Chapter Text
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Hawkins, Indiana
October 13, 1986
silver springs — fleetwood mac
— Will, honey, could you please watch that pasta on the stove for me? — Karen Wheeler is slightly turning her head to catch eyes of the brown-haired boy, who is trying to fix the painting, that Holly spent the last hour on. — I’m afraid, I can’t be on time with the dinner cause I still need to take care of the desert and there is literally no help in this house.
The boy slowly looks up from his paper, trying to catch the request with his blurred and tired mind and, meeting the undisguised pleading in the woman's eyes, nods slightly, setting his pencil aside. The chair legs brush lightly against the kitchen tiles as he carefully rises to assist his hostess.
The Byers have been living in this house for about six months now and, according to Ted Wheeler’s murmuring, “parasitizing on his treacherous territory”.
Will, his mother, and Jonathan, after finding El and Hopper, decided that they should return to their original home-home, which they had abandoned about half a year ago, since ignoring the oppressive atmosphere and the renewed evil was now simply impossible.
To such a big surprise, it turned out that Hopper's little forest shack had no idea that it would need to accommodate five people, two of whom were still teenagers with a need for personal space, and one of whom was already almost completely a grown up (except for age), with a personal life.
It was the moment the curly-haired brunette with his sparkling eyes and an overwhelming determination came to the “rescue” and declared that the Byers could live peacefully with his family, and his mother, of course, would not mind it and would do everything possible to make them feel good and comfortable, treating their family with warmth and love as part of her own.
Will still remembers freezing in place, his entire body gripped by icy fear. He immediately began making excuses, making up all sorts of reasons and denying the offer, until his mother interrupted him, smiling and warmly thanking the brunette for such kindness, agreeing because “best friends would certainly be happy to spend more time together” and she, too, would be happy that her youngest son would always have some kind of care and that he would definitely not be alone.
Offuckingcourse.
Such a great idea.
Thanks, mom.
To be fair, Joyce helped Karen at every opportunity, although she always insisted that they were guests and should do absolutely nothing in exchange for hospitality. For the sake of even greater justice, Joyce practically did not take advantage of the hospitality of the Wheeler family.
She spent almost all of her time in Hopper's house, with whom she stubbornly continued to hide her relationship, helping El recover from a hard period in the spring and supporting her during the training that started a couple of months ago.
With El literally being a part of their family, Will couldn’t not take his mother’s absence with any excuse.
The rest of the time, Joyce could still be at the same telephone job she had in California, only now here at home. In Hawkins.
Jonathan was more often disappearing somewhere with Nancy, trying not to overload the hospitable household with his presence, leaving Will to the mercy of his sole existence.
As Hawkins began to be gradually closed for quarantine, claiming it "security measures to combat natural disasters", the news, that since September there would be only two days of school a week for everyone until the situation of the city changes, did not particularly shock anyone.
Students were given lists of the curriculum for the year and the necessary literature for homeschooling, with high hopes that everyone will adhere to discipline and selflessly study the necessary subjects.
Very much presumptious. And stupid.
The weird thing was that the preparatory primary classes were still open and working, albeit in a limited order, which deprived Will of the opportunity to communicate with at least someone (aka Holly Wheeler) in the house, in which he felt so alien and absolutely out of place, that it suffocated him every night.
The liquid boiling in the pot causes the brown-haired a lot of questions and even more stress, because it starts to shoot on the sides much more and harder with every second. — M-Mrs. Wheeler? — The boy's voice ripples a little because of a rare use, making him internally wince from his own pity. — If the sauce shoots, can you already add spaghetti to it?
Not that Will was a household invalid. Being left so many times on his own since the age of eight, he was able to manage and even cook something himself, discovering the world of light soups and easy lunches. Later, as years passed, he succeeded to become the best cook in his family, granting a service to both his mom and Jonathan.
The problem is just in this stupid pasta.
For sure, it is all about the damn pasta that is trying to murder him right freaking now.
— Oh my god, Will! — Karen’s voice is getting louder, as she is trying to reach him at the stove as fast as she can. — Honey, you should have just blocked the gas before it hurt you! — She carefully pushes him to the side, taking his place. After a couple of seconds the sauce stops trying to break out of the pan, subdued by the woman's skillful hands. Karen easily stirs it for the last time before putting the shoulder blade aside. — Are you okay? — She quickly looks around him with sincere anxiety reflected in her eyes. — Not hurt?
Will nods his head slightly, feeling his cheeks rapidly warming with shame and embarrassment, internally feeling how stupid he looks now. — I'm sorry.
go your own way — lessie
— Give it up, honey. — The woman gives him a little smile. — The main thing is that you're okay. And it's just a sauce. — The blonde lets the air out of her lungs weakly, covering her eyes for a second.
She might have got really scared.
His own helplessness stings his eyes.
— I'm sorry for making you worry. — The boy bites the inside of his cheek nervously. — Maybe I'd better do the pie? — He catches the surprised look of the blonde, continuing a little nervously and stuttering. — I... I'm not so good at multifaceted cooking, but my cherry pie is really not so bad.
He literally can draw the steps of how her face is slowly changing from worried and a bit tired into something genuinely tender and bright. A truly mother’s expression. — You are the sweetest, dear. Thank you for your help.
The brown-haired nods, granting her back a small smile and still feeling warmth on his face. He gives her space, approaching towards the fridge and starting to get all the needed ingredients.
Though making dough and the entire pie itself is a well-known process for him, it still needs concentration. The very same concentration he has been missing for the past months, drowning in his own thoughts.
He takes quiet and deep breaths, while his hands are following the technique, trying to comfort and make it up for himself, not to collapse right here on the Wheelers’ kitchen floor. He is trying to focus on mixing the ingredients so hard that it almost makes him feel dizzy.
This is so, so, so stupid.
He can’t control his thoughts that are dancing in his head like some crazy devils by the fire.
Will is so freaking tired.
Vecna is gone. Right, for a while, for some period of time, for hell-knows-how-long, but he is gone. He is not here right now, not somewhere he can hurt others, hurt or take someone he loves or cares about. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
He can’t…
Right…?
These thoughts have been haunting and killing him every day, ever since they had come back.
Will tries to blink away upcoming tears in his eyes, putting some more effort into the dough.
He feels so miserable, so tiny and so much like a fish on land.
Around seven months after feeling those damn goosebumps once again. Seven months after feeling left somewhere behind his own life once again. Seven months after hearing all those stinging words that broke his little fragile heart into millions of pieces. Six months after coming back to Hawkins. Six months after being made to share a house with someone who has taken his heart and soul forever, though he had never needed it. Six months of seeing a dear face with the same warm expression on daily basis and avoiding it with all strength. Six months of lack of sleep on daily basis that caused him a lot of physical and mental exhaustion.
Thank god his dear to heart and mind dizziness is getting him, when he is already done with the pie. He didn’t even notice that somehow the pie is formed and placed on the tray, ready to be sent to the oven.
A fucking miracle.
Will takes the tray with all delicacy and carefulness he is currently capable of and puts it into the opened and pre-heated oven, setting the required temperature. A delightful breath leaves his mouth, when he realizes that he has fulfilled his task and didn’t fail with it.
At least with something he didn’t.
The brown-haired sends a small smile to Holly, that has curiously followed his actions for a couple of moments, and starts cleaning up to leave the kitchen in a normal state for Karen, who he didn’t notice to leave the room, not to take care of it.
After finishing all the dishes and placing them on a shelf of a kitchen cabinet, he can finally come back to Holly and get involved in her drawings once again. Will tries to follow the way her colors get mixed on the paper, creating a perplexity of something he can’t clearly understand, feeling how his head gets heavier and heavier with every second. It’s getting harder to blink with every moment because his exhaustion is way beyond the limit of a normal person.
He doesn’t catch the moment the colors he was looking at get vague and then completely lost from his vision. He doesn’t catch the sad eyes of a light-haired girl, looking at him with worry. He doesn’t catch the moment his head is slightly sliding from his hand, clumsily landing somewhere on the kitchen table.
He will surely apologize for falling asleep on the kitchen table. He will be so sorry for not paying attention to Holly’s drawings she cares so much about. He will feel so embarrassed and burdened for causing trouble to Karen once again. He will get the pie out of the oven just in a couple of minutes… He absolutely will… He will…
«For some reason, at some point he does not feel the warmth of the familiar kitchen, does not hear the usual sound of a rustling pencil and does not feel the smell of fresh food prepared for dinner.
Instead, an unusually cold wind touches his face. Will looks around. The place seems too... Too familiar.
It's not the Upside Down. It's definitely not the Upside Down.
But for some reason he feels the usual chill that runs all over his body, stirring his insides.
A green field appears in front of his eyes. It's so bright, like Holly's favorite pencil, which she always uses to draw the grass of the lawn near their house.
So bright, surrounded by a scattering of summer flowers, consisting of a variety of colors.
So bright and familiar, so...
So scary, that the boy thinks he feels a growing panic bowling inside him.
Will takes a cautious step, touching the ears of grass under him with his foot. He looks around his feet and realizes that they are much closer to him than he is used to seeing.
Is he... smaller?
And... He's barefoot.
Will raises his head and looks at the spacious sky above him. It's so big and immense. So clean and blue. So... far away.
He looks around. Apart from the spacious field, he can't see anything else.
gilded lily — cults
Somewhere from afar, he hears the flooding chirping of birds in the trees.
Where is he?
What kind of place is this?
Is it...
Is his consciousness finally so tired that it decided to give him one quiet empty sleep, where he can just be?
He takes a few more steps, enjoying the softness of the summer grass under his feet. It feels like a breath of fresh air after a closed dusty chamber.
The boy clings to some unfamiliar flower and squats down to take a closer look at it.
It's somewhat reminiscent of a wild chamomile, but it's unlikely that daisies are purple.
— Get away from me!
Will shudders with his whole body from an unexpected scream. The boy rises sharply, forgetting about his long-awaited serenity just a second ago.
— Don't touch me!
The boy looks around several times, not understanding where the voice is coming from. A scary familiar voice. So familiar that he will recognize it, even if there are hundreds of other voices around.
— I told you to get the hell away from me!
Will starts to get even more nervous, when he realizes that this is the very same voice that usually makes him want to die and resurrect at the same time.
And he still doesn't see its owner.
He takes a few steps further across the field, not even having the slightest idea where exactly he needs to go.
He slowly climbs up the hill, when his heart tightens painfully in fear.
Mike.
Little Mike.
Mike, when he was about six years old.
Mike... Above whom the formidable figure of his father towers.
Lonnie.
No.
No. No. No.
— You fucking brat. Don't even dare open your mouth. Do you understand?! — The man spits out the words viciously, shaking the boy by the collar.
Mike doesn't stop trying to get out of the man's grip, kicking and trying to hit him. — Get your hands off me, asshole!
Will feels his eyes painfully pinching from the coming tears, and his chest flares up with a disturbingly familiar burning fire.
Mike.
He doesn't feel any of his limbs, but still somehow he manages to get up and rush down the hill to his native figure.
He must make it in time.
The grass under his feet no longer feels like something pleasant. It rips off his feet with its prickly tops, but he doesn't pay any attention to it, rushing faster and faster.
He is almost near his target, not yet noticed by any of the figures, as a resounding slap echoes all over the field.
Will freezes in place, almost flying forward from the sharpness of his braking.
He looks in shock at how Mike's head is turned to the side and a red mark from the blow gradually begins to appear on his cheek.
No.
No, please.
Please, not this.
Not Mike.
Not again.
Tears are already flowing down his cheeks non-stop, unpleasantly touching the skin and breaking off neck, hiding in the collar of a light T-shirt.
He is standing still dead pale, frozen by fear, bitterness and stabbing pain that covers his whole body.
Mike turns his head to confront the man in front of him again. He looks the same as always: collected, stubborn and with burning eyes, that accidentally cling to the boy's silhouette. — Will... — He exhales quietly, looking at his friend with regret and the usual worry, reflected in his eyes.
Even this quiet sound is enough for the father to catch and turn to the right direction, giving his own son a disgusted look. The man grimaces and lets go of the brunette, heading towards his son. — Your dirty boyfriend...
— Don't touch him! — Despite the humiliation, despite the pain of the blow, despite his own feelings, Mike still throws himself at the man, clinging to his hand in an attempt to stop him. — Don’t you dare touch him!
The man ignores a small obstacle for him, approaching his son. — See? — He roughly grabs the boy's hand, unhooking it from him to push him aside. — Do you see what happens, when you misbehave? — He doesn't calculate his strength again, so Mike doesn't have time to orient himself and flies straight to the grass. Will already wants to rush to him, but his father doesn't let him do it, grabbing him by the shoulder. — It's... dirty behavior. This is an abomination. This weakness that you demonstrate on a pair with your... with your girlfriend. It's unacceptable. — He squeezes Will's child's shoulder harder, causing a new stream of tears from severe pain. — People like you need to be exterminated. Destroyed. So that you don't dirty this land with your abomination. — In his every word, in every gesture, in every look… There is pure hatred. — Faggot... — He pushes his son away with all his strength, that he falls on the grass, defeated and humiliated one more time. Lonnie turns to Mike, already raising his foot above the child lying on the grass.
— No! — Will screams, straining all his vocal cords, washed by a new stream of tears and hysteria, which makes him shake like a fever. — No! Please! Mike! No, Mike!”
Will opens his eyes abruptly, hopping on the spot. He looks around in panic.
It's still the same usual kitchen in his best friend's house. A large wooden table, at which he was “lucky” to fall asleep. A stupid flower behind the curtain on the windowsill. A warm hand on his shoulder, which burns the place of touch.
It was a dream. It's a dream. A dream.
Lonnie is not here.
His father is not here.
— Will...
He looks shocked at the sound of his name and finally gets why the place on his shoulder burns so much.
speech of foxes — gem club
The brunette towers over him with deep eyes, sweeping over his face. His brown pupils are habitually full of kindness, sincerity, and concern, meeting his own in a silent dialogue.
The boy looks at him as if trying to read his mind. Trying to peer deep into his soul, to extract the answers to all his unspoken questions and to definitely offer to help. Once again. As always.
His dark hair, recently cut, neatly frames his strong features, further emphasizing the adolescent contours of his cheekbones, jawline and forehead.
Handsome. Unfairly familiar, warm and handsome.
Mike.
He feels a slight itch on his fingertips and how they barely tremble in the desire to touch the boy in front of him, just to make sure that everything is real. That…
Mike is here.
He is alright.
He is not six, they are not in the field and Lonnie isn’t hurting him, trying to stab Will with his words.
He is sixteen, they are in the Wheelers’ kitchen and it’s Mike, the one who is hurting Will even with his presence. Hurting him with his words, that are printed in Will’s memory like a red-hot stamp on cauterized criminals.
As if he is not a cauterized criminal.
The worst of them.
Claimed not by his father, but by birth. By burden of his existence.
A familiar sting reaches his heart, which has not yet recovered from the experienced stress in the dream, reminding him of the persistent pain that he has been carrying within himself for months years.
— Will… — A light voice, wrapped in softness and care known since forever, touches his ears. — Are you… — The boy is slightly frowning, still looking at him with undeniable worry somewhere deep in his insanely dark eyes. — Are you okay?
He feels dryness and emptiness in his throat. He feels the walls of his throat tighten, when he tries to strain. Tries to act normally. — Sure. — The brown-haired tries to steady his raw voice and make it not sound so pitiful. Not to show any tiny shadow of his misery. — Everything is fine.
He knows that the boy doesn’t believe him. The furrow between his brows deepens and he purses his lips in frustration, still looking at Will with unhidden persistency. — You were crying.
The brown-haired slowly raises his hand, bringing it to his face. His trembling fingertips leave behind some of the forgotten moisture on his cheeks. He didn't even realize it. His brain was too busy with everything else to recognize real tears.
Shit.
This is just pathetic.
— Probably just a physical reaction. — He nervously shrugs his shoulders, discreetly shaking off the brunette’s hand, and turns around so as not to look into the inquisitive eyes that he will not be able to refuse anyway. — Nothing to worry about.
— Will… — The dark-haired boy's voice sounds sad and painful, making Will cringe internally. — How is it not to-
— How was your time with El? — The brown-haired drops a quick glance at the clock on the wall, noticing that his mesmerizing dream has taken an hour of his life.
— Will, you-
— Is her training going well? — He keeps cutting Mike, moving the chair and getting up to start making dinner preparations. The sleepy mirage still possesses his body, preventing him from moving in a coordinated manner. — Haven’t seen her in a while. — He reaches the kitchen cabinet to get plates. — Though we have our evening Walkie-talkies talks, but it’s still not the same-
He's completely unprepared for Mike to be right behind him, when he turns to start setting out the dishes. He suddenly falls silent, freezing and looking straight into the dark eyes again. The cymbals make an unpleasant sound, when he accidentally squeezes his fingers harder.
The boy in front of him is staring. Will feels like he is digging deep to the core of his existence, preventing from any rescue and leaving him no chance to escape. He feels shivers going down his spine, as the brunette dominates him with his height. It’s just inches, but Will still needs to lift up his chin to look at the other’s eyes.
He can clearly say that Mike is not being angry, but he is totally not pleased with the situation or with Will or with some other shit that Will absolutely has no strength to handle right now.
Oh, just screw it.
my tears ricochet — taylor swift
— Could you…? — He tries to make a hint that the boy should turn up and let him pass, but apparently his vaunted stubbornness is making itself known again.
— Could you stop? — His voice is still soft, but now he can catch some irritated sparks in it.
— Well, it’s almost dinner time already, so I really need to serve the table. — He knows that acting stupid and trying to ignore the elephant in the room isn’t going to help anyhow, but he really doesn’t want to-
— Stop acting, it doesn’t make any-
— Oh, hon, you are home. — Karen suddenly finds herself in the room, smiling warmly at her son. — Dear, was your sleep good? — She gives her attention to Will now, also sending him a smile. — You must have been so tired. I took care of the pie for you. — She places her hand on his shoulder, slightly comforting him. — I truly appreciate your help, but you really need to rest more and not burden yourself with all this stuff. — She quickly glances at the plates in his hands, reaching out to take those from him. — You are a part of our family and greatly welcomed here, but you are still our guest. — She doesn’t give him even a small chance to respond. — Mike will give me a hand with this. Take your seat or time before dinner.
He sincerely tries to object, but is again being deprived of the opportunity, being taken off the plates and handed them to the brunette, who continues to stare at him, clearly displeased with his mom’s interruption.
Will thinks that even though he'll be useless for the next fifteen minutes, this is the perfect opportunity to escape from here and avoid being caught up in a heartbreaking conversation with his best friend.
He nods slowly and smoothly glides past the family members, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Mike continues to watch him.
Yes.
He desperately needs to leave.
The water doesn't prove to be the long-awaited salvation, but it does help him come to his senses and cool down a bit.
He looks at his reflection in the mirror and grimaces.
A pitiful sight.
Puffy eyes with broken capillaries, red cheeks, a rumpled appearance. It looks like he's been run under a train.
He sighs heavily, wiping his face and mentally preparing himself for the upcoming dinner.
Surprisingly, everyone is present at dinner tonight. Even his mother, who's animatedly talking to Karen. Jonathan and Nancy are lost in their own world, not paying much attention to anyone else at the table, merely nodding to him as he passes them to take his seat. Ted Wheeler, as usual, leafs through his newspaper while devouring his dinner, and Holly smiles kindly at Will, starting to chatter about how she'll show him her drawing, which he never got to see finished.
The best part is that his seat is right across from Mike.
Great.
Okay.
In any case, he's already gotten used to hiding from his best friend.
Dinner is relatively quiet. Everyone is chatting, finding suitable companions and sharing the day's news. Will even exchanges a few words with his brother at one point, forcing a semblance of a smile.
This at least helps distract him from the endless thoughts devouring his mind. However, despite this, he can still constantly feel the inquisitive gaze of familiar eyes on his face, seemingly trying to burn a hole the size of a volcano crater into it.
He studiously ignores this, bracing himself and accepting the “thanks” for the pie.
He's not allowed to help with the cleaning, of course, and is sent off to rest and do his own thing.
Jonathan and Nancy invite him to watch a horror movie together, and just as he's about to agree, he notices the brunette looking at him with interest and a hint of hope, no doubt expecting an answer.
Will cringes inwardly once again and forces an awkward smile. — I... I remembered I promised... Uh... Lucas. I promised Lucas I'd help him with... With his literature homework and... And with a new book for Max.
Jonathan scans him for a moment, fully aware that his little brother is being evasive, but he simply nods and gives him the "you-know-where-I-am-if-you-want-to-talk” smile.
He nods in agreement and heads to his mother to alert her of his absence, receiving a worried babble in response about it being too late and unsafe.
Seriously, mom?
— Mom, it's practically next door. — He feels a twinge of nervousness, wondering if he might not be allowed to escape for some much-needed freedom from one particular person and all his thoughts, but Karen helps him, assuring Joyce that everything will be fine and that he could really use some time off.
He ignores another wave of self-pity and nods gratefully, slipping quietly out of the house before the reason of his nervousness can intercept him.
The slightly cool autumn air caresses his face as the door closes quietly behind him.
The brown-haired boy adjusts the collar of his light jacket and takes the steps down the paved path leading to the house.
In the evening, the city begins to seem gloomier and more frightening.
Perhaps, it’s only for him.
But most likely, everyone cringes, when they look at a partially abandoned city.
The boy walks along the paved path, counting the stones under his feet.
They have the same cracks as the ones inside him.
How many coincidences there are, when your thoughts revolve around the same thing, sucking you into the abyss of their suffering.
Well, misery loves company.
He desperately hopes that Lucas is at home.
***