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Clawed fingers drag across the wall, leaving jagged marks in a long, lazy trail. It's strange how easy it is, for jagged claws to cut through wood and concrete and metal. There are a lot of things strange about the Upside Down, it's inhabitants most of all.
Will supposes he counts as one now. It's certainly been long enough, and he's changed enough that he fits right in.
He drops his hand from the wall, flicking bits of gravel from sharp, gray claws. He stalks barefoot through empty streets, demobats and dogs alike scattering long before he could lay eyes upon them. They know it's a death sentence, like Will knows hard-developed anger issues are difficult to control in the face of the creatures he blames for his continued existence in this place. He's left more bodies behind than he'd like to admit.
The Will Byers that would have granted them mercy died a long, long time ago.
Will screams in fury, the sound of his mother's cries still fresh in his ears. She was healing, she was finally getting better and the Shadow dared to hurt her again. Just as she was moving on from Will's disappearance, it goes and takes another loved one from her.
He never met Bob, but he's familiar with him in the way he's familiar with Max and El. The echoes of the Rightside Up have haunted him since he first got here, his only connection to home. Bob was a pillar of support, warmth and kindness and patience wrapped in one human shaped bundle. He hugged Will's mom when she cried, gave Jonathan a listening ear, and messed gently with his friends whenever they dropped by home. For them, he was another chance at happiness, and now he was gone.
Will grieves, but mostly he rages.
He steps over shattered glass carefully, not that it would make much of a difference. The soles of his feet have hardened, and the keratin of his nails grown into a wicked set of talons that allow better purchase than he'd ever get with shoes. Not that any would fit comfortably anymore.
He wears only a ripped white tee and an old pair of sweatpants that were once Jonathan's, a leather jacket he found buried in his mom's closet thrown overtop. It's not necessary anymore, not when his breath has long since stopped puffing visibly in front of his face, but it's comfortable. When he sits quiet and still for long enough, he can pretend it's a hug.
Will absently kicks a can aside as he wanders past ruined shelves. You'd think grocery shopping would be easier when money doesn't matter, but alas, finding sealed non-perishables that aren't covered in mold is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It's a good thing his diet is no longer so reliant on veggies. He only manages to scavenge a can of those every couple of weeks.
Still, a gross, watery can of asparagus beats demodog any day of the week. The hivemind wouldn't agree, but he doesn't ask.
He shoves a moldy loaf of bread to the side, using his newfound height to peer over the top shelves. He's grown a lot in the past four years, almost unnaturally so. With the terrible malnutrition and sickness of the earlier years, he would have expected to be a lot shorter. Hell, maybe he is shorter than he should be, and its only the malnutrition that kept him from towering over everything like an actual demogorgon. Hah, it cancelled out and gave him a regular height. Funny, that.
Will spies something shiny hidden between vines and an old magazine. The predator in him locks on, and in less than a second his hand darts out to snatch the can. He's proud for a moment before he remembers himself, and then he's just embarrassed. Grabbing a can there's literally no competition for is not akin to a successful hunt. The predator in him is an idiot, but he already knew that.
He mentally waves away the thought, instead assessing his prize. Well would you look at that, an intact, non-bloated can of asparagus. Will laughs, delighted, and the sound echoes strangely out of the shattered windows of the grocery store. The few demobat cries that had started up again silence themselves. Laughter is foreign to this place, so he makes a point to laugh whenever the hell he wants.
Beyond the crackle of lightning and the distant cries of monstrous bats, its quiet. The spores drifting through the air muffle sound like a blanket of snow would, and the twisting trees make any far off noise become distorted and strange.
For a moment, there had been screams other than his. A girl's voice, yelling for someone, though he didn't catch the name. He wanted to tell her to be quiet. He wanted to tell her to hide. More than that, he wanted to find her, because he couldn't stand to be alone.
Later, he'll learn through snatched echoes of Barbara Holland's death.
Now, he only gets to hear the sudden, pressing silence.
He stares the can down, absently wondering if he should save if for later. His stomach rumbles a 'no', like it always does. He picks at the top with a claw, but by some weird law of the universe, it fails to pierce the tin. He growls. He was literally just shredding concrete, why the hell can't he handle a can of asparagus?
After making a ruckus banging a can against multiple shelves, nearly overbalancing trying to wrench it open, and throwing it once against the wall, he finally resorts to using his teeth.
The can makes a satisfying hiss as his incisor pierces the lid. 'See? Easy.' Will thinks, ignoring the overturned shelving unit that was upright when he got here. It makes sense his teeth would work. The Upside Down operates by its own rules, and number one is that this place is dominated by monsters. If he has to tear open his prize by biting into it with teeth far sharper than any human should have, so be it.
The air comes cold and fast, lungs filling with ash as he fails to catch his breath. Fire races through his jaw as new teeth push their way through his gums, and the blood falling from his mouth mixes with the tears falling from his eyes. He spits out red, but more fills his mouth and he can't breathe-
He wants his mom.
Will eats the asparagus piece by piece, just to be contrary. He has to chew solely from his back molars, but that's fine. The bitter taste chases away the memory of iron.
Something clatters outside, and the noise is jarring in the silence of main street. His hindbrain snaps to attention. Will's steps are dead silent as he makes his way to the door, hand clenched tight around his meal.
The street is empty, the only movement comes from flashes of red lightning high above. He doesn't relax. The hivemind is quiet in the back of his mind, too quiet. They're hiding something from him.
Faintly, music begins to play in the store behind him. He tenses further. He can hear the echo of voices from the Rightside Up whenever he stops to concentrate, but music? That only cuts through the silence when something bigger is happening. Something about music makes this place cringe away.
The tattered skeleton, half embedded in rock, is charred black from lightning strikes. It's jaw is missing, face tilted towards the sky with an empty, hateful glare. Vines, dead from sky-fire, cling to its hands and trail off into the trees. There's something about the scene that makes him think of poison. Something about a person's last breath being powerful enough to curse the living.
On it's wrist, where a piece of flesh still clings to bone, is a tattoo that reads 001.
Will follows the lightning with his eyes, listens to the way it seems to hum where it usually thunders. It seems to twist oddly, drawn off from its usual course. Drawn, it seems, to somewhere else.
He thinks he knows where.
Will collapses on the floor, watching his last chance seal shut before his eyes. Crimson bleeds sluggishly from his wounds, glowing in the dying light of the gate. The democreatures that had caused them slink away, uninterested now that the path to the Rightside Up is gone. They had done as the Shadow asked, and kept him from escape.
The Shadow is 001's curse. It's only purpose is to drag the Rightside Up into hell, and never let it escape.
Will was just the first victim.
He makes his way to Hawkins Lab.
Sounds bounce through the cold halls of the lab, voices shouting in distorted warbles and echoing in every inch of the building. He can't understand them, can't focus enough to. It's disorienting to hear so much sound so suddenly, but he pushes onward, towards the scar of the first gate.
It's not a scar anymore.
Red film glows with unearthly light, the vines curled around the edges and pushing through pulse like veins. Overhead, the dark cloud of ash that is the Shadow whirls like a storm. Wind buffets him, breathing desperate hope into lungs that had been void of it for so long.
The storm shrieks with fury, the creatures of the Upside Down reacting to his presence. They turn on him with fearful, savage snarls at the Shadow's command, but Will only has eyes for the hole between realities.
The Shadow thunders in the hivemind like it thunders above, trying to dig it's claws into him. It fails, because it always fails, because Will doesn't belong to it, to this place, not really. It tried so hard to make him assimilate when he failed to die, tried so hard to make him one of its puppets with sharp teeth, claws, and desaturated skin, but it failed. It failed and it hates him.
It hates him almost as much as he hates it.
He isn't going to be trapped again, not a chance in hell. He either leaves or he dies. And so, with monsters ahead and demons in his mind, Will runs.
Dodging reaching claws and gruesome, flowering faces, with adrenaline pumping through his veins, Will runs. He runs, and he runs, and he runs.
Just a few steps from the gate, with all its terrible monsters failing, the Shadow lashes out. It hooks into his mind with single, determined fury, trying to rend, destroy, instead of control. It hurts, but not enough for it to matter. The fire of Will's hate burns at the reaching tendrils, rejecting them as he's so longed to due for years.
He reaches for the gate and then-
-he's through.
There's a war happening on the Rightside Up. Demobats and dogs dart around the room, though room is a loose term. Here, the lab is practically rubble, with walls knocked down and storm clouds peaking through the vast gaps in the ceiling. There are people, more than he knows how to name, more than he's seen in four entire years-
There's a girl in front of him, one hand stretched towards the gate and blood running from her nose. Her hair is cut in a curly bob, like it had been sheared shorter and allowed to grow out again without regulation. He's got no right to judge. His hair hasn't grown much, but it's still a wavy mess of unwashed, diluted brown.
She meets his eyes then, and he's taken aback by the vibrancy of her hazelnut eyes. Everything here is so much brighter, full of life and unimpeded by the hazy gray-blue wash of the Upside Down. The air is clearer too, the only spores drifting from the gate. He can only blink back at her, overwhelmed as he is. His hand clenches tighter around the can of asparagus that he only now realizes he hasn't dropped.
Her eyes widen in realization, sorrow and grief and guilt flashing through them, but underneath it all is an heavy relief that mirrors his own. There's a sudden burst of understanding between them, instinctual and pure. She smiles at him with fire, and he smiles back, all teeth.
There's a familiar shout and he turns, eyes locking on a gangly figure with a head of dark hair and pale hands clenched around a barbed wire-wrapped spade. He only needs a glimpse for his heart to name him Mike. He only needs a glimpse to know he's in trouble.
The demogorgon looms over his friend, jagged elbows drawn back, claws wide and ready to strike.
Will screams as the monster crashes through Castle Byers, the gun in his hands jamming at the worst possible moment. It swipes clumsily, movement hindered by the tree and crashing remains of the fort, but it manages to tear through his coat and dig a gouge through his side. He cries out in pain, but manages to run while it's tangled in the remains of the the castle.
It is hunting him, and it will continue to hunt him for a long time yet. A long, long time, but not forever.
Not anymore.
The smile on Will's face turns into a snarl. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, like the drums of war, and he lets out a challenging shriek. The demogorgon rears back just in time to receive an open can of asparagus to the face. Will slams into it, and they go down in a tangle of claws and teeth, shrieking and spitting like stray cats. His shirt is torn to shreds, leather jacket earning a few impressive claw marks, but he returns the favor with fervor. The monster has height and reach, but Will is quick and smart. He's become an expert at taking down demodogs, and a demogorgon is just a bigger version.
Eventually, it makes a mistake. Eventually, its throat strays a little too close to Will's teeth. He snaps forward and bites down hard. As it turns out, demogorgon flesh is a lot softer than a tin can. Black blood bubbles under his tongue and from between his claws. He allows himself a single moment to bask in the feeling of victory before he twists sharply. The demogorgon's neck gives way with a snap and a spray of blood. When he finally lets go, the monster that's haunted him for so long falls to the floor, dead.
Will spits black blood to the side and closes his eyes as he breathes. The air is sweet and warm.
"Will?"
He lets his gaze drift open to meet dark eyes that are so achingly familiar. Will tilts his head as he takes him in. Mike…looks different. He expected it of course, but its still strange to see. His hair is shorter, for one, obsidian curls framing his sharp face and sticking up in every direction. Freckles stand out against pale skin, and his eyes have shaded bags under them that look permanent. He wonders if Mike's been sleeping any more than he has.
"Will?" Mike asks again, voice cracking and desperate. Those beautiful eyes fill with tears.
"Hey Mike." Will says as casually as he can manage. His voice is wrecked from disuse beyond manic laughter and feral shrieks. "I rolled a seven."
"I rolled a seven."
"What?"
"The demogorgon, it got me."
And, suddenly, he's on the floor, a bundle of best friend in his arms. The world starts to go blurry, and Will only realizes it's because he's crying when drops of water dampen the hair pressing under his chin. When was the last time he cried?
"Hey." Will greets again with a strained voice, because fuck. He wraps his arms tight around the other boy, careful of his claws. Mike is bony and all elbows, but hugging him feels the same as it always has, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. It's getting hard to breathe, but not because of the arms wrapped around him. Sobs rattle up from deep in his chest. They spill over like a fountain, full of all the gripping loneliness and fear and sorrow compiled over the last four years.
He lets himself stop, lets his heart slow. He lets himself hold his best friend in his arms and cry.
It's a scream that draws them apart. Will's head snaps up, Mike's following a beat later. The girl at the gate, the one that smiled at him, is floating a foot above the ground, hands thrown in front of her. Beyond, shadowy tendrils of ash and smoke work their way through the gate.
He doesn't look away as he stands, absently pulling Mike up with him. Before he can let go, Mike's hand slips down to hold Will's. It startles a glance out of him, but when he looks Mike's gaze is focused on the girl.
"El." Mike breathes, brows furrowed with worry. And, oh, this is El, the mage girl who joined the party after he vanished, the one that tried to find him and has been a thorn in the side of the Shadow longer than he knows. He owes her, he thinks, for trying. For getting the closest. There's a half forgotten dream of a hand in his, a head with a buzz-cut and wide, worried eyes.
He needs to thank her, but first, he needs to save her.
Will grips Mike's hand tightly and raises the other, palm up. He reaches in instead of out, into the hivemind he's only ever shied away from. He reaches past dozens of monstrous minds, bats and dogs and vines, until he reaches the darkest one, the shadow in the corner of every action. It flinches when it notices his attention, an instinctive reaction drawn from the collective of every other being, but it rallies quickly.
Hate roars in his mind, a shrieking fury rising deafeningly loud. It strikes at him, clawing at his vestigial hands, but it's as effective as its always been. It's just a shadow, the last dying breath of a monster who couldn't let go of his hatred. It's a curse of the dead upon the living, but the dead hold no true dominion here.
Ghosts should stay in their graveyards.
Will screams, and fire erupts in his mind and from his skin. He burns the hivemind, the shadow, and it chased away so quickly by the light of day. Nightmares are strongest at night, but it's finally, finally daytime, and Will can feel its warmth upon his skin. The Shadow burns, the monsters scream, and the hivemind crumbles.
In the waking world, his claws are burning to ash. Embers eat away unhealthy, grayed keratin, wiping away the Shadow's touch for good. What's left behind is just a hand, a human one, of pale but peach-colored skin and ropey white scars. Will watches the final ashes drift away with dazed eyes.
In front of El, the shadowy tendrils dissipate like smoke in the wind, and the gate seals itself shut. The monsters that haven't made it back through falter and slump to the ground, unable to survive in this world without their master.
For one beautiful second, everything is perfect.
And then Will chokes, pain racing through his jaw as his legs collapse from beneath him. He hears Mike's voice, loud and frantic, but the words buzz through his head without catching.
The air comes warm but too fast, lungs heaving for breath they can't quite catch. Pain explodes behind his teeth and thick red blood seeps from his mouth. Bit by bit, sharp teeth are pushed from his mouth by flat ones, supported only by slick blood. He spits, and tastes salt among the iron, but he still can't breathe-
He wants-
A warm arm curls over his shoulder, and long, wavy brown hair fills the side of his vision. A forehead presses to the side of his own, and a sweet, beautiful, familiar voice whispers reassurances in his ear.
"Mom." Will croaks, uncaring of the blood that spills with the words. And she doesn't seem care either, because she immediately pulls him into a hug, tucking his head under her chin.
"Baby," she cries, stroking a hand through his greasy, unwashed hair, "baby. My baby boy." Now it's his turn for his head to be cried upon, but he doesn't give a damn. His mom is here, right when he needed her, and isn't that a miracle?
The pain is numbed merely by her presence, and he barely notices when he spits out the final tooth. He just curls closer to her.
"Will?" She asks after some time has passed. This is the most he's heard his name said in years. The way it sounds to his ears is almost foreign.
"…yeah?" He whispers, voice rough. His gums only ache a little and they've stopped bleeding. Iron still clings to his tongue and he's sure his face is a sight, but its over. The last of the Shadow's grasp has been chased away by the warmth of love.
"Can I see you?"
Will blinks, nonplussed, before pulling away. She doesn't let him go far, only moving to cradle his face in her hands. She strokes her thumbs under his eyes, drying his tears. She doesn't bother trying to wipe away her own.
"Look at you," her voice cracks, "you're all grown up."
Oh, Will thinks. He is, isn't he? He's not the tiny Will Byers that could barely lift a shotgun anymore. He's not the Will Byers that vanished. He's not the Will Byers that died.
He's the Will Byers that got to grow up.
That got to come home.
Oh.