Chapter Text
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Cool, crisp spring air fills Will Byers with every breath he takes as he walks through the woods. Leaves crunch beneath his feet, a stray pebble catching on the separated sole of his beaten up New Balance sneakers.
Will shakes his foot, and the pebble scatters onto the forest floor. In front of him is his mother, Joyce. Beside her is the limping form of Hopper, head buzzed down to the scalp. There’s still a little bit of dried blood on his dingy, thick, jacket. His limp is pronounced and Will feels a slight bit of nausea imagining the cause of it. El walks beside Hopper, hand in hand. Her face is twisted in some form of confliction; her eyes confused and worried. El’s grimy hand grips Hopper tightly, like a life line– like she’s scared if she lets go Hopper will disappear forever. Will doesn’t blame her. He could never imagine losing his mother, or any of his friends, for that long; believing they died yet never having any closure. It’s almost a direct parallel to when he was missing.
He averts his eyes, afraid to intrude. His throat feels tight, and he rubs his hand on his forearm.
Thinking too much about the whole “missing” thing and everything that follows makes him feel incredibly anxious, his eyes drying and heartbeat pounding in his ears, lungs feeling shallow; like he’s a fish out of water, choking on thick air.
To his left, Jonathan and Nancy walk side by side. Jonathan’s shoulders are tight with tension, hands balled into fists by his sides. Nancy looks like she has an itch she can’t scratch, a constant nagging in her side. Her eyes flick up to Jonathan and she bites her lip, sighing quietly before looking ahead.
Right beside him is Mike, his steps measured and cautious as he scans the treeline. His eyebrows are furrowed and he keeps glancing at Will with confused eyes, mouth twisted into a grimace.
Mike Wheeler has always been easy to read. When they were children, Will could tell how he was feeling with just one glance. It was never easy to keep secrets from each other, Mike's mouth moving way too fast to ever hide any surprise Lucas had planned for that afternoon, any prank Dustin had constructed.
Things were easier then– before girlfriends, before the upside down, before high school. Before everything seemed to change, before people started treating him like a porcelain doll, before Will started to feel things he knew shouldn’t.
Will Byers never took the same intreset in girls as his friends did. As his friends talked about female classmates, actors and, regrettably, Mike’s older sister, Will just laughed awkwardly. He’d never felt entirely normal. Which was fine. Whatever. Normal was boring, anyway. Even Jonathan thought so.
Pretending to be something he’s not, especially for someone like his father, would never get him anywhere than inside his own, miserable head.
But that’s easier said than done. It’s easier to say what would be good for him, to say it’d do him good to be himself than actually apply his own advice. It’s easier to hide in his shell, to never attempt to make friends in Lenora, because why should he even bother? It’ll never feel the same as hanging out with Mike and the others.
Besides, Lenora Hills Highschool doesn’t even have a single DND club. Or a Star Wars club. So really, there’s no point in attempting to socialise. Will gets plenty of social interaction from Argyle and Jonathan, anyway. Even if they reek of weed most of the time, they’re bearable.
He feels familiar eyes on his face. Will glances over and to no surprise, Mike is staring at him with soft, concerned eyes. Will’s heart jumps up to his throat, his inhale catching and stuttering. Because of course it's Mike. It always is.
Will swallows, finding his voice. “Y-Yes?” He squeaks out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. Jesus Christ, can he be any more awkward? At all?
“You were spacing out.” Mike says, voice so soft and so calm, just for him. The dedicated ‘Will voice’ Jonathan loves to tease him about.
Will’s eyes hurt, so he squeezes them shut. “Oh? Sorry.” He forces out, breathing out deeply. “I was just thinking. About- about Vecna.”
His words feel gross and heavy, and he stumbles over them, fumbling like a child just learning their first sentences. Mike's eyes are pouring into him and he shifts his weight between his feet uncomfortably, willing himself to continue walking.
Mike's brow furrows and his familiar, warm, hand comes up to touch Will’s shoulder, which he's been doing a lot lately, gently squeezing.
“Hey, we'll be okay.” Mike murmurs gently. “El has her powers back. And I'll do my best to keep you safe, too.” His lips crack into a reassuring grin. “Not that my help could compare to a Superhero.”
Will forces himself to smile and nod. The motion makes his head ache. He grimaces, touching his forehead.
“What's wrong? What is it?” Mike frowns, hand coming up to touch Will's fingers.
Will quickly pulls his hand back down to his side.
“It's nothing serious,” He replies quickly. “My head just hurt for a second. It's probably a lack of proper sleep, y'know?”
Mike's eyes are concerned, his hand returning down beside him, their steps measured and steady.
“Are you sure?”
Will nods, then winces as pain flares up in his skull. Idiot.
“Yeah. I mean.. a diet of takeout and sleeping in a van for 3 days can’t be good for anyone.” Will swallows. His hands tremble slightly in the afternoon breeze.
Mike sighs, his long fingers brushing underneath his bangs to feel the temperature of his forehead. Will feels his ears go pink. Mike's hand returns to his side and he looks forward as they carefully step over a fallen log.
“Just tell me if it gets worse, okay? …O-Or if you start seeing things.” Mike says, cautious voice mixing with the afternoon chorus of birds beautifully. “Don't push yourself.”
Mike looks gorgeous outside, in the open. His skin is bathed in the fleeting sunlight that sneaks through the leaves, dancing on his nose and cheeks. Will noticed sometime long ago that Mike’s eyes shine a deep, honey brown in the direct sunlight, multiple warm shades of brown comforting him. Here, in the scattered light peeking through branches and leaves, his eyes are familiar. Mike’s eyebrows are upturned, his eyes shining with concern, misplaced worry that should be directed to anyone other than him. Will swallows and nods, quickly reminding himself to reply.
“Right.” He stammers out, hand unclenching by his side.
Mike turns his eyes to him once more, giving him a worried look, and he speaks.
“We're almost to the car.”
-
Will knows, deep down, that his family will never be the same.
He knew that much after Lonnie left. It wasn’t hard to understand, even as a small child, that his father leaving would affect him for life.
Positively or negatively, he’d had no idea. Lonnie moving away meant no more arguing, and no more scolding for simply being himself. Will could gush at the breakfast table about science and art and the new campaign Mike and the others were working on, unafraid of judging looks and muttering about being a fairy and a fag.
Yet, with Lonnie gone and hardly keeping up with child support, Joyce had to work more.
Will's time spent alone in a quiet house practically tripled– Jonathan picking up whatever shifts he could and hiding in Hawkins High's dark room.
Will was fine. Great, even. He thrived while alone; spending hours listening to Jonathan’s records and colouring. He was fine, until he wasn't.
When Jonathan started working at the Hawkins Post and his Mom at the general store, more often than not Will would find himself sitting in an empty house. It wasn't all the time. He spent some of his time at Mike's, or at the arcade with Dustin and Lucas.
Though, a lot of the time, Mike was ‘busy with homework’ – and obvious cop out to go and meet with his girlfriend, and Will would trudge home with a sick, burning feeling in his chest. He should feel happy– Mike had someone who cared about him. Eleven was great, extremely kind and a little blunt.
It was selfish of Will to want to keep him from his girlfriend, to complain that they'd been playing the same campaign for almost 3 months with hardly any progress– that Mike was neglecting him, all of them, in favour of El.
And so, Will would just nod, maybe smile, and wave him off.
He didn't allow himself to really feel until after he'd unlocked his front door and sat on his duvet.
He'd never really escaped the barely hidden stares in cramped hallways and hot classrooms.
Will can't help but feel thick, vile resentment building inside him. Resenting everyone around him felt easier than trying to accept himself.
Resenting himself, for being so selfish and never learning how to be normal.
Resenting Eleven was a terrible thing. Will knew that much– she didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't her fault.
Will hated just how easily she took his place, and he hated himself for even considering that he was entitled to Mike's 24/7 attention.
It was almost infuriating, how easily Mike seemed to flaunt their relationship. Holding hands constantly; El leaning on his shoulder. Even kissing.
Will felt like he was drowning, never able to escape the image of Mike cozy with someone who wasn't him. Will’s hands would clench and his eyes always seemed to linger on his shoes.
Because, fuck, how dare he? How dare Mike cause him to have these feelings? How dare he make Will different, make him feel so alone and so empty?
How could Mike seem so perfectly awkward, his smile so charming?
Mike made him feel so much– his heart jumping everytime their shoulders bumped or Mike cackling at Will's, (frankly, not very funny) jokes.
Yet not even 2 hours later, Will could feel completely devoid of comfort, his brain running miles through each and every way Mike's existence.
Will could've loathed him.
Yet how could he? How could he ever loathe someone as caring and as patient as Mike?
Mike, who never treated him like a glass doll– something easily breakable. He'd never shy away from rough housing with Will, poking him or nudging him whilst they walked.
And yet, Mike was gentle, too. When Will woke up sobbing during a sleepover, Mike would be the first one up and pulling him close.
Mike would wipe tears and snot from his blotchy red face, assuring Will that he was okay, alive, well-fed and cared for.
Will startles at a finger poking his shoulder. Blearily, he rubs his eyes, slowly getting used to the aftermath of dozing in an uncomfortable car.
Jonathan gives him a reassuring smile, drawing back his hand.
“We're at the Wheelers. C'mon, everyone else is heading inside.”
Will steps out of the car and feels a rush to his head. His legs feel too-weak, his
eyesight blurring.
He grabs onto the closest thing, Jonathan, and leans against his shoulder, breathing out as he steadied.
Jonathan wasn't as far up in height as he used to be. Will was almost equal with him now. A familiar hand comes up and pats his back comfortingly.
“You okay?” Jonathan asks, making no move to pull off of him. “Dizzy? You're okay. Mom is waiting inside, I'll get you some water too. I keep telling you to take the iron supplements before school, but you always forget.” He keeps chatting as the two draw closer to the Wheeler's front door.
Will is thankful for the noise. Silence with Jonathan is never awkward; yet it's easier to listen than speak.
Jonathan pushes open the door and they enter the crowded home.
-
The Wheeler's residence was the biggest of their houses, and it was closest to the town centre. It made sense to camp out there while they figure out how the hell they're going to save the world.
Organising sleeping arrangements made Will feel dizzy. Jonathan slept in Nancy's room, Joyce on the pull-out, and El in the basement, with an extra mattress for Hopper.
That left Will with Mike.
Mike nudged the door open and chucked Will’s bag onto his bed. His room had changed. Dnd stuff was tucked into a small corner, books replacing toys and mess. It was cluttered, clothes strewn over the carpeted floor and his bed unmade. There were familiar elements left from their time as children. An action figure displayed on the wall. Their old, custom DND playing pieces.
A cleric, paladin, knight and ranger. Each was positioned like they were about to fight, the paint chipped and clay worn with use.
Will’s hands felt clammy and he reached out to poke his playing piece.
“I can't believe you still have these.” He mused, turning around to give Mike a smile. “They must be ancient.”
Mike smiled, mouth stretching, running a hand through his hair.
“I keep all of the art you give me.” Mike spoke, his voice sincere, and picked up a thick binder sitting on his desk. “Even the embarrassing ones.”
Will couldn't keep himself from flushing. His ears felt warm in a fuzzy, overwhelming way.
“You're so weird.” Will muttered, giving the figure of Lucas, as his dnd character, a small pat on it's head. Will turned to the closet, rummaging to find the blow up bed.
Mike laughed and grabbed his shoulder. “Dude, what are you doing? You're welcome to share with me.” He said, collapsing onto messy sheets and a few, old replaceable pillows.
Share? Like they were still middle schoolers?
Will feels his neck prickle with embarrassment, and he shakes his head quickly.
“There's no need. Really. I-I can sleep on the floor just fine.” Will utters, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
Mike rolls his eyes.
“Dude. Come on," He urges. “Come on, it's fine. We're friends. Best friends. I want to share with you. I'll feel guilty otherwise.”
Will’s breath hitches – catching in his throat– because how could he so casually admit something like that? Without even realising the connotations?
I want to share with you.
Will quickly stabilises his breathing and sits down beside Mike.
“Fine, okay. You win.” He chides, and Mike beams. Will can't help his mouth from twitching into a matching smile. “Are you sure we'll fit? I'm taller now, you know?”
Mike playfully shoves his shoulder.
“I've still got a few inches on you, dude.”
His alarm clock, reading 7:05pm, lets out a chime as it passes into the next hour.
Still relatively early. These days, Will finds himself putting off sleeping until he's falling asleep behind his sketchbook.
Even now, so long after his abduction, he gets nightmares. They're not constant; not anymore, but they're irritating. Like a thorn in his side, or a mosquito constantly buzzing around his ears.
It's not pleasant at all. Nightmares of being hunted by a demogorgon or having the mindflayer chase after his car leave him hyperventilating, a hand over his mouth to muffle his shallow breaths.
Preferring to stave off sleep for as long as possible is the logical answer.
-
Mike and Will lay down to sleep after 4 hours of talking about everything and nothing.
Will faces the wall, his ears focusing on the sound of Mike shuffling beside him.
Mike lets out a soft sigh as he fluffs his pillow.
The bed is spacious, sure, but the two gravitate towards each other like it's natural.
Will’s ankle knocks against Mike's calf as he adjusts. His neck prickles with Mike's soft, even breaths whispering against the sensitive skin of his nape.
Mike swallows.
“Goodnight, Will.” He murmurs, voice soft and gentle, warm in contrast to the cool night air.
Will curls in on himself, his hands twisting in the fabric of Mike's pillowcase. He feels himself grow warm, like being wrapped in a toasted, fluffy blanket.
“Night, Mike.”
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Will sleeps dreamlessly, drifting into peaceful, quiet slumber.
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