Chapter Text
Will wakes up as he does most mornings–drenched in a cold sweat.
He groans and fumbles to get untangled from the thin cotton blanket that had twisted itself uncomfortably around his midsection sometime during the night.
The mattress’s awkward fit on the basement floor finds Will in direct eyeline with the sun, meaning his day starts oh-so-pleasantly with a squint against the blinding light. Will once again curses himself for not saying yes when Jonathan had offered him the couch instead.
After finally freeing himself from the capture of the blanket and sitting up straight, Will rubs his eyes and sighs.
No matter how many times it happens, it still takes him by surprise when he wakes up like this, unguarded and weak.
The nightmares come and go. Or, rather, the intensity of them comes and goes. Will has the pleasure of getting them every night, though he can’t always remember the details when he finally wakes up. Although Vecna hasn’t made any appearances as of recent, Will knows better than to expect his life to go any smoother.
His goosebumps seem to have ceased at least for the time being, though Will embarrassingly still feels a little terrified whenever they appear due to the cold.
He hates the cold. It’s just one more thing that reminds him of what he can never escape.
This is where his dreams usually find themselves, leaving him with the reminisce of something dark and grimy, like there’s dirt buried underneath his finger nails and mud in his hair when he wakes.
This is also the main reason why Will has almost sole ownership over the downstairs bathroom in the mornings, after Jonathan quickly came to realize he would barely get a chance to take morning showers now that they shared.
Will had originally felt guilty that his brother was forced to accommodate him once again, but Jonathan had insisted it was okay, and that he preferred nighttime showers anyway.
Will knew this was a lie, since Jonathan was the opposite of a night owl and typically passed out at about 6:00 pm each night like clockwork, but didn’t argue.
The gesture was nice and Will can't seem to find much of anything nice anymore.
Finally feeling awake enough to stand without seeing stars, Will hauls himself up to take his shower.
He digs around in the small dresser that had once belonged to Nancy for some jeans before moving on to the bottom drawer for a clean shirt. The baby pink knobs of the drawers sport assorted stickers, some shaped like hearts and some flowers, not that they register to Will as anything more than an eyesore.
Sometimes, the wood gets caught when Will pulls too hard, and this morning is no different.
He tugs frustratedly before he sighs and gives up, letting his eyes wander around the cramped basement.
He can just wear the shirt he'd slept in–some old band tee with a faded photo of Simon Le Bon across the front–but quickly discards this idea once he imagines having to face anybody that also lives in the house in a Duran Duran shirt.
It had been laundry day yesterday and, though Will had used his entirely uneventful evening to put his own clothing away, Jonathan’s not-so-neatly folded laundry is still piled up on the end of the couch's armrest.
Will bites his lip for a second.
Jonathan won’t miss his shirt for one day.
The fog of the bathroom mirror makes it nearly impossible for Will to see his hair, so, eventually, he simply runs a hand over the parts that he can feel sticking up and calls it a day.
He has no one to impress anyway.
Will pulls on a pair of red tube socks before making his way over to the basement stairs.
It is there he says a silent prayer before twisting the doorknob, manifesting an empty house, a cereal box, and morning cartoons on the other side waiting for him. He at the very least wants the empty house part.
Unfortunately, God must not be listening on this particular morning, and so Will braces himself upon hearing the sizzling of bacon and the sound of Holly’s giggles trailing into the hallway.
Karen is turned facing the stove, something jazzy crooning from the small radio on the kitchen counter, humming to herself. Ted Wheeler sits at the head of the table, paper perched so far up that Will can only see the very tips of his ears over the top of it. Holly is seated diagonal to him, drinking from her cup of milk with two hands, pigtails trailing dangerously close to her syrupy plate. Nancy and Jonathan are in the living room clad in backpacks and “outside clothes” as Will’s mother likes to call them, clearly planning on leaving soon, and Mike–well.
Mike is nowhere to be seen, not that this fact comes as any sort of shock to Will. Even after over half a year back in Hawkins, Will sees less of Mike in his own house than he did in Lenora.
Will can count in his mind about ten major changes he has experienced since his family packed up the California house and moved back to Indiana.
Some are only superficial, like his once-defined bowl cut now being chopped down to a shaggy, more adult version which he much prefers, and some pleasantly unexpected, like his mother finally beginning to allow him to visit El and Hopper in the woods. Albeit, he can’t go alone but, well, a win is a win.
Will also started experimenting with oil pastels in June, acrylic paint being hard enough to come by anyway, let alone during an apocalypse. Luckily, Karen seems eager to indulge in both his and Holly’s artistic journeys, occasionally scrounging up old art supplies via some PTA parent from Hawkins Middle.
Another glaring, ever-present obstacle that Will is now constantly met with, is his tense and terribly awkward relationship (if it can even be called that anymore) with his supposed best friend, and now house-mate, Mike Wheeler.
Though their last conversation hadn’t been a particularly momentous occasion, Will still somehow had thought that maybe, just maybe, Mike would stay true to his promise of rekindling their best-friendship when they had spoken back in his California bedroom. He had sounded like he wanted it as much as Will did.
In true Will Byers fashion, he had tried his very best in the resulting months to let go of the pinching feeling in his chest that seemed to appear whenever he remembered Mike’s confession to El and, additionally, to ignore any leftover feelings for Mike that he did–does not need to be hung up on anymore, thank you very much.
As hypothetically successful or unsuccessful his endeavors may have been, as it turned out, it didn’t really matter all that much, since Mike had thus far not made one single move to reach out to Will.
Maybe it wouldn't have been so strange back in California where Will was pretty used to that treatment anyway–not that it hurts him any less now–but living together, it’s getting pretty hard to brush it off as an accident.
And, well, maybe Will doesn’t want to talk to him. Maybe it’s better for both of them this way.
Or maybe it’s stupid and petty and childish and he should just do what he always does and run back to Mike begging for forgiveness.
No, Will thinks to himself. He is better than that now.
He is allowed to hold a grudge, hell! He's allowed to be the one in the right! Fuck Mike for not talking to him!
Will chooses to take a seat before he works himself up again, opting for the chair opposite of Holly.
She beams up at him, and this time, one pigtail does meet her plate, and a sticky stain finds itself on the very tips of her blond hair.
“Holly, oh! I told you to be careful with those!”
Karen abandons the stove in her scramble to reach her daughter, clicking her tongue as she dabs a kitchen towel on the spot.
Holly seems entirely unbothered, grinning at Will as she wordlessly reaches across the table to pass him a piece of paper and a violet Mr. Sketch marker from her steadily accumulating pile of colors.
Will smiles back at her and looks down at it.
She has messily scribbled a picture of what he guesses is a horse, though its front legs are extremely disproportionate, and the red marker she had used clearly was running out of ink.
He nods at her in encouragement and gives a thumbs up.
Holly is probably his favorite Wheeler.
Will flips the paper over and uncaps the marker, quickly sketching out his own horse, only this one has on a long wig and a frilly apron. He accompanies it with a speech bubble that reads, “Holly! Be more careful!”, before sliding the paper back to her.
It takes Holly a minute to decipher what Will has written, but once she does, she covers her mouth with a sticky hand and giggles again.
Will shoots her a mischievous smile.
Ted peeks over his paper, looking less than amused. He sniffs before glancing at Will, and then returns presumably back to the business section.
Maybe Ted Wheeler could give Mike a run for his money when it came to the silent treatment.
Will busies himself with the box of Count Chocula in front of him.
“Mom! We’re leaving now!” Nancy calls from halfway out the door, and Will hears it close before Karen has the chance to respond.
He sighs.
Of course, he understands why his mom doesn’t want him in on the action with the rest of the group, and he knows that she is probably right in ordering him to stay away, but it doesn't make the crushing isolation of being the only one in the entire town not able to do anything hurt any less.
He is essentially on house arrest, confined only to the Wheeler's house and occasionally El and Hopper's cabin. But, then, El is always training and Hopper with her and so those visits are becoming less and less exciting as time goes on.
Will has tried several times over the past few months to hang out with the party, but they are always busy too; Lucas is seemingly always at the hospital, Max in the hospital, and Dustin nowhere to be found.
It really only leaves him with one other option when it comes to company, but Will can't find it in himself to be that desperate. Besides, Mike is always out, or rather, in but tucked away in his room, the door shut tight.
“Will, would you like any bacon?”
Karen stands in front of him smiling, a glass tray of food balancing in her right hand.
“Oh, sure. Thanks Mrs. Wheeler.”
Will holds out his empty plate as she serves him four pieces.
“Of course. Anything else, sweetie?”
Though Karen is certainly very nice, and Will feels about as comfortable around her as he possibly can considering the situation, he is still hesitant to overstep, and therefore replies with a polite, “No, thank you. I’m alright.”
She nods before her eyes snap up to the living room again.
The sound of the front door clicking open sounds across the kitchen. Had Nancy forgotten something?
There’s some shuffling before whoever it is comes closer to the kitchen, the noise suddenly coming to an abrupt stop.
“How nice of you to join us.” Karen starts, the hand not holding the plate of bacon on her hip in a no-nonsense type of way that reminds Will she is a mother. “Care to inform me where you have been?”
The shuffling starts again, this time scrambling away from the kitchen, and Will turns just in time to see a blur of blue disappear up the staircase.
He hears Ted scoff.
“See, Karen. This is what happens when you’re too soft on him. He thinks he can do whatever he wants.”
Will sucks in his cheeks as he waits for Karen’s reply.
He has unfortunately had to bear witness to several of their quite frequent domestic disputes and has learned by now that Karen does not hold back on her husband.
“Well, Ted, feel free to go ahead and discipline your son. I’m sure he could use a father figure right now.”
Her implications don’t go unnoticed by Will.
Back when he and Mike spoke, Mike had told him enough about Ted Wheeler for Will to draw the conclusion that he isn’t much of a father, let alone the figure of one.
He isn’t even totally sure Ted knows Mike’s birthday.
Ted huffs but backs down, adjusting his paper yet again.
Will bites into his bacon and leans back in the kitchen chair.
He isn’t sure how much longer he can stay stuck in this house.
Since today is Saturday, Will isn't able to reach his escape from the prison that is the Wheeler house. El will be busy all day training with their mom and Hopper, and Will knows from experience that playing bystander as she practices just stresses her out, something they certainly do not need right now.
He can just revert to his default activity–lounging in front of the living room T.V. with a handful of Holly’s markers and a sketch pad, Transformers idly playing in the background–but this leaves him vulnerable to running into He Who Shall Not Be Named.
Mike being home sort of throws a wrench in these plans since Will tries his best to stay down in the basement whenever the possibility of crossing paths shows itself.
He knows he’s a coward.
But, then, if Will is a coward, Mike must be too.
What Will lacks in combat he makes up for in observation, and it is no secret to him that Mike makes himself as scarce as possible whenever Will is hanging around, which, as of late, is all the fucking time.
The basement it is.
Luckily, since October has not quite reached heater level cold, Will suffices with some long sleeve that may or may not belong to Jonathan, and a blanket as he settles into the couch. The cable downstairs doesn’t work as well as it does upstairs, so Will decides that he’ll probably be better off with a tape from the box next to his legs.
He digs through it before landing on a copy of Back To The Future he is 99% sure Dustin stole from the Blockbuster when it came out, cracking open its plastic packaging and fishing the tape out.
After popping it in the VHS player, Will huffs as he realizes whoever watched the movie last forgot to rewind it back to the beginning, so he flops back onto the couch to wait. The tape lets out a soft whirring sound to accompany Will’s thoughts.
Being down in the basement feels… strange. Almost like Will isn’t supposed to be in it alone. Not that he ever used to be.
Back when everything was normal–Before, this basement was a sacred space, a shared space. Will can’t recall a single moment from Before when the room wasn’t filled with laughter, cheering, excited whispers, or the steady grumble of boyish arguments about whose fault it really was that they had lost the game.
He feels a melancholy sort of feeling sink into his chest as he remembers a simpler time– the warmth of friendship, the normalcy. All of those things feel foreign to him now, and it dawns on Will that he can’t remember the last time he has felt that true, pure happiness of being young.
He knows that most of the time he should have been spending feeling it–the innocence and naivety that only really protects you when you’re little–has been stolen away from him by whatever lurks under their feet, deep in the shadows.
The anger will never really disappear, as much as Will wants to forget it. And no matter how much he hopes and prays and believes that it is over, in the back of his mind–that place most vulnerable to violation–Will still feels it.
Not him, not like before. But Will knows some part of himself will never be the same. Not with that gaping hole in the center of town. Not with the crushing, impending, constant ache that Will can feel all over his body telling him it’s still not over. If it ever can be.
The tape clicks to a stop.
The movie would probably be a lot more engaging if Will (a) hadn’t already seen it more times than he could count on his hands, or (b) if the god damn thing would stop skipping every ten seconds.
Will hits pause just as Marty is about to play “Johnny B. Goode” and makes himself sit upright.
It’s now that he realizes how thirsty he is.
Will looks around for a glass of water, a Coke, anything, before realizing he has to do the last thing in the entire world he wants to.
As he is starting up the stairs, Will briefly considers just sticking his head under the sink faucet, before rolling his eyes at his own dramatics.
Whatever. It’s been like an hour and a half, Mike’s probably long gone anyway.
Will makes as little noise as possible as he enters the hallway for the second time today, unfortunately unable to do much about the creaky wood floors of the Wheeler house.
Because it’s Saturday, both of Mike’s parents are nowhere to be found.
Karen is volunteering at the Hawkins shelter as per usual, and her husband is probably out pissing away his day with a golf club and a Miller Lite.
Holly is most likely at a friend's house, though Will finds himself embarrassingly wishing she were still home and able to act as the buffer for whatever weird tension cuts through the house when only Mike and Will inhabit it.
Which, yes, Will unfortunately can confirm.
His back is turned to Will from where he leans over the kitchen counter, the green ceramic bowl at his fingertips teetering on the edge of the very top shelf.
Will watches him for a moment, unsure whether he should just back away slowly, as he would with a wild animal he doesn’t want to scare.
Mike clearly hasn’t noticed him yet.
Will decides that leaving is the solution, and begins to turn around before tripping very un-gracefully over a stack of boxes leaned conveniently against the wall.
Like a wild animal, Mike startles at the sound and spins around, the ceramic slipping from his grasp onto the kitchen floor with a crash.
Both boys stare at each other for a moment in the following silence, frozen. Will realizes that this is the most time they have spent alone since the day he and Jonathan moved in.
On that first night, they had all eaten dinner together in relative silence, though Will had just brushed it off as the collective shock that came with being a Hawkins resident in 1986. When it was time for bed and Mike didn’t come down to check in or even wish him a quick goodnight, Will realized that he was wrong. Things were going to be different.
He had hoped it was a temporary thing, just Mike adjusting to yet another major life change, but it had never really gotten better after that.
Will can’t help it if he still waits up a little every night, just in case.
He plans on stopping that awful habit any day now.
Mike doesn’t really blink, just flinches a little when the bowl breaks, making no move to clean it up. Will momentarily wonders if Mike is just going to stay like this, a statue in the middle of the kitchen for the rest of eternity.
Will is sure the look on his face is pretty similar to the look on Mike's, one filled with caution, alarm, and most importantly, discomfort.
They haven’t done this in a long time.
“Um,” Will starts dumbly. He stops there.
Mike moves his mouth a little like he’s gearing up to say something before glancing back down at the floor.
“Shit.”
Unsurprisingly, this is the first time Mike has spoken even semi-directly to Will in months.
Shit. Fitting.
Mike scrambles to grab the broom from its hook next to the fridge, clumsily sweeping up the scattered bits of pottery that litter the floor. Will’s fingers twitch at his side, the constant nagging need to help that his mother had instilled in him becoming stronger each time Mike misses a piece.
After watching Mike attempt to sweep for about two minutes with little success, Will sighs and steps forward.
He wordlessly takes the broom from Mike, ignoring the sharp tang of proximity he hasn’t felt in what must be forever, reaching under the sink where he knows Karen keeps her dust pan.
She had found him one August afternoon, restless and clearly bored out of his mind at being stuck in the house, and offered to have him clean up the kitchen with her. Will had jumped at the proposition, desperate for a task, and they had spent the next two hours side by side, tidying up the spice cabinets and scrubbing the counter tops.
It wasn’t fun necessarily, but it was something to do, and he wasn’t nearly as alone when he did it, and so Will found himself offering up his services whenever he heard her in the kitchen.
It became a routine of sorts, Karen’s jazz always playing somewhere in the background where they work, and Will has come to find himself pleasantly surprised by her company.
She is nothing like Ted Wheeler, he has discovered, all smiles and genuine interest in what he has to say.
She is nothing like Mike either, not really. None of that angst or attitude shows itself in the soft creases of his mothers eyes.
If anything, she is the most like Holly, and Will is beginning to think that he might be a better fit for this family than Mike.
Mike, who has strangely allowed himself to be pushed aside as Will cleans up his mess, switches places with Will and silently looks on from the corner.
Will expertly sweeps all the tiny shards into the dustpan and tips its contents into the trash, shaking off the broom before returning it to its hook. He hesitates before reaching up and grabbing a glass from the cabinet.
He might as well get something out of this.
Mike is still silent as Will fills his cup at the sink and takes a sip, closing his eyes briefly in preparation for whatever disaster is bound to strike.
When he opens them, he turns back to look at Mike, who quickly looks away in favor of keeping his eyes trained on what might be a coffee stain on the edge of the counter.
“You thirsty?” Will finds himself asking, extending the olive branch completely by accident. He really doesn’t know why he speaks first.
Mike takes more time than necessary to respond before shooting Will a quick glance and a, “Sure, yeah.”
Will nods, then turns to bring down another glass that he fills at the sink.
Not sure where to keep his gaze, he holds it out to Mike, eyes awkwardly flitting somewhere around the ceiling. He only looks back down once he feels the quick brush of Mike’s fingers against his own as he accepts the glass.
They sort of just stand there, on opposite sides of the kitchen, for what feels like forever, and Will begins to think it’s getting a little weird.
While he can’t seem to find a comfortable place to look, Mike certainly has, continuing to not very convincingly pretend to study the stain.
As if he would ever clean it. Will knows him at least well enough to know this.
Will decides that his cue has long passed and it’s time to return to Marty and his musical display.
He dumps what’s left of the lukewarm water from his glass back into the sink before rinsing it out, drying it off with a dishrag, and placing it upside down back on the shelf.
As he turns to go, Mike jerks as if broken from a trance, the movement catching Will’s attention. He looks at Mike in alarm.
Is something wrong? Did he hear something?
But Mike’s face doesn’t look fearful, just a bit… strained. Sort of sheepish.
Will raises his eyebrows in a question, prompting Mike to speak or do whatever it is he is going to do.
Mike opens his mouth.
“Are you–”
The front door slams open.
“Will!”
Will keeps his eye contact with Mike for one more second before breaking it, turning his attention towards the interruption.
Not that there is anything to interrupt.
Nancy’s head pokes into the kitchen, windswept curls billowing around her face.
“Will, Jonathan needs to talk to you.” She looks at him as if that alone is enough for Will to understand, and he walks to join her in the living room.
There, Jonathan sits on the edge of the ottoman, staring at some piece of paper in his hand.
“Jonathan? What’s–”
Will’s brother looks up at him, worry etched across his tired face.
“Will! Will…” Jonathan looks nervously at Nancy before sighing and looking down again.
“What–Jonathan, Jesus, what?” Will prods his brother, feeling his own eyebrows start to mirror Jonathan's the way they fold inward.
Jonathan looks him in the eyes, this time fear inching its way into his expression.
“Will. He’s back. He– Lucas saw him.”
Will feels cold all of the sudden, a once familiar shiver making its way up his back.
No.
Not again.
Before he gets the chance to speak, Will feels someone come stand behind him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will can see Mike’s tense frame coming closer.
Though they aren’t in exactly the best place, Will still appreciates that Mike at least cares enough to take this information seriously.
Will takes a breath and finally asks, “Where.”
Jonathan looks at Nancy again before fully unveiling the piece of paper in his hands and showing the group.
It's some colored line map of Hawkins, a system Will does not have the privilege of learning since he isn’t allowed to do anything related to the Upside Down per his mother’s very strict orders. Jonathan points to one of the red lines as if it means anything to Will.
“Here was where Lucas said he saw it. Or, him, I’m–I’m not totally sure about the details, but Mom thinks it’s serious enough that–”
Will cuts his brother off with a hand. “Wait–she knows?”
Jonathan gives him a deadpan look.
“Have you met her? Of course she knows. Oh, and if you think this is bad, just wait ‘til she decides you can’t go outside anymore.”
Will doesn’t laugh at this because he knows it’s probably true. Vecna has a way of ruining his life in more ways than one.
Jonathan ignores Will’s groan and pushes forward, “Anyway, Mom thinks it’s serious enough that we need to have someone doing 24 hour surveillance on the military base. Like, day and night.”
He looks up at Mike for the first time.
“Speaking of, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Dustin right now?”
Will and Nancy both look at Mike who turns a little red. He shifts a bit, uncomfortable under the attention and splutters out, “I– We switched shifts.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Whatever, jeez. Can’t a guy take a break?”
Jonathan frowns at him. “Well, no, Mike. A guy cannot ‘take a break’ when there is a mass murdering shadow monster that likes to stalk my little brother on the loose again!”
When Will hears Jonathan say “again”, he feels that shiver. It never really gets less scary.
“Whatever.” Mike grumbles again, peeking at Will quickly before looking at his sister. He turns on his heel and calls to Nancy, “Tell me when Mom gets back. I’ll be in my room.”
Will is met with the all familiar sight of Mike’s back disappearing up the staircase.
He hears Nancy scoff, “Who does he think I am, his assistant?”
Will turns back to Jonathan. “Okay, what now.”
His brother gives him a sort of sympathetic smile. “You just gotta wait ‘til Mom gets home. Then we find out ‘what now’. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”
Will groans again and flops down next to Jonathan.
Nancy begins saying something to Jonathan about Steve, or maybe it’s about cheese–he isn’t really paying attention anymore.
He’s sure that the knowledge that Vecna is alive and well should be scaring him more than it does, but in all honesty, Will has sort of been anticipating the news for a good while now. Venca never can seem to stay away from him for long.
In his mind, he challenges Vecna to do something that, for once, won’t give Joyce Byers yet another excuse to complete her life's mission of keeping Will as confined as she possibly can.
Of course, this must fall on deaf ears, or maybe Vecna is listening and laughing wherever he is. In any case, all Will can do is sit and overthink his seconds-long interaction with fucking Mike Wheeler and wait to be met with his mother’s wrath.
Will closes his eyes and breathes out.
He should have just sat through “Johnny B. Goode”.