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Will Byers has always been quiet.
His parents could not get him to speak for a long time. Longer than what was “normal”. Then again he was never very good at doing anything normal. He was three when he finally said his first word, much to the complete and total delight of his mother, who was under the impression that her son was never going to talk. Doctor’s brushed it off as him being a “late bloomer” and to give him time around people talking, the television on, and other toddlers, and soon she’d be wishing he’d be back to not speaking.
Still, she hadn’t been very convinced. Especially when words were few and rare. Not to his mom, or his dad, who Joyce had to threaten multiple times to stop trying to scare him into speaking.
When Will’s dad had left, he started finding it easier to find his voice.
He’d always found it easier to talk to Jonathan, his older brother, and his mom. They were happy he was getting “less shy around everyone” as their mother liked to phrase it. Joyce had started to wonder if that was really all it was though, when sometimes Will would go days not saying anything still, but instead drawing pictures to show what he wanted, or scribbley chicken scratch, or did nothing but hum the songs Jonathan had showed him or make noises more akin to the animals he liked.
Will always felt bad when she worried. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk. He just couldn’t sometimes. When he got too scared, or stressed and anxious, or even sometimes when he thought he was safe but for some reason his body was still tense and alert, it was like someone held a TV remote to his mouth and pressed mute. There would be nothing to say even if he tried. Nothing he could do about it.
His dad had cared so much. Said he was wrong, that something was wrong with him. It felt harder to talk to his mom about it than his brother. His dad had yelled about him so much to her. What if she thought there was something wrong with him too?
On a good day, he leaned into Johnathan. His brother had tried talking to him about it, and Will did his best to explain, incredibly nervous. Nervous that Johnathan would scoff and tell him he’s broken.
Instead, his brother slowly nodded, and mumbled. “Like sleep paralysis?”
Will looked up, feeling that bubbling anxiety, the kind that led to a shut down, the remote on mute, fizzing into confusion. “Huh?”
“Sleep paralysis.” He turned to better face his younger brother. “Mom says that’s what I get sometimes. It’s like, I wake up sometimes after a bad dream, and I’m kinda still in the dream? But I can’t move. And, I really want to move, I would if I could, but I’m stuck. And it’s really scary.”
Will blinked at him, his face paleing. “Is that gonna happen to me?”
“No!” Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “She says it happens super super rarely, except like. If you’re me I guess.” He leaned forwards a little. “But am I right? Is it like that?”
Slowly, Will nodded, feeling a tiny smile on his face. “Yeah, actually. It’s a lot like that.” Jonathan got it.
“Is it scary too?”
“No.” Will shook his head this time, messing with his fingers. “It’s not scary. It’s only scary if it happens at a bad time, and I don’t wanna upset anyone.”
“It doesn’t upset me.”
Will gave Jonathan a look, and he put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey I promise! It doesn’t.”
That did make him feel a bit better.
And maybe he told Joyce or something what Will told him, because one day she came home with a ton of books, stayed up all night reading them, and the next time it happened; instead of panicking she got crayons and paper out and told Will she’s here. She’s here always, and they’ll figure this out together.
He cried really hard that day.
—
The next person to get it was Mike.
Will had been terrified of kindergarten. He didn’t want to go. He could hardly speak the entire week leading up to it, and he felt so extra terrible because he knew he was stressing his mom out, even if she had gotten better about the situation.
He’d debated pretending to be sick, but he’d always been a horrible liar. His mom saw right through him, and even though it was accompanied by a thousand promises that if anything happened she’d be there to get him; he still had to go.
Recess felt like a living nightmare (which he was well versed in, considering his regular struggles with nightmares). It seemed everyone already made friends. Everyone was already doing their own thing, playing their own games, and Will was all alone.
He tried not to cry. Instead he looked for something to do, and his eyes had landed on the swings. He liked the swings.
And Mike Wheeler must have too.
Because the boy came up, and without even an introduction, looked at him and asked if he wanted to be friends.
It took Will a moment to answer. It didn’t feel real. But once the words were processed, and he realized it was real, he grinned the widest he probably ever had. He still couldn’t talk, but he nodded, and Mike had been content to swing. The boy had talked his ears off, about his day, his favorite things, and he didn’t get weirded out at all when Will responded with the shake of his head or some kind of noise. Despite the little time they had known each other, it felt like Mike got him best of all.
The words didn’t come back to him till Joyce had driven him and Jonathan home. She had been overjoyed at her youngest’s confirmation of a good day, but she looked like she was about to explode when they got into the house, shoes off, greeted Chester, and he finally could say he made a friend.
Mike was over all the time after that. He almost seemed shocked when Will spoke to him for the first time during their first play date, which Will found funny, because for most it was the opposite. But even when Will couldn’t speak; on bad days where he still wanted Mike over, or good days that turned bad, or days Will couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, Mike never cared. Mike would always find a way to communicate. And when Will was bad enough that he couldn’t even do that, Mike would talk. And Will would listen. And he loved it.
Mike made him feel so safe, in almost the same way his momma and his brother did. But it was also different. Mike was just his person. And he made him feel like Will was his.
Even after they formed their Party, when Lucas, and eventually Dustin became their friends. They weren’t like Mike; they didn’t understand Will at first. But they were never mean. Will was kind, and funny, and that was all that mattered to them. They were his friends, who he loved more than anything, but Mike was still his best friend. He was finding himself talking more, laughing more, walking around outside more with his friends by his side. He felt normal.
And then the monster got him.
——
To Will’s understanding, most people probably don’t keep a list on why they’re a freak.
A big factor is definitely the way people treated him though. A cherry on top of the weirdo silent zombie cake.
His brain shut down on him when he came back and could start to process what he’d been through in the upside down. He’d gone quiet again, on his family and his friends. When he was little, and everyone tried to understand him, nobody babied him. At least, it didn’t feel like it. But nobody coddled him. Acted like he was a toddler who didn’t know what he wanted just because he couldn’t say it.
Now it felt like he was the only one who could see he wasn’t just born yesterday.
His mom treated him like glass. His friends didn’t know what to say to him sometimes. The doctors acted like he wasn’t human, like whatever Eleven had been, according to Mike. Even his brother acted like he was a spooked deer, about to run off and cry if he said the wrong thing.
And the worst part of all was that it wasn’t even entirely far off. Everyone else was horrible to him, with name calling and crude drawings of himself stuffed into his locker, there were the horrible visions of the upside down that made him feel as if he was trapped there again, and the horrible black vomit he’d cough up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he did feel fragile and like he’d break, sometimes he did feel like a scared wounded animal who didn’t realize the injuries were healed. It was awful. And he could hardly ever say any of that.
The visions were getting worse by the day, the closer his family tried to get the more distance he felt, and he couldn’t even speak on any of it. He felt like a horrible freak.
Around everyone except Mike.
Mike would talk about their next campaign as if they weren’t hiding in the bathroom right now from the bullies. Mike would squeeze his hand and talk about something stupid his older sister argued with him about the day before. Mike talked to him like he was human. A human boy his age. His friend.
Even if he wasn’t always talking when with Mike, and even if that was most of the time; Mike made him feel like he had his voice again.
Even when he got possessed by the monsters, when Will was scared out of his mind; horrified at himself for what he was being forced to do, forced to talk when normally he wouldn’t be able to because that thing inside him, who had violated and taken control, wasn’t him, Mike had been there. Mike had been there through all of it, being what helped him break out because he’d seen the real Will, the one who would hum when scared and laugh loud even when he couldn’t form words, and go back and forth with his best friend making different noises when that’s all Will could do. Mike knew him. Mike cared.
And then he pulled away.
——
Will has never hated Eleven a day in his life.
She’d saved his life twice. And on top of that she was really kind. Whenever the entire party would hang out, her curiosity for everything the world had to offer was incredibly endearing. She was a good friend. Will enjoyed their company, despite never getting to hang out one on one.
Because Mike had been in the way.
It was not even subtlety or slow. Will blinked one day and his best friend, the boy he’d come to terms with this year that he might have feelings for, as terrifying as that was, was gone. El and Mike started doing everything together. Hangouts were rushed because they had to go away to make out. Time with just everyone but Eleven was overshadowed by Mike talking about his new girlfriend nonstop. Fuck, Will was spending more time with Max Mayfield than his best friend, because at least Lucas and her had the common decency to not be gross when everyone was supposed to be having fun together.
And it hurt like hell. It hurt almost as bad as having a fire poker jammed into his side to get a demon out of his body. It hurt almost as bad as losing the ability to speak when with the others and Mike was gone in a snap of the moment, and nobody knowing exactly what to do. Not being hurtful, not being uninclusive, but that painful absence where Mike supplying normalcy and comfort would have been. Will was with his closest friends all summer yet he’d never felt more alone.
He tried not to think about it. He had planned on dying with these feelings anyways, and the idea of that became more feasible when the world was at risk again.
But once it was once again saved, it became very clear nothing was truly going to go back to normal.
They were moving. Will wasn’t going to live so close to Mike anymore. No more summer nights in the basement, Mike talking while Will drew. No more conversations without words that could only ever be for them, because they were the only ones to understand each other. No more indulging in feelings Will knew would never come to fruition anyway, that even if he could talk all the time he would never speak on anyway.
The road trip to California made everything that happened this summer feel like a blur, something tangled into a huge knotted mess buried in his throat that made him incredibly grateful that nobody, despite the incredibly long trip and the couple of various stops, was particularly up for that much socializing.
Everything was changing forever at an alarming pace, but despite it all; Will was still stuck as the same. Scared, quiet, and alone.
————
Will didn’t realize no one explained it to El until it was too late.
The first month in California had felt like a few days, which on paper sounds good, but in practice makes the stress and crushing weight of it all feel all the more impactful when your brain isn’t taking the time to handle it. New house, new school, new people, new everything. Will had to adjust because it was all they were given. Johnathan crashed and burned. His room always smelled like pot and the day he got so high he forgot Will couldn’t speak sometimes was the day he felt like a piece of him died. The piece that felt his brother was safety. His mom got zero time to adjust, already throwing herself into her brand new job because it was either that or be the first in this family to try and process anything they’d all gone through, and that was never happening.
And El had Mike.
She’d talk to him for hours on the phone whenever Joyce wasn’t on it. And when she wasn’t doing that, she was writing him letters. Will hated it. The Mike she talked to didn’t even feel like his friend, his person. He wondered if he could speak to him, if he’d find that Mike there still. Thirteen year old Mike, who’d invite him over and wait for any sign of confirmation before jumping into asking if they’d rather talk about their current campaign or do something else. The Mike who’d notice he’s upset despite the constant silence, and ask what’s wrong.
He could, if he wanted to. But at the same time he couldn’t.
Because even when Joyce wasn’t on the phone, when El was in her room not talking to him; Will still couldn’t do it. Whether it was because he’d had a bad day already and shut down and oh of course the time it’s free he’s stuck like this, or he’d psyche himself out and get so anxious that it’d be too late and the words were gone, it never worked out.
And even then he wondered if he deserved it. If he deserved to call Mike. To burden a Mike that clearly didn’t care anymore, if he wasn’t asking for Will while with El, or writing him letters, or giving any indicator his silence is missed. Maybe this is his karma for being so jealous when he should’ve been happy for them. Or maybe this was his karma for liking Mike at all, when he was happy with his girlfriend, Will’s new sister, and when he was a boy.
A deep deep dark thought in Will’s head wondered if maybe Mike always wanted this. If maybe he never minded that Will couldn’t speak half the time because it made him easier to ignore, and now he was celebrating he could do it full time.
Will wanted to scream at himself because why would he think such a horrible thing? That’s not the Mike he knew.
But neither was this.
He had bigger things to worry about anyways, and he didn’t really even have to try to distract himself most of the time. The nightmares were just as bad, and now there was no Doctor Owen’s to visit for therapy.
He woke up shaking on a Saturday morning, tears building in the corners of his eyes as he clutched his chest, breathing heavily. It’s not real, but he could never be sure anymore. He was so scared.
And I really want to move, but I’m stuck. It’s really scary.
He grabbed his pillow and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a muffled thud. Will grabbed his other pillow and held it against his chest, pretended it was hugging him back, and sobbed harshly.
He knew what kind of day it would be when he woke up.
Joyce had made pancakes. She was already on the phone when he came downstairs, kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair as she moved to the living room. El was already at the table, eating half heartedly. When Will sat down she shifted a little, staring at him from the corner of her eye. It all felt incredibly awkward. Having someone be your sister now when you never got to really know them.
His fork met his pancakes when he suddenly heard “I wish they were waffles.”
“Mm?” His turn to stare at her from the corner of his eye.
“Like Eggos.” She elaborated, before quietly adding. “I think they are better.”
Will stared at her for another moment, before grabbing at a pen his mom had left out and a sheet of paper from the already messy table. Sometimes even writing felt hard, like it wasn’t just his voice that wouldn’t work, but any of his words. His hands shook as he scribbled, but eventually he slid her a waffle with a smiley face next to it and a check mark.
El narrowed her eyes at the drawing, staring at it for long enough that Will decided he embarrassed himself, about to try and eat again before hearing the other’s voice again.
“…Does this mean, you like waffles more too?”
He turned to face her fully this time, slowly nodding.
El smiled, and Will thought maybe it was the first time she’d genuinely done that at him.
“I am glad.” She nodded. She opened her mouth to speak more, but hesitantly closed it, turned to do what Will had been trying to as she took a bite of pancake. Will copied, gaze still slightly focused on her.
She tilted her head at him after he swallowed, voice still quiet. “Is there a reason you are not talking to me?”
Oh god.
Quickly he shook his head, grabbing the pen again and trying to figure out something he could communicate. Fuck. Fuck she’s gonna think he hates her. She won’t want to talk with him again. She’s gonna hide away from him like Johnathan. She’s-
El put her hand on his, and Will looked up again.
“Are you just not speaking today?”
It was a genuine question.
His throat felt drier than usual. Will forced himself to swallow, shakily nodding.
El nodded as well, turning back to her food. “Then I will not as well.”
Will stared at her after that one, a little dumbfounded. Was she.. serious? El loved to talk when she was around. At least, she did to Joyce. Dinner conversations on El’s end were filled with a lot of talking to Joyce, and occasional questions to Johnathan that he would respond to when coherent enough. She was really doing her best at the whole “fresh start” thing, he could really tell. She had her free will stolen away her entire life, her voice.
And now she was just going to copy him and stay silent. He honestly doubted it, shrugging his shoulders and eating as well, doing his best to keep it down.
El, it turns out, very much kept to her word.
When Joyce got off the phone and tried to ask how they both slept, El grabbed another pen and sheet of paper and wrote down that “Will and I are not speaking today. But I slept good.” Their mom was very confused to say the least, but went along, ruffling up El’s hair as well, the girl watching her walk away with a small smile.
They watched cartoons in silence. Will honestly found it enjoyable. They went upstairs afterwards, and El drug a chair from her room into his so she could sit with him while Will painted. Halfway through, he stuck the paintbrush into her hand and pointed at the canvas. She looked surprised, giving him a hesitant glance, one he fiercely nodded at. Every time she made a couple brush strokes she glanced at him and made a noise. Will would make a stranger one back, both trying not to giggle as he either confirmed she was doing okay or helped her figure out a better method to paint. By the end they had a purple sunset, and El had made a deer their center focus. He tapped her shoulder, pointed at the canvas, then his wall and smiled. El made a choked happy sound, grinning and flapping her hands a tiny bit before hesitantly opening her arms.
Her first summer free, before they had moved; El had discovered she really enjoyed hugs. Will had only been on the receiving end maybe once or twice out of a feeling of obligation on his end.
Right now, he gladly took the offer and embraced her tightly, burying his head against her shoulder and trying not to cry. He was definitely gonna find the best spot in the whole room for this painting.
They went in El’s room after and read books. For dinner, Johnathan came in and said they were ordering pizza and the two needed to pick what they wanted. Will and El both tried to draw out what they wanted and made Johnathan play Pictionary for 30 minutes before Joyce had to come upstairs to see what was taking so long, and get dragged in to figure out what the two wanted. Dinner felt anything but silent. Joyce would ask the two something about their day and El would make noises and gestures to respond that sent Will into a giggle fit. He’d purposely draw something silly for his own answer and El would cover her mouth to barely disguise her laughter. Johnathan watched with a fondness in his eyes.
Everyone said their good night’s later. Will went into his room, shut his light off, stared at the nightlight he still slept with, and felt a sudden wave of loneliness. He’d been feeling very lonely in California but this felt different. More deep and guttural. The kind he felt while stuck in the upside down. He stared at the tiny plugged in light in the corner of his room, burning his gaze into it like it was the source of his sanity. Like if he tore his eyes away from it, then he’d be stuck in nothing again. His hands started to shake.
As if the universe was finally cutting him some slack, there was a quiet knock at his door. Will flinched, staring at it and wondering if he imagined it. When it repeated, he got up and opened it, seeing El on the other side. She waved. He gestured her inside.
She handed Will a crumpled up piece of paper, and he looked down at the gel pen writing inside.
“Can I sleep over please?”
Immediately he nodded, grabbing a pillow and blanket off his bed. He was about to set it on the floor before he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve, and looked back up at El, who was fumbling in the dark for something to write with. He grabbed a pencil off his desk and handed it to her. The other smiled thankfully, crouching down by his nightlight to write, before handing it back to him.
“You can say no. I will not be mad. Can I sleep in your bed?”
He squinted at it, confused if he was reading it right. Did El really think he was about to make her sleep on the floor?
He pointed at himself, then the floor. El sighed, sitting on the edge of Will’s bed, before reaching over and tugging his shirt sleeve again.
Oh. He got it now.
She wanted them both to be in bed.
His face flushed in embarrassment. He didn’t even like girls that way, let alone El that way, and yet it felt wrong. What would Mike say?
He pictured when he was so little, and had nightmares of his dad. And he’d run to Johnathan’s room, crying and frantically pointing at his bed. How Johnathan knew what he needed, and would hold his brother tightly in his arms and cuddle him close as they both fell back asleep. His heart ached in that familiar sense of pain and loneliness.
El was his sister now. He guessed there really wasn’t that much of a difference besides her being a girl.
So he nodded, crawling in first to give her the choice to dip now if she wanted. She didn’t, crawling in beside him. Thankfully the bed was big enough for them both, and it helped that they both were tiny.
They lay there for a minute, Will feeling incredibly awkward, when El grabbed the pencil and paper off his desk again, sitting up and writing something. Will sat up too, taking it into his hand when she passed it over.
“Are we still not talking?”
He motioned for the pencil, taking it once she handed it as well and writing a response passed back.
“El, you can talk if you want. It’s just me who can’t talk.”
He passed it back. She squinted real hard before finally fumbling around for his lamp on the desk beside them, turning it on. Will squinted his eyes at the light, making a low grumbling sound. Able to see, El reread the letter, her face scrunching in confusion as she reached for another sheet of paper on his desk, writing quickly in the corner. She passed it back, and he stared at it, a little dumbfounded.
“Why?”
Why?
The pencil passed back to him suddenly felt heavy as weights in his hand. A question asked all his life.
But this time by someone trying to connect with him. Someone who wasn’t asking to understand why he was being a freak. Why he was different. Why was he weird. In a way, it felt almost like how Mike didn’t ever ask. A desire to understand in the same way he had already done. For an umpteenth time that night, Will’s heart ached.
He took a while to write, erasing bits and reaching over to brush eraser shavings off his bedside. El stared at him the entire time, and he knew she didn’t do it to judge or be mean but it did not help his increasing nerves. His hands were shaking more by the end but he managed to get through it, slowly handing the paper back to her. He turned the other way once he did, deciding that if she got done and wanted to make fun of him, he could always just feign sleep.
“I don’t know. Mom says it’s a psychological thing, which means it’s part of my brain being wrong I think. I get scared, or nervous, and I just can’t speak. My body won’t let me. I can’t control it and it’s random and I know it’s weird, I’m sorry. It’s scary it sucks, and I get if you don’t want to deal with it after today.”
The silence was deafening. Will kept his eyes squeezed shut, awaiting the other’s footsteps leaving the room. Instead he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Will.” El whispers quietly, shaking him. “I know you’re awake.”
He drags himself back up, staring at his blanket. El presses her shoulder against his.
They’re both quiet again. El whispers again after a moment. “Sometimes, when I am feeling too much, I am not quiet, but I cry a lot. And I cannot speak, and I scream, and it also sucks.” She presses harder against him. “I know it is not the same. I’ve seen you not speak for days. I just thought it was because you were not okay with me.”
Immediately he snaps his head up, trying to reach for the paper and pencil again. El holds it out of reach. “I’m not done!”
Will sighs, lowering his hands.
“It sucks” she emphasizes the word heavily, like she’s testing it in her mouth, and Will wonders if she’s ever used it before today. “To not be able to talk. Because no one will listen to you, unless your words are loud.” She leans her head against his shoulder. “So if there is something wrong with your brain, it is wrong with mine too. So we can just both be wrong. Because I want to be here after today.”
Will’s about to full on start sobbing again. He’s filled with a sudden overwhelming sense of just love. Love for his sister, love for El. An achingly, awfully, painfully, wonderfully familiar feeling of it. He leans his head against her head, sniffling. He nods. He nods really hard, so hard his head hurts a bit. El throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly, he hugs her back just as hard, and feels her start to shake as she cries as well.
Their passed around paper falls off the side of the bed and goes ignored. The two don’t need it for the rest of the night as they fall asleep together in bed, holding onto each other tightly.
In the morning Will wakes up, this time not from a nightmare but instead because the sun beams pass through his blinds onto his eyes. He squints, and before he can do anything, a giant weight on him lifts up and shuts them, before falling back on top of him.
Will makes a strained noise where his brain wants to say “get off.”
El grumbles back a noise. “5 more minutes” he knows it means.
He throws his arms back around her, closes his eyes, and in a light morning sleep, dreams about eating waffles with his sister in front of the most gorgeous violet sunset he’s ever seen.
And when he wakes up, and it’s breakfast, and Joyce is making bacon and El is drawing him a puppy on her napkin,
Will feels a little bit like himself next to her.
Like himself is a good thing again.