s voice, but Will doesn’t know that, can’t hear anything. He remains unchanging to their comforts.
His lips part, and move to form broken words. “H—hurts. It h—...urts.” The sobs begin, damaging his aching throat, and shaking his raggedy frame. “‘M—...‘m scared .”
“His arm, shit!”
“Hospital, we need to go to the hospital, now!”
Deep breath in. One, two, three, four, and five.
Will is drowning through an endless sea. Voices are fading in and out, panicking, horrified. They’re telling him to stay awake, but he can’t; his limbs begging for rest, and his mind slowing down. The past however long is getting lost in the pain encompassing him. He can’t remember what happened, or why everyone is terrified, screaming at each other. There’s a familiar ache all over his body. Was he injured?
Deep breath out. Six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.
Perhaps he’s going crazy. Losing his mind, because it seems like everyone is living in a different universe than him right now. Or maybe it’s him who’s in a different universe. It’s okay, though. Mike promised him they’d go crazy together. He could always count on that.
Crazy together. Will shuts his eyes and allows for peaceful bliss to wash over him. Crazy together.
The breaths slow down, nearly coming to a complete stop. Breathe in, and a breath out, then repeat, for as long as he is able to.