Chapter Text
It’s been ten months since the day they finally won against Vecna.
Ten months of suffocating grief—the sadness and loss that sticks and clings to you. Stuffy and stifling, like some stain you cannot wash off. It feels like a nightmare that doesn’t want to leave you, even if you have already escaped the night.
Sometimes, Will wakes up, and instead of the dirty sticky vines of the Upside Down clinging to his bare skin, he can feel the hands of those soldiers grabbing his arms as he tries to reach for Eleven. Then, he remembers Eleven’s face as she closes her eyes, and there’s so much noise and yelling and screaming, and he sees Eleven, his sister, his sister take a deep breath like she’s already rehearsed this in her mind, and then—then white light. Blinding, but Will wants to keep his eyes open to see if Eleven is still there. But she isn’t. She’s gone, and Will stares at the wooden ceiling of the cabin. His vision blurs, and he can feel the wet tears going down the side of his face. It’s quiet, and he can hear his cut-off breaths. He hears the soft chatter of his family downstairs, and Will realises that it’s daytime already.
Will saunters to the kitchen, seeing Joyce and Jonathan setting the table. Joyce was facing the stove, and Will almost wanted to cry again because he just thought her back was so small, smaller than what he remembered when he got back to the real world from the Upside Down. It’s been ten months since they finally closed the wormhole. It’s over, and for once, he feels like his mother’s shoulders have finally relaxed.
Joyce turns to Will, hands still on the pan as she fries some eggs into an omelette. “Will, baby, you’re up. Slept well?”
“Good morning, Mom. Yeah, I’m okay.” Will croaks, voice hoarse. “Morning, Jonathan. Where’s Hopper?”
Jonathan gives him a small smile and turns his head towards the door of the cabin, “Hopper’s outside. Behind the cabin.” His voice hitches as he adds, “By El.”
Will nods as he helps Jonathan spread the plates on the table. He stares at the entrance.
Every day, Hopper always made time to visit El’s makeshift grave behind the cabin. Hopper made sure to decorate it nicely, with flowerbeds of purple and yellow flowers. Will helped him plant them. He remembered it was such a grey day, with sunlight hiding behind the clouds, soft silver light peering through the cracks. The forest was sombre, as if it knew the man’s grief and was mourning with him. Before they went out to the woods, Will noticed Hopper had been buying gardening tools. He asked him what it was for, and he remembers Hopper hesitating before asking Will if he wanted to help.
In the forest, Will and Hopper were silent, just the sounds of shuffling as Hopper awkwardly pats the soil, making sure the flowers weren’t going to be uprooted. Will remembers that Hopper had silent, wet tears rolling down the side of his cheek. Will felt the wet dirt cling to his hands, and he felt small, like he was twelve again. Twelve and helpless.
“El—” Will starts, and his throat burns, “El would’ve appreciated this. El and I weren’t that close, but…but she was, is, my sister. In Leonora, at least.”
“How was she—El, in Leonora?” Hopper asks, digging to make another spot for another flower.
“It had been hard for her, since she believed she had lost you. She was really sad, and I could see it. I haven’t been with her much, since she was mostly close with Mike and Max, and even Dustin and Lucas, but we grew closer in Leonora. She told me she missed you so much.”
Hopper hums as a reply. Will continues, “She was silent at first. Awkward around Mom and Jonathan, which is understandable. It was also her first time living, or trying to live normally. She had a hard time adjusting to school. There were a lot of people who were…who weren’t nice.”
“I wish I could’ve given her a normal life. I couldn’t even be there for her during the time she was trying to live normally.”
Will just looks down. “El loves you a lot, Hopper. I wish she were here to say that to you.”
“I didn’t—” Hopper couldn’t find the right words, “I didn’t think that our last conversation would be in the Lab. That it would be the last time I’d be seeing her. She’s so young, and she spent so much of her life fighting—being a hero.”
“In Leonora,” Will speaks slowly, “We were asked to do a presentation about heroes with a visual aid for English. I remember El asking me, very excitedly, to help her with her presentation. She wanted to make a diorama, even if it was mostly her first time holding a paintbrush. You were her hero, Hopper. She’s—she’s ours, but you—you were hers.”
Will picks the dirt out from under his fingernails. Did he say too much? Or too little? Hopper continues to pat the soil with his hands, slightly shaking as his breath quivers. A beat, then Hopper opens his mouth to say something.
“Making this,” Hopper says quietly, “This grave has been on my mind for so long. I couldn’t bear to do it, because it feels like I would be accepting her death if I did.”
“It still doesn’t feel real,” Will whispers.
“It doesn’t,” Hopper agrees, “There’s not even a body in this grave. She’s just gone.”
Will stands by Hopper for a long time. There’s silence, and there’s that suffocating grief again. Quiet and heavy. The type that makes you remember.
“Morning,” Hopper says, and Will gets pulled back into reality.
Hopper makes his way to Joyce and hugs her before kissing her on the forehead. Jonathan and Will share a look that screams they’re at it again, a look that they’ve been sharing more times than usual before breaking into smiles. Joyce sets down a plate of bacon and omelettes. The four of them eat their breakfast. Four odd individuals, sitting on the same table, with even odder circumstances. Yet, there’s comfort. There’s familiarity. And there’s the suffocating grief. Still, they all try to feel normal. Will think he’s failing. Something feels warm today, but there’s also that small chill that doesn’t try to escape his fingertips.
It’s also been ten months of mess. It had mostly been the adults, like Hopper, Joyce, and Murray, talking to the government and military. The government tried their best to appease them, trying to bury everything under the wraps. Will hated that. Will hated that because it felt like they were trying to erase the impact this whole thing had on everyone. How this affected his friends, like Dustin grieving his friend Eddie, how devastated Lucas was when he almost lost Max, how his mother almost went crazy when he was lost in the Upside Down, or like th time when Nancy lost her friend Barbara. It was as if the government was trying, almost begging, for Will to forget about his experience in the Upside Down, how Vecna had taken him. Or when Will lost his sister, El, as she sacrificed herself.
As a result, they received substantial financial support from the government. Actually, the Byers have been provided with a new house in Hawkins, but they chose to live at the cabin, a place they are familiar with. The party had also been given essentially free admission and a scholarship to attend whatever college of their choice. Will almost scoffs at the word college. It’s so foreign on his mouth like he’s not used to saying or thinking about it. Though he’s finally thinking about things people his age think about, and not about strange otherworldly beings possessing him or dying alone in scary parallel dimensions.
“You boys are going to school again tomorrow, right?” Hopper asks in between eating.
Jonathan nods. “They recently resumed classes.”
“I can drive you to school,” Hopper says.
“It’s fine,” Will replies. “We’re going to bike to Hawkins High tomorrow.”
Hopper thinks for a moment, then says, “Alright.”
Will likes the comforting silence that they all settle into, especially when it’s the morning. It’s nice, especially when he’s so used to the screaming and fighting between his mother and Lonnie. Or the loud blaring Walkman in his ears as Jonathan’s tape muffles the crying of his mother at night. This type of silence is way better, Will thinks. But it’s also this silence that invites grief, Will wants to think but he stops, and he just continues to eat.
⋅˚₊‧ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
“After all that, we’re going back to school, huh?” Lucas asks.
Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will were walking towards the school entrance, hands on their bikes as they tried to find a place to park them.
“Yeah,” Dustin answers. “It feels so weird to try and act normal after everything.”
The four of them found a spot to park their bikes. It really feels weird, just as Dustin said. Will wants to describe it as laughable, but he thinks that the uncomfortable silence that follows the laughter describes it better. There’s something inside him that feels like this is all wrong. Going to school like this feels wrong. All of it feels wrong, but Will swallows and gives a smile.
It’s also been ten months of adjusting. Will looks at Lucas, his shoulders finally loosened after the long period of time during which Max was in a coma. Like what Vickie said, Max didn’t use her limbs for a long time, so her muscles grew weak. Thankfully, she can undergo physical therapy, which will enable her to walk again. Lucas had been accompanying her during her physical therapy sessions, ensuring she was comfortable. Max would tell Lucas to go away and stop bothering her, but deep inside, Will knows that Max feels secretly relieved that Lucas is there for her.
“What about Max?” Will asks.
Lucas brightens up, happy about the question or maybe he’s happy to get to talk about Max, but either way, he says, “Oh, Max is doing great! She’s able to walk longer distances now—well, with a cane—but she’s able to walk better now.”
“That’s great, dude!” Dustin smiles, “When will she go back to school?”
Lucas thinks for a while before replying, “Maybe after a week. Just handling some papers with the school administration so she can have special accommodations.”
Will observes as Lucas and Dustin continue to talk, occasionally giving a few comments here and there. He watches as Dustin finally smiles, a smile free of burden. After defeating Vecna, Dustin was able to come to terms with Eddie’s death. Rather than wallowing in grief, Dustin started to become closer to Steve again and went back to the Dustin who jokes around and laughs a lot. Will is really happy for him.
Then, Will looks at the silent Mike, whose fingers are fumbling to lock his bike. Will notices the dark circles under Mike’s eyes, evidence of Mike’s sleepless nights. After the day they defeated Vecna, Mike was no longer the same. If Will’s grief was silent and suffocating, Mike’s grief was loud and turbulent. The type of grief to appear in silence or when you give your mind a chance to step back and think.
During the first month, Mike couldn’t eat. He kept throwing up. The party took turns to keep him company, trying to ensure that Mike ate something. Will couldn’t bear to look at him, as Mike continued to cry in his room, eyes bloodshot and red. He spent weeks eating, staring, throwing up, crying, sleeping, only to wake up and cry again. Mike kept staring at pictures of El smiling, like he was trying his best to remember El’s smile in his memories instead of El’s face when she resigned herself to the gate closing. Mike would cry instead.
Sometimes, Will would sleep over at Mike’s house to make sure he’s alright. One of those nights, it was raining badly, creating continuous thumping sounds on the Wheelers’ roof. It was dim in Mike’s room besides the soft orange glow of Mike’s bedside lamp. Will was on a mattress on the floor, sitting as he stared at the boy before him. Mike, his face illuminated by the bedside lamp in a soft yellow, was sitting by the edge of his bed, picking at the skin around his fingers, Will noting the red flesh around his nails. Mike usually does it when he’s anxious. Will studies Mike’s face, gaunt and hollow, the orange glow seeping into the gauntness of his cheeks as grief consumes him.
“It was raining during the day I met her. Rain like this,” Mike speaks slowly, voice ragged.
Will doesn’t say anything. Mike continues, “I didn’t know it would be like this. That it would end like this.”
The sound of the rain is loud, but the grief is louder.
“Why would she do that? Why would she end everything like that? I thought that we’d be leaving hell together. That, after everything, we’d finally be happy. That we’d be finding houses near three waterfalls, or something like that. It’s bullshit, I know. The three waterfalls thing. But I truly believed in it. And I thought that she believed in it too.”
“I’m sorry, Mike. She must have had her reasons that we can’t understand.” Will’s voice is soft.
“Why did she think I couldn’t understand them? Those reasons?” Mike asks.
Will doesn’t answer. It hurts him to see Mike in this state, clawing at his fingertips.
“I miss her, Will.”
Mike repeats, softer, “I miss her.”
“Me too,” Will whispers.
During the second month, Mike was constantly missing. Karen would sometimes call Joyce, panic evident in her voice as she explained when and where she would last see Mike. The party would split up on their bikes, biking around Hawkins, while Joyce would drive Jonathan’s car, and Hopper would drive his. Even Steve and Robin helped Nancy find him. They would look around in Hawkins, trying to find Mike. Sometimes, he’d be easier to find, like the time they found Mike sitting by himself on one of the benches in the town. Sometimes, they’d find Mike in the woods where he met Eleven.
During one of those days when Mike would go missing, Will found him by the Sattler Quarry. He saw Mike, still in yesterday’s clothes and curly hair messy and tangled, standing before the quarry’s cliff. He slowly approaches him until he realizes what Mike is doing.
Will’s heart dropped, his heartbeat ringing in his ear as he yelled, “Mike!”
Will drops his bicycle as Mike turns to him, a look of surprise on his face. Before he could say anything, Will lunged forward and tackled Mike, rolling him away from the edge of the cliff. The small pebbles on the road felt sharp against Will’s skin, and he’s sure he cut himself on something as he pulls himself up.
Mike sits up, too tired to say anything. Will feels his eyes burn from tears, and his throat collapses on itself. He stares at Mike, surrender carved into the face of the boy he loves. His eyes were dazed and lost, dimmed of any light. Just tired and sore, red from crying. Mike looks down at the ground.
“What the fuck, Mike!” He yells.
Tears flowed down Will’s face as he grabbed Mike by the collar of his shirt. For the first time, Mike had a different emotion on his face, a look of surprise (or guilt, Will couldn’t tell), as Will continued to yell at him.
“Are you stupid? What the fuck are you doing? Do you think El would like this? Seeing you like this? My sister didn’t give up her life only for you to give up yours! If we’re just going to give up like this, why did we even fight? Why did she fight? Why did I fight?”
Mike’s expression softens, “I…I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Bullshit, Mike! Bullshit.” Will continues to cry. “What if I was too late?”
“I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“You shouldn’t! What would Lucas and- Dustin and Max and Nancy! What would they think if they found you,” Will couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, “Dead?”
There was silence.
“El’s dead anyway,” Mike says softly.
Will slaps him.
“Don’t you dare fucking say that, Mike! El wouldn’t want this either. Don’t you dare be so- so selfish, because you’re not the only one grieving her!”
Still holding him by the collar, Will couldn’t bring himself to look at Mike’s eyes. Afraid to see what expression is on Mike’s face.
Then, softly, he adds, “I can’t lose you, too, Mike.”
During the third month, Mike changed. Will watches as he tries to talk to more people. Will can see his smile, strained and forced, as he tries to assure everyone that he’s fine. Mike stopped disappearing like he used to. He tried to joke around with Dustin, Lucas, and Max. His family didn’t really notice that his skin around his eyes was still red. Or the way his smile drops when no one is watching. The way his eyes would occasionally dim as he gets reminded of the small things El used to do. If someone tried to ask him if he was okay, Mike would brush it off. Say he’s okay, and he’s doing great—I’m fine, just a little tired. But Will knows he’s barely hanging by.
Will watches as Mike packages his grief in fragile little bottles, like he’s just waiting for the inevitable day those bottles will break. Then, Will would see him by the quarry again. The world didn’t know the Mike Will knows. The world doesn’t know Mike grieving during the quiet night, still crying about El’s death.
It’s night, and the neighbourhood the Wheelers live in is hushed. All the lights from the other houses are turned off, except for the small streetlights lighting the streets. It’s cold, and Will tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He’s barely awake, blinking rapidly as if closing his eyes for much longer would make him drift off to sleep. He sits beside Mike, who looks equally dishevelled as he does. Mike is crying again, his eyelashes wet with tears, his face red from constantly wiping them away. His shoulders quiver slightly with every sob, and Will feels Mike’s turbulent grief. Will is tired.
“I’m so tired,” Mike cries, “I can’t keep going on like this. Like, pretending everything is okay, and I’m fine.”
Will just listens.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand how everyone is just focusing on their lives, and I’m still stuck at that night, that night where El disappears. I don’t understand. I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t understand how people—people like you just, I don’t know, move on.”
Will bit his lip. He almost wants to laugh and say, “I didn’t move on, Mike. I keep thinking about it, too. No one just knows I do, because I don’t have someone to tell it to.”
Instead, he says, “I’m sorry, Mike. It’s hard, I’m here for you.”
Will lets Mike cry on his shoulder, with his hand rubbing his back as the two stay like this under the dead of the night. Will wants to mourn, too.
“Mike, are you okay?” Dustin’s voice snaps Will back into reality. “You’ve been silent.”
“I am,” Mike replies, “Just trying to figure out this damn lock. Oh, I’m glad Max is getting better, by the way.”
After ten months, Mike has moved on. Somewhat. Mike now smiles genuinely, laughing with the Party and joking with them. However, he still calls Will sometimes to confide in him about his sadness. The loud and turbulent grief quieted down, like when a storm finally calms down, but there’s still a light rain. During the rest of the eight months, Mike would often meet up with Will, crying in his arms as he sobbed about El. Will is happy that he could be there for Mike, but there’s this gutting feeling inside of him that’s…annoyed. Or angry. Or jealous—jealous that Mike has someone he can grieve to about El. Who does he have? Will pushes that thought in the crevices of his brain. Instead, he watches his friends.
“Hey, are you guys doing anything later?” Mike asks as the four of them enter Hawkins High.
“I might visit Max later after basketball practice, why?” Lucas replies.
“You two are such lovebirds, do you know that?” Dustin’s comment is harsh, but without bite.
“Wait, you already have basketball practice? You literally just started going back to school.” Will adds, bewildered.
“Max is going to punch you if she hears that.” Mike laughs.
“Yes, I have basketball practice. Yes, we’re lovebirds, so what? And no, Max wouldn’t kill Dustin if she heard that.” Lucas replies, before adding, “She’ll actually kill you, if she does.”
The four of them laugh, and afterwards, Will’s stuck in that uncomfortable silence again. Uncomfortable only for him, at least, since the three continue to bicker and joke around. He tunes out their laughter, blending their voices with the other voices of the students—yelling, laughing, gossiping, or whispering.
Hawkins High, strangely, was almost the exact same as Will remembers. It’s the same long rows of light grey metal lockers, some dented and scratched, and it’s different from the lockers from Leonora, which were dark grey. I miss El, Will thinks, but then he focuses on the way the tile floors had a dull shine, probably scuffed from the hundreds of people walking down the same hallway. There are so many people here who don’t even know what El did. Some were slamming locker doors shut, and Will can almost hear his friends laughing, planning another DnD session in Mike’s basement or something, or maybe they’re talking about getting milkshakes from somewhere else—Will doesn’t really hear. He can hear himself mumbling a few yeses or no, but he’s not really sure.
At some point, the four of them stop in front of their lockers. Will opens his locker, trying to decide whether or not to bring a textbook, but his eyes continue to watch people pass by, taking in the corners of their mouths as they creep into a smile, the slow sound of their laughter, the gentle giggle, and the silent whispers. He sees someone with brown hair, wavy, the same brown as his and Jonathan’s, and he almost wants to reach out to her. He remembers this feeling with El—and God, he misses her—but she’s not here, except for this random girl with brown hair like hers wearing a flannel shirt—same flannel shirt that he used to lend her and then he’s back in Leonora, back at the government-given house he used to live in with El but Will sees another group of people, not the same one he used to see in Leonora, and he remembers he’s in Hawkins—and there’s—there are some of them in denim pants, some in varsity jackets, with big hair or teased bangs, and there’s students—so many—some leaning against lockers talking and laughing and—
“Will!” He snaps back, vision blurry until it focuses, and Mike’s worried eyes stare back at him. His hands were gripping Will’s shoulders. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
“Dude, you’ve been really quiet, since like, we’ve brought up going biking to get some milkshakes. Did you hate the idea so much?”
“What? Milkshakes?” Will blurts out.
“Milkshakes? After we go visit Max?” Lucas asks, now worried. “Are you alright, Will?”
Will hates this feeling, this constricting feeling of his friends’ worried gazes over him as they try to frantically find what’s wrong. It’s a force of habit—a habit they developed after things went wrong almost all of the time once Will feels off due to his connection to the Upside Down. It’s frustrating, because their worried, frantic, panicked looks make it feel like it’s wrong to feel bad or to be off sometimes, like Will needs to be happy and jolly all of the time for everyone to feel safe. Will wants to push them off and yell something along the lines of ‘Imfinestoptreatingmelikethislikesomeethingswrongwithme’ but he doesn’t.
Instead, he forces himself to say, “I’m fine. Just thinking about something. Milkshakes, right? I might not be able to join.”
“That’s alright, dude. Don’t worry about it. Will you be visiting Max with us later?” Lucas asks, adjusting his backpack.
Will thinks for a while, “I might not visit today. There’s something I want to do in the art room. Tell Max I say hi, though.”
Lucas nods and gives Will a smile. “I will.”
“Wait, you have basketball practice right?” Dustin asks Lucas, “Do you want us to watch?”
“Yeah, do you want us to watch?” Mike agreed.
Lucas stares at the two like they said something along the lines of Vecna is back, and he’s terrorising Hawkins again. Like, jaw-dropped and eyes wide open. Will almost wants to laugh. Lucas’s reaction seems fair, though, especially how Dustin and Mike avoided the basketball team like plague after Eddie’s death.
“Are you sure? You know the other guys would be there.”
“It’s fine,” Dustin says.
Lucas gives him a weird look.
“It’s really fine! We defeated Vecna, and I avenged Eddie’s death. We literally fought against an 800-foot monster from another dimension. I don’t think a bunch of high school jocks are going to scare me anymore.” Dustin explains.
“I know, but…” Lucas trails off. “What if they, I don’t know, jump you again?”
“Oh,” Dustin pauses, “Did I ever tell you what happened, like, a month ago?”
“What happened?” This time, it was Mike asking. Will nods, echoing Mike’s question.
“Alright, so what happened was that Steve, Robin, and I were volunteering to help those affected by the last earthquake when we closed the gate.” Dustin begins to explain.
Will’s eyes feel hot, and he looks at Mike, but Mike seems unbothered. He swallows, “I was there, wasn’t I?”
“Oh yeah!” Dustin answers like he remembered something, “I think you were with Robin, making food for those affected. Anyway, Steve and I were part of the group that organised the donations into categories. The basketball team was there, you know. Andy and his gang. They approached me—”
“What?” Mike yelled, exasperated. “Did they do anything to you? Did Steve do nothing?”
“Oh my god, Mike,” Lucas says, “Let Dustin finish.”
“Like I was saying before somebody interrupted, they approached me and actually apologised,” Dustin said.
“Wait, really?” Will asks, brows furrowing. Those basketball jocks actually know how to apologise?
“Well, it was mostly this one dude who apologised. Andy just looked like he had to eat a bunch of shit so he wouldn’t punch me in the face.” Dustin shrugged. “Still, they did say sorry for what happened in the graveyard. I wanted Andy to be the one apologising, since the other dude didn’t even do anything. He watched, so he’s complicit, but hey, I avenged Eddie. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Wait, which one apologized to you?” Lucas asks.
“Uhm,” Dustin thinks, “He’s tall, like taller than Will by a few inches. He’s got big brown hair that swoops and curves a bit. Also, he’s a bit tan.”
Lucas stops walking for a moment. The rest of them stop to stare at him, confused.
“Do you want to be late to English or what?” Mike asks.
“Shut up, Mike.” Lucas rolls his eyes, “Wait, Chance apologized to you?”
“Is that his name?” Dustin raises an eyebrow, “I don’t really know.”
“Tall, tan guy with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, right?” Lucas asks again.
“Does this really matter?” Mike says, “We’re going to be late. I don’t want to spend the rest of my day in some stupid detention just because we’re late trying to guess who this guy is.”
Dustin ignores him, “Uh, yeah?”
“Come on, Will.” Mike nudges him.
“I mean,” Will pauses, “I kind of want to hear who this guy from the basketball team apologized to Dustin.”
Mike grumbles, and Lucas says, “It has to be Chance. And it makes sense too.”
“Why?” Will asks.
“Well, he’s the least douchebag of them all. He’s like, actually decent, I think. Pretty sure he’s only going with what Andy wants and trying to fit in.”
“Great. Now we know Mr. I-Apologised’s name, can we go to English now?” Mike says, annoyed and irritated.
⋅˚₊‧ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
School is usually boring for people of Will’s age, but it’s probably not the same reason for Will. Spending most of your childhood and teenage years fighting for your life makes you pretty desensitized to certain things, but listening to your teacher talk about some old, boring English literature isn’t stimulating anyway, monster-fighting childhood or not. So, it isn’t a surprise when Will finds himself back in the silence, nothing but his own thoughts accompanying him.
Instead of his blank, empty English notebook that’s supposed to be filled with lecture notes, Will has his sketchbook splayed out on the table, hand busy filling the pages with a bunch of drawings to pass the time. His hands do quick, intentional strokes, trying to draw whatever comes into his mind. He remembers the conversation the four of them had in the halls, how Dustin, Mike, and Lucas planned to visit Max after her physical therapy session.
He somehow sketches Max, at least the bare bones of a Max, on her skateboard. Will and Max had grown closer during that 10-month period, and Will finds Max to be a figure he can rely on. He remembers the first time he controlled Vecna, watching through Vecna’s eyes, as Vecna chases Max and Holly, with her trying to protect the small Holly. When he saw Max awake, with eyes open and a smile on his lips, he was filled with such relief and joy that he was able to help Max escape Vecna’s grasp. In one of those 10 months, Max and Will had frequent sleepovers. He doesn’t even know how he got so close with her, but her strong-willed and confident attitude just rubs off on Will in the best way possible. It also helps that Max is one of those people who don’t treat Will like he always needs protection, kind of like Robin.
Will began to draw in the details of Max’s braids, and he remembers how Max taught Will how to braid her hair during one of the days he slept over at Max’s trailer.
He was sitting on the makeshift bed on the floor, with Max’s back facing him. The light in the trailers had this warm glow to it, making Max’s hair redder than usual. They had just spent the day laughing and giggling, talking about some town gossip and people. Max also shared stories during her time where she had to live in Vecna’s mind, spending two years in his memories. Will shared stories of when he was in the Upside Down or when he experienced his visions as either Vecna or the Mindflayer approached him. They bonded over the feeling of losing time with their loved ones due to the Upside Down. Tired from all the fun, they wanted to sleep, when Max suddenly suggested teaching Will how to braid her hair. With nothing better to do, he agreed. Will’s hands awkwardly fumble with Max’s red hair, remembering the pattern in his mind as he twists her hair, hoping he isn’t tangling or knotting it.
Suddenly, Max spoke in a quiet, hushed voice, “I miss El.”
“You know, we used to braid each other’s hair before.” Max’s voice cracks, “Her hair wasn’t even that long during that time. It was just growing after being shaved in the lab. It was too short to even be braided, but she still loved how I did her hair.”
“El loves the time she spent with you, Max. She talks about how she missed you in Leonora.” Will talks in a soothing voice.
Max’s voice becomes more hoarse, as Will can see her shoulders shake, “You know, it’s so hard being like this.”
Will doesn’t speak and lets her continue."
“Not being able to use my legs is frustrating, and it still hurts being outside when it’s sunny. I hated being so useless, like I need to constantly ask for help from others just to do something as simple as walk.”
Will presses his lips together before asking, “Do you miss skating?”
Max laughs a little, a bitter chuckle escaping her throat, “Miss? I loved skating. I love the feeling of being on board, feeling the wind combing through my hair as I forget all my problems for a while. Forget about my stupid family, and forget about the guilt I felt about Billy. But that isn’t the worst part of becoming like this.”
“During that night,” She begins, and Will knows what night she was talking about. He knows it too well.
“I never cursed myself for being like this as much as before. I wanted to scream and shout, I wanted to curse my stupid legs, telling myself to ‘Get up!’ and run towards El. It was horrible. I was there, but I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t stand up and run to get her.”
“We all couldn’t do anything, Max. It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” She laughs, bitter and cold, “I know. It’s stupid. But I really wish I could’ve done something.”
Me too, Will thinks. I wish I could’ve done something too.
Instead, he says, “I’m sorry, Max. I miss her too.”
Will finishes adding details to Max’s skateboard, the last few strokes to mimic the few scratches her skateboard usually has. He looks at the full spread, not fully realizing he had drawn Max, the view outside the window, his old dog, and—
“Who’s that?” An unfamiliar voice asks, deep with somewhat of a rasp.
Will turns to his right side, and he sees a somewhat unfamiliar face. The boy before him was big, and Will would think he was part of some athletic team in Hawkins High if it weren’t for the big, glaring basketball patch on his big, glaring green jacket, with Hawkins High Basketball Team on the back. He looks tall, with smooth, tanned skin and big brown hair, which, Will, like it or not, would admit looks good. Like, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington-type of good. It swoops down his forehead, framing his big eyes and long, thick lashes, and Will thinks this is stupid. It’s stupid that he’s looking at this random jock like this.
Actually, Will didn’t even know who he was, but it’s probably not good to catch the attention of someone like him. The boy before him had a soft smile (a smirk is probably a better word for it), just one corner of his mouth curved in this perpetual, like, charm. His eyebrows were raised, as if he was just expecting someone like Will to respond, like they’re buddies or something.
“Uh, just a friend.” Will answers, and he almost wants to curse for sounding awkward.
“Oh, I know who she is,” The boy leans over to Will, too close, Will thinks, as their shoulders touch and he tenses immediately.
Ignoring that, he looks to where the boy points in his sketchbook, which was his previous drawing of Max.
“That’s Mayfield, right? Uh, I don’t remember her first name.” The boys ask, brows furrowing while thinking, “I do know that she’s Sinclair’s girlfriend. Also, I think I had her before in Ms. Jen’s English class.”
Will winces at the stereotypical nicknames. He thinks Max would absolutely punch this guy in the face if she heard this random boy call her by her last name. That thought almost made Will want to laugh, and if he wasn’t sitting in the most boring class with the most boring teacher ever, he’d probably do it. Instead, he just smiles.
“If you already know who she is, why are you asking?” Will asks, still grinning from the mental image of Max hitting this random jock. Was that too mean of him to think about?
The boy didn’t respond, and Will thinks that it’s probably really weird that he started smiling for no reason. Will’s eyes darted towards his sketchbook, a bit embarrassed, but not before looking to the side as he noticed the boy’s gaze lingered in his…smile?
“Uh, yeah! What?” The boy stammers, and now Will is confused. Then, the boy adds, as if remembering his original question, “I mean, who is this?”
He leans again, and Will can smell a woody, balsamic but somewhat sweet scent from the collar of the boy’s (still horrendous) jacket. Will almost wants to panic, too close, he thinks, and he can smell the fresh eucalyptus scent of the boy’s shampoo. The boy points to another drawing, an unfinished one, next to his drawing of the window’s view. It was an unfinished sketch of a girl. It was bare bones, just the silhouette of a familiar face, with familiar curves, and the rough outlines of familiar waves of hair.
Will frowns, now realizing that an entire page was dedicated to unfinished sketches of El. There’s one where he realizes it’s El in his flannel shirt that she used to borrow and wear underneath her dresses in Leonora, or El with her hair tied up when they used to do homework together. Something in Will’s throat hitches.
“She’s,” Will doesn’t know what to answer. Nobody in Hawkins really knew who El was, and they only said that El was his sister in Leonora when they all thought Hopper was dead.
The boy tilted his head, and it felt like he sensed Will’s hesitance and didn’t push further. “I was just curious, since you finished everything but those drawings of that girl. Is she like, your secret crush, or something?”
“No, she’s not a crush,” Will responds, almost too quickly. He regrets that. “She’s just somebody close to me. Like, uh—family.”
The boy, who realizes he still doesn’t know this guy’s name, squints and looks back and forth between Will and his sketchbook. The obvious staring made him a bit flustered, and he shifted in his seat.
“Family,” The boy repeats, like he’s testing how the word rolls off his tongue, “I can see it, actually.”
And it’s stupid, Will knows, but it felt really good hearing that. He smiles again and mumbles, 'Yeah?'
The boy nods, “Yeah! You’re a great artist, Byers. So, you like drawing? Didn’t really know you had that in you.”
Then there’s that feeling of something being carved into Will’s gut, like a sleeping primal fear suddenly jolted awake, and it leaves him feeling ill. He is ill, he chokes at the thought, the fear coming in through waves—harsh, violent, the type that erodes. The sense of normalcy he felt, as he finally revealed who he truly was to his loved ones, while also defeating the main figure of terror and closing the Upside Down, made him careless. He forgot that there is, in fact, still a horror in Hawkins. A horror that can’t be explained by science or power-wielding monsters. It’s the horror woven and ingrained deep within Hawkins, the fear of those who are different from the norm, and he can almost hear Lonnie’s voice inside his head—
“Byers?”
This is stupid, Will wants to yell. He’s making it worse. “Uh, yeah. I like to draw sometimes.”
That’s weird, Will thinks the other boy would say, amongst the other things Lonnie tried to call him before, but instead, the boy shrugs. “That’s cool.”
Then, the previous waves of fear calmed a little, and Will finds himself breathing easily.
“So, what do you like to draw?” the guy smiles, “Besides mysterious, faceless, family members?”
Will scoffs, “I don't—she’s not faceless, okay? I just didn’t really finish it. I guess I draw about anything that interests me.”
There’s something about this mysterious boy that makes Will feel oddly comfortable. It’s been a long time since he talked to someone where the other party isn’t just weirded out by him or something. There’s a different air to this boy, an air that makes it feel like it’s alright for Will to joke around like him.
“How about you draw me?” Then, the guy flashed Will the most stupidest, but also, kind of charming grin (but you have to get Vecna to torture him again before he ever admits that) while pointing at himself.
Alright, maybe Will isn’t that comfortable, as something about the boy’s smile makes him jittery. Will rolls his eyes. “Uh, no. Didn’t you hear what I said? I only draw things that interest me. I don’t think you fall under that category.”
The boy’s jaw drops, and it’s almost comical that Will almost laughs. He feigns being hurt, “Ouch, Byers. Didn’t know you had that bite in you. I’m hurt.”
“You’ll live.” Will shrugs, flipping another page to sketch on a blank canvas. “And stop it with the whole ‘Byers’ thing, it makes me feel weird.”
“Don’t you like it? And, what do you mean I’ll live? I feel extremely hurt. Don’t I interest you?” Then, he grins again.
“You don’t, actually.” Will is extremely aware that this is a lie. He is interested.
“But, I wanna get drawn by you.” He elongates the last word, almost whining, he crosses his arms on the table and rests his head to look at Will. “What can I do for you to be interested in me?”
There’s something different with the boy’s words that makes Will’s throat feel really dry, like the words won’t come out normally.
“You could,” Will buys time, “I don’t know. Say your name?”
“So you are interested in me!” He sits up, and actually speaks in a genuine, excited manner—something Will isn’t used to.
“What?” Will says, flustered. “How did you even arrive at that conclusion?”
“Well, you wouldn’t be asking for my name if you weren’t interested.”
“It’s just unfair that you get to call me around with that stupid name, Byers, while I don’t even know who you are, you know.”
“It’s Chance.”
Chance. First, Will thinks it’s weird how the air almost seemed electric when he repeated the name in his head. Second, isn’t the jock that approached Dustin and apologized also called Chance? Will remembers how Dustin described the boy, Chance, earlier. Big brown hair that swoops and curves a bit, and also a bit tan.
Well, Dustin didn’t mention him having a killer smile. Wait, what?
Will wants to laugh and hit himself. He wondered why he didn’t notice it much earlier. Like, the signs were glaring at him.
“Uh, earth to Byers?” Chance waves at him. “Did my handsome face shock you so much? Or are you memorizing it, so you can draw me next?”
Will laughs, a hearty and loud laugh, something he hasn’t done in so long. Well, as loud as you can be, when you’re trying not to catch the attention of a teacher and like, thirty other students in the classroom.
Chance looks stunned, and Will jokes, “Uh, no. I was actually terrified by your face. I think I’m trembling.”
“Hey, take a good look at my face, okay?” Chance plays along.
And Will doesn’t know what came to him, what possessed him, but he did lean in closer, so close their foreheads would almost touch if Will moved further. He stared at the boy’s eyes, a deep brown like dark wood, mahogany, and rich soil. Will can feel his eyes dart over the few moles that scattered Chance’s face like constellations, before pulling away. Chance’s eyes couldn’t focus, as if he didn’t know where to look, and Will, knowing he had an effect like this on someone like Chance, well, felt good, actually.
“Took a good look.” Will, for some reason, smirks.
Chance still had that same flustered look on his face.
Chance buries his face in his hands, letting out a playful groan. He covers his face, and Will swears he can see Chance’s neck tinged red. It felt weird, interacting with someone like this. Especially when that someone is a high school stereotype of a jock. He focuses on his sketchbook, still not sure what to draw, as his hands start to sketch something by instinct. He peers through his peripheral vision, and he can see Chance running his fingers through his dark hair.
He stares at Will again, eyes boring like he wants to see past him, “You’re so,”
Will raises an eyebrow.
“So,” Chance speaks, voice muffled as he covers his face with his hands, “So different from what I thought, Byers.”
“Well, that’s how you become interesting,” Will says.
Then, the bell rings, and almost everyone in the classroom races outside the door for break. Will starts to pack up, too, now wondering why he even acted like that. Chance is still beside him, and Will is so aware of his presence that he wishes to look at what the other boy looks like right now. Both of them stand up, hands clutching the straps of their backpack as they walk side by side. Will notices that Chance really is taller than him by more than a few inches.
There’s already a sea of high school students in the hallway. Will spots one of the other basketball team members waiting for Chance, and he realizes how absurd their previous interaction really was. Will really acted like that with someone like Chance. That’s probably never going to happen again. He takes one last look at Chance, before—
“Uh, Byers!” He hears Chance call out. “You know, you really make me so interested in you.”
Oh.
“So, uh,” The taller boy before him hesitates, “I’ll see you around?”
Will raises an eyebrow, then blurts out, “Yeah. Yeah. That’ll be cool.”
Chance smirks, and Will swears that there has to be something wrong with him. “Cool.”
Will watches as Chance heads to his friends, watching as the hideous Hawkins athlete jacket disappears amongst the crowd of students. Like some sort of comedic show or movie, Will wanted to pinch his cheek to check whether or not he was dreaming. Maybe he died ten months ago, and this was purgatory. He hopes not. He walks along the corridor, past the seemingly hundreds of students, to make his way to the cafeteria.
And then, there’s silence again—the type of silence that breeds that suffocating grief. The silence reminds Will that he is alone, and then the silence becomes even louder, like a loud ringing in his ear. The previous feeling of giddiness, or whatever he was feeling, was suddenly replaced and washed over by his usual feeling of emptiness and loneliness.
Yet, underneath, Will Byers felt something soft and fragile.
Like a fresh morning glory, wet with dewdrops as it blooms after a long storm. And it may or may not be related to whatever happened in English earlier.
⋅˚₊‧ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅