Chapter Text
Thursday, March 27, 1986
Will woke up, as he often did, to the sound of breathing that wasn't his own.
It wasn't loud or threatening in any way, just a slow, moist breath close to his face. He had long since learned not to be surprised by this situation; on the contrary, it was now weirdly reassuring.
He opened his eyes slowly and chose to remain still for a moment, content to stare at the ceiling of the place he had chosen as his refuge: the partial ruin of a house that, in the real world, surely belonged to people whose names he would never know. The ceiling sagged under the weight of black vines, revealing a patch of dark sky lit regularly by red flashes. White spores floated lazily in the air, some getting caught in his hair, sprinkling his eyelashes. He shook his head gently to brush them away.
It was already morning.
Well... technically that wasn't really the case, because such a thing didn't exist in this world, which was always gloomy.
Will had learned to judge the day not by the sun, which was nonexistent here, but by his own body. Hunger. Thirst. The dull ache in his joints. The fatigue that could pull at his muscles after a long day of exploration.
He sighed and sat up.
Something moved beside him, heavily and carefully. One of his dogs (they behaved a bit like dogs, so...), older now, bigger than he remembered them when they were small and clumsy, raised its head and let out a deep growl that made its siblings scattered around the room, piled on top of each other, startle. Its face opened slightly, just enough for Will to see rows of teeth glistening with wetness.
“Hello,” Will whispered hoarsely. ”Hope you slept well?”
The creature looked at him curiously, a small sound that Will knew to be joy escaping from its throat, its tail wagging behind it.
Will swung his legs over the edge of his nest, made up of layers of salvaged blankets, rotten pillows, and fabric that had once served as curtains, and stood up, careful not to step on any of his companions. He absentmindedly scratched his bedmate's neck as he yawned.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar tightness under his skin.
The world around him, his world, reacted slowly.
The vines covering the walls moved subtly, retracting just enough to make room for him. He hadn't asked them to do so. He no longer needed to. This place knew him.
Despite having spent so much time here (he didn't know how much), part of him still found it strange.
Years ago, because it must have been years, although he wasn't entirely sure, this world had tried to kill him. The air had burned his lungs. The ground had tried to grab him by the ankles. The tall hunters with flower faces had chased him until his vision blurred and his heart felt like it was tearing apart in his chest.
He had been the prey.
Defenseless and afraid, seeking to survive at all costs.
A frightened child who had called out for help to everyone he loved, praying that at least one of them would hear him and come to save him.
Although that never happened.
He refused to start his day like that, and cut off his train of thought, beginning to gather some of his belongings that were lying in a corner of the room. His backpack contained the few things he always kept with him, such as a small change of clothes and an empty water bottle, which he would have to fill with the liquid that had made him want to vomit the first time, but which was also essential to him. And lots of other small accessories and bits of equipment.
Once he was ready, he left the large room and headed outside, knowing that he would be followed without having to ask. He had long since stopped feeling ashamed of technically squatting in strangers' homes, even if it wasn't really their house. Just as he had stopped feeling bad when he “stole” things. It wasn't as if anyone else was going to get angry at him for daring to take a backpack or a moldy blanket from a deserted store.
He began his walk without any real destination in mind, as he did most days. Behind him, his pets, his friends, followed. One of his dogs walked beside him, its claws clicking softly against the concrete slabs. The smaller ones darted ahead, weaving between the vines with an ease acquired through habit. Further behind, something larger moved slowly and cautiously: one of the older dogs, massive and covered in scars, its body marked by half-healed wounds from recent fights.
He could also sense the presence of many other members of his group, each moving at their own pace, with him at their heart. As had been the case for a long time. There were monster dogs, Goliaths—monsters larger than humans with their plant heads, the species of the beast that had kidnapped him—but also monster bats and other species. A whole little ecosystem.
They stayed close, but without jostling each other.
They trusted him.
And in return, Will trusted them too.
He crossed the ruins of the neighborhood, passing houses frozen in a state of decay that was almost sad, but so familiar to his eyes. A rusty bicycle lay in the street, its tires long since deflated. A mailbox was open, its contents scattered on the ground: letters reduced to pulp, addresses smudged and unrecognizable. He walked past houses where he had slept many times without stopping.
After walking for a long time, Will stopped in front of what used to be the school. The sign at the entrance had collapsed, its letters scattered and half buried under the vines.
He closed his eyes.
He had to remind himself sometimes that none of this was like it had been in the beginning. Because he was free, in a world where no one expected anything from him, where his only goal was to survive. He was content to cherish the freedom he had earned with his own hands after being captured.
Captured.
He swallowed, his fingers clenching reflexively.
He remembered the coldness of the tendrils wrapped around his wrists, around his throat, in his throat. The way the world had shrunk to darkness and pressure, and the overwhelming feeling of something immense imposing itself on his mind. Not thoughts. Not words. Hunger. Direction. Control.
After one of the monsters had captured him, he had found himself immobilized and powerless, at the mercy of this thing and its minion.
The Shadow Monster.
Though Will hadn't had a name for it then. He'd only known it as the thing that was everywhere.
It had poured itself into him, tried to hollow him out and wear him like a skin.
It hadn't worked.
Not completely.
Something in Will had fought back. Something furious and scared. Something stubborn. The same part of him that had survived alone in a world that wanted him dead. The same part that had then learned the rules of this place by spilling his blood on its soil.
When he escaped hours later, screaming, without understanding how he had managed it at the time, he had taken something with him.
Because it was on that day that he had changed.
Irrevocably.
He had felt this thing inside him, wanting to take possession of him, of his poor frail and weak body. Of a terrified boy.
Forcing him into something big and absurd that he didn't understand...
The connection.
Even now, he could remember it, feel the dark, slimy, cold presence in his mind. Will had managed to free himself from it, to wrest control from the formless monster that had wanted to take him over. He had learned to shut himself off, to redirect this pull, to protect the creatures that stayed with him.
The ‘beasts’ were proof of that.
Will turned away and kept walking.
He headed for the old supermarket. Not because he needed to, he had enough canned food in reserve to last him a while, but because routines were important. Because pretending that days still existed made it easier for him to remember who he was.
Who he had been.
Sometimes, when he let himself think about it too much, sadness would suddenly and brutally overwhelm him. The realization that no one had come. Not really. That all attempts, if there had been any, had failed, had ceased, or had never reached him. That the years had passed while he learned to survive in a world of decay, bones, and shadows.
He wondered if they believed him dead.
That thought hurt less than it used to.
It was still less painful than wondering if he had at least been searched for. Or grieved.
This place he was stuck in was terrible. It was cruel. It was evil in a way that penetrated bones and stayed there. But it was also familiar. It listened to him when he reached out. It offered him refuge, in its own twisted way.
It was now his home.
Will adjusted the strap of his backpack and whistled softly. His pets responded immediately, gathering close to him, alert and ready to spring into action.
No matter what was happening in the outside world, no matter what had happened to the boy he once was, Will Byers was still here.
And he was no longer alone.
It was him and them now.
Forever and against all odds.
He entered through the broken door of the store when he reached his destination, his friends immediately scattering, forming a loose circle around him. One of them climbed onto the collapsed roof with surprising agility for his size, his face opening slightly to sniff the air.
The interior smelled of rusted metal and mold. The shelves had sagged over time, but some still held dented cans, opaque jars whose contents had miraculously survived. Will searched methodically, ignoring the dampness that chilled his fingers.
He found two boxes still sealed. He tapped them gently against the floor, listening. No suspicious sloshing. No hollow sound. Good enough.
He slipped them into his bag.
As he stood up, he caught sight of his reflection in a cracked window behind the counter.
He paused.
Will had changed. He knew that, of course, but he didn't look at himself often. His face was more angular, his cheeks hollow, his eyes darker than they had once been. A pale scar ran across his left collarbone and up to his neck, thin but irregular, a reminder of a tentacle that had tried to hold him back when he fled.
His hair was longer now, falling in messy strands to the nape of his neck. He sometimes tied it back when it became annoying. Today, it was held back in part by a dark knot he had tied quickly before leaving. The fabric was worn, frayed at the edges, but he always kept it with him. He couldn't even remember exactly why. It reassured him.
Outside, the sky was unchanged. Still that dead, frozen dark. Will took a deep breath and resumed his walk.
✿ ✿ ✿
A few hours later, a shiver ran down his spine, putting him on guard. His senses warned him even before he heard anything.
Will sat up immediately, his muscles tensing reflexively. His friends reacted in a split second: the monster dogs froze, their skulls opening with a sharp click, while one of the larger ones retreated into the shadows.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the sensation. There, somewhere deep inside him, he felt the thread. Not his own. Another. Cold. Rigid. Pulling northward, deeply rooted in something vast and conscious.
The Shadow Monster.
Will breathed in slowly. The creatures accompanying him moved closer, asking him what to do, but he projected a clear, firm thought.
Wait.
They obeyed.
The first cry tore through the air a few seconds later.
An open, inhuman sound, echoing through the trees like twisted metal. The Goliath emerged from the mist, immense, its limbs spread wide, its head opening like wet petals to reveal a mouth bristling with teeth. Behind it, the air vibrated with rapid flapping: monster-bats, a dark swarm, their wings tearing through the fog.
These were not his.
He knew it immediately.
These creatures were still connected to their twisted master.
Years earlier, he had understood what the creatures contained. Not just a will of their own. But particles. Fragments of presence. Filaments of the Shadow Monster scattered throughout every body, every mind. Like a great web.
He had learned to pull on it.
At the time, it had nearly killed him. Alone, feverish, blood flowing from his nose and ears, he had focused all his will on one thing: cutting. Separating the particles from their origin. Reconfiguring them around him, rather than around this dark monster.
He hadn't dominated his friends.
He had freed them.
Since then, they had been connected only to him. Not controlled. Connected. A calm, stable network, nourished by his presence rather than by the Monster's infinite hunger.
Those, on the other hand, were still slaves.
What surprised Will, however, was the presence of these creatures here. He had concluded a kind of “truce” with Henry, the other resident of this dark world, and of the one above, into which Will did not like to venture. Henry could do what he wanted, and so could Will, each minding their own business. The other man, even if he could no longer really be considered as such, had chosen to join forces, completely voluntarily or not, with the Shadow Monster.
Thus, they had learned not to venture into each other's territories.
Which made the presence of these beasts here, in one of his territories, surprising. Unless they had been disturbed and attracted by something else...
Despite himself, Will felt a surge of curiosity rise within him.
But before going to investigate, he had to take care of this.
The vines shot up from the ground at his mind command, wrapping around the creature's legs, slowing it down. It struggled, tearing at the plant flesh, but Will moved forward, his hand open in front of him, focusing, as he had done hundreds, maybe thousands of times before, on the dark web that engulfed the mind and body of this Goliath.
He touched the link.
And pulled, tearing away that bond, connecting the dark particles to his own mind, stealing control from this monster he could almost feel raging in its lair far away.
He did the same with the flying creatures, some of which had already been eliminated by his friends who considered them threats.
Once that was done, he wiped the trickle of blood running from his nose before taking a deep breath.
Well... one more thing done.
Henry wasn't going to be thrilled that Will had taken away even more of his servants.
Serves him right, he thought, almost gleefully.
He resumed his journey, but this time with a goal in mind.
To find the source of this disturbance.
For once, he had something concrete to do.