Chapter Text
“Will, sweetheart, breathe.”
Will was twelve years old, hysterical, sobbing on his bed while his mother tried to comfort him. But comfort made no sense. His mother’s calm made no sense. Earlier that day at school, Will had stained his pants with blood. He was sure he was still bleeding. The only possible explanation, he thought, was some sort of terminal illness.
He was convinced he should already be in a hospital, examined by doctors. And if he wasn’t, then the diagnosis must be so terrible that it wasn’t worth trying to save him at all. He felt torn apart inside by the idea of dying while his mom remained gentle, pretending nothing was wrong. He wanted to hug her and say goodbye.
“Look, honey, we need to talk,” Joyce said as she held him.
It turned out that Will wasn’t a boy. Or at least not a conventional one.
Will Byers was intersex. When he was born, the doctors asked Lonnie to assign a sex, and Lonnie decided he wanted another son. Will had grown up believing he was a boy. Joyce explained that his genitals weren’t like a typical boy’s or a girl’s—that he was special. But of course, Will had never seen any other-kind-of-genital to compare his own and notice the difference. What had happened at school was that he’d had his first period, something common for girls, and the doctors had never been sure whether he would menstruate or not.
None of this calmed Will at all, but he stopped crying so as not to worry his mother further and assured her he would try to sleep. Still, his mind raced. He felt doomed to be a freak forever. How could a woman ever love him if he wasn’t even a “real” man (a man who menstruated)? He felt achingly alone.
He drifted into a strange, almost meditative state. Moments ago he’d thought he was dying, and now he simply didn’t know what to think. Was he surprised? Not really; he’d always felt different enough. Was he sad? Not exactly. It was as if a puzzle had begun assembling before his eyes, and he didn’t like the picture forming. But was anything truly different? He had always been alone, always strange. That was life for Will.
He comforted himself by thinking of wizards in Middle-earth—beings beyond human categories of male and female who never fell in love. Or the Norse gods. Maybe he could be Will the Hermit.
The next morning he went down for breakfast. Joyce had already left for work. Will wore the awkward cotton pads his mother had given him to avoid accidents. Hopper had made waffles, and Will sat beside Jane. There was hazelnut spread—his favorite but unusual. If anyone knew anything, no one said a word. Will assumed Joyce must have told them something, since he’d come home covered in blood and now everyone behaved with remarkable normality.
He also assumed Jonathan must have known all along. Somehow that was comforting. His older brother always supported and defended him. If Jonathan wasn’t disgusted by having a “weird” little brother, maybe there was still hope. Hope for what, he didn’t know.
Hopper wished them luck, and Jonathan went to start the car. Jane grabbed her backpack. That was their routine ever since their mom had married Hopper years earlier. Will liked Hopper, and Jane already felt like a sister.
School was not as normal as breakfast. It did not pretend nothing had happened. That day, Will’s classmates cornered him in the bathroom, pulling down his pants to confirm he wasn’t a “normal” boy. That was the day the humiliation began.
Four years later
Hawkins. A new beginning. The certainty that something was irrevocably broken in them if they needed a new beginning at such a young age, Will muttered to himself.
He was packing the last objects he would take with him. A few books, mixtapes Jonathan had made for him, his colored pencils, his paints. He looked around his room, knowing it was the last time he’d see it. A wall covered in fantasy drawings. A desk with action figures. He observed it all as if seeing himself for the first time.
He thought about how stupid he had been as a kid, believing everything was fine because he could pretend to be like a wizard—fine with being alone. He hated it all now. Lately, he hated everything.
His mother insisted they were moving because she and Hopper had never gotten used to the city and wanted to return to their hometown. When Will lied to himself, he’d say the move was because of the bullying he and Jane suffered at school. He could even pretend it was because Joyce worried about Jonathan’s weed use and wanted to get him away from the city. But Will knew the truth—they were moving because of him, so he could start fresh in a place where no one knew his secret.
Jonathan entered and flopped onto Will’s bed in one motion. Will turned, irritated; he’d been having a moment alone with his memories.
He knew Jonathan had long been frustrated, wanting to get closer to him and not knowing how. Will also knew it was his fault—he had built those walls, and he didn’t even know why.
“And those? You’re not taking them?” Jonathan asked, pointing to the drawings still on the wall, noticing—accurately—that Will hadn’t packed them.
Will shrugged and sealed the last box.
“But they’re really good,” Jonathan insisted. He got up and walked to the wall, peeling the drawings off. “If you’re not taking them, I will.”
That bothered Will, and he immediately tried to snatch them back. “They’re just trash. Let go.”
“Well, if they’re trash and you don’t want them, all the more reason for me to keep them,” Jonathan said, using his height advantage with his little brother to lift the drawings out of reach. “Besides, why does it bother you so much?”
The question irritated Will. Yes, he was dramatic and oversensitive about everything, and Jonathan knew that. He should know it came from feeling like garbage all the time, from having no energy to handle anything. So yes, the damn drawings bothered him.
Will grabbed one in a wild swipe and pulled until it tore. The rip made him angrier—at himself, at Jonathan—because he felt he had hurt a part of himself. It was a drawing he’d made as a kid, one his family had praised. Now he’d ruined it because he was impulsive. He ruined everything. So what if he was going to put it in the trash anyway? And yet he cared. He missed being the little boy who brought drawings to his big brother. His eyes filled with tears.
“Hey, hey—slow down, kid,” Jonathan said, ending the struggle at once. He guided Will to the bed and hugged him in silence. Jonathan still called him kid.
The car ride was quiet for Will. Joyce and Hopper were reminiscing about Hawkins, laughing, trying to excite Jane and Jonathan about the move. Will listened to music while catching bits of their conversation. Sometimes he smiled, imagining his mom as a teenager, drinking milkshakes with boyfriends in the afternoon.
Then he felt sad, realizing Joyce and Hopper had built an entire life in California, and Jane and he had lived there their whole lives with nothing to miss. He thought in The hobbits and how The missed The Shire. Or Ulises and Ithaca. But there was no homeland feeling for him, no Shire, no Ithaca. If California wasn’t the Shire, maybe it was more like Tatooine. Luke Skywalker left Tatooine without looking back.
The move had been planned during the summer, so Will and Jane could start their senior year without delay. They rented a house in a quiet area outside town. Joyce promised they could finally get a dog because of the big yard. Jonathan hadn’t gone to college, so he would have to find a job in town; Hopper got him one at a video rental store. Hopper transferred to the Hawkins police. Joyce would stay home a few months to settle in, then look for work. Will had wanted a part-time job for senior year, but Joyce insisted he focus on grades and college applications—no room for negotiation.
Talking about their plans somehow lifted Will’s spirits. He started to feel hopeful. Maybe this new beginning could work. He could pass as just another boy, get a scholarship, study art. Jonathan had assured him that art spaces weren’t as cruel as school bullies; he’d know, having been in photography clubs and surrounded by people of the ambience.
Will stared out the window as fields rose and faded along the road.
Jane pinched him.
“Yellow car!” she yelled. Will rolled his eyes but laughed.
Jane was, by far, the most excited. She genuinely believed this could be a new beginning. She had been bullied too—partly for being herself, partly for being the stepsister of the “weird kid.” She always pretended it didn’t bother her and she always hide the bullyng to Joyce and Hopper, but Will knew the truth. He was happy for her and tried to share her excitement.
“What are you listening to?” Jane snatched his radio before he could answer. She tried to identify the song but Will noticed she gave up quickly. Understandable—Jane listened to pop, while Will had inherited Jonathan’s taste for… other kinds of music. One more thing that set him apart from everyone.
“New Order. They’re from Manchester.”
Jane made a small “oh” and handed the radio back. “Cool, I guess.”
Will smiled. “Yeah. Cool.”