Chapter Text
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.
The words were said so quickly—careless, sharp, final. Thrown out into the air like they didn’t mean anything at all. Like they weren’t capable of doing real damage.
For Will, though, time seemed to stretch around them, warping and slowing until that single sentence echoed over and over again in his head. Each repetition cut deeper than the last.
One second, Mike was standing there with his arms crossed, his face twisted with frustration, looking older somehow—harder. The next, something flickered across his expression. Regret, maybe. A flash of realization that he’d gone too far.
But it didn’t matter.
It was already too late.
Will didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, making it impossible to breathe properly, let alone speak. If he stayed any longer, he was going to break completely—right there in front of Mike.
So he ran.
Will stormed out towards his bike. The rain greeted him immediately, cold and relentless, soaking through his jacket within seconds. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t care about the way his shoes splashed through puddles or how the chill seeped into his bones. He didn’t care about the tears spilling down his face, blending seamlessly with the rainwater so no one could tell where one ended and the other began.
He just needed to get away.
The world felt too loud, too heavy. Every step away from Mike’s house made his chest ache more, like something inside him was being pulled tight and twisted.
He knew he was different.
He always had.
He didn’t look at girls the way Mike or Lucas did. They stared openly, unabashed, full of awe and excitement, whispering to each other like it was the most important secret in the world. Will had seen the way Mike’s face lit up whenever El walked into a room, how his eyes softened, how his entire focus narrowed until she was the only thing that mattered. It was like the rest of the world faded away for him.
And every time, Will felt that familiar, sharp burn in his chest.
Jealousy.
Hot and ugly and wrong.
He hated himself for it.
Why El?
Why couldn’t Mike look at him like that?
Mike used to smile when he saw Will. Really smile. Before El. Before middle school. Before girls and kissing and whispered conversations that Will was never invited into. Before it felt like Will was always one step behind, desperately trying to catch up to a version of his friends that no longer existed.
Sometimes—only sometimes—an ugly, shameful part of Will wished they had never found her. Wished there had never been any girls at all to pull their party apart, to change everything.
The thought made him feel sick almost immediately.
El had suffered so much. She had been locked away, experimented on, hunted like an animal. She had lost more than Will could ever imagine. And here he was, wishing she didn’t exist because he couldn’t handle his own feelings.
What kind of person did that make him?
El was kind to him. She smiled gently when he flinched at sudden noises. She never made him feel stupid when he struggled to explain things. She understood fear in a way no one else could. And she had no idea that Will carried these awful, selfish thoughts about her.
If she knew, she’d hate him.
Everyone would.
Maybe he really was broken. Maybe something inside him snapped back in the Upside Down—something essential—and it never healed right. Maybe it never would. The doctors had said he was fine, but what did they know? They hadn’t felt the cold vines wrapping around their throat. They hadn’t felt the Mind Flayer inside their head.
Lonnie probably knew it. That was why he’d hit Will. Why he’d shouted at him, tried to “fix” him. To make him normal. To make him less of a freak.
Blinded by tears and the relentless rain, Will didn’t notice the uneven hump in the road ahead.
His bike hit it head-on.
The impact was sudden and brutal. Will cried out as he was thrown forward, hands slipping off the handlebars. He hit the ground hard, skidding through wet gravel and mud before coming to a stop. Pain exploded through his knees, sharp and burning, as skin scraped open against the road.
For a long moment, Will didn’t move.
He just sat there, hunched over, rain pounding down on him, his bike lying a few feet away like it had been abandoned too. Blood ran freely from several fresh cuts, dark red streaks mixing with rainwater and mud. The sight fascinated him in a distant, numb sort of way, like it was happening to someone else.
He barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching.
“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there, kid.”
Will flinched, his head snapping up as his heart leapt into his throat. A stranger stood a few feet away, holding an umbrella that did very little against the downpour.
“Sorry,” the guy added quickly, lifting his hands a little in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you, pal.”
He looked like a teenager—older than Will by several years, probably a senior. He was tall, with long, curly hair that fell past his shoulders, even longer than Nancy’s, and he wore a leather jacket that looked more suited for a rock concert than the quiet streets of Hawkins. His rings glinted faintly in the gray light.
Despite all of that, he didn’t seem scary.
His eyes were soft. Kind. Curious in a way that didn’t feel invasive.
“You didn’t scare me,” Will said automatically, even though his heart was still racing.
“Riiight,” the guy drawled, clearly unconvinced. He glanced down at Will’s knees, then back at his face. “So why’re you sitting in the mud all sad looking like the world just ended?”
“I’m not sad!” Will snapped.
The words came out too fast, too loud. He tried to make his voice sound strong, normal—but it wobbled at the end, traitorous. His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, a quiet sob slipped free.
He froze.
This was it. This was the part where the stranger laughed. Or made some stupid comment. Or walked away shaking his head.
Teenagers were always mean.
Instead, the guy crouched down beside him, lowering himself until they were almost eye-level.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, bud,” he said gently, resting a warm, steady hand on Will’s shoulder. “You don’t gotta pretend with me. You can cry if you want.”
And that was all it took.
The dam broke.
Will didn’t know how long he cried.
At first, he tried to fight it. He pressed his lips together, sucked in shaky breaths, told himself to stop—don’t be a baby, don’t do this in front of a stranger—but it was useless. The sound broke out of him anyway, a sharp, broken sob that made his shoulders hitch violently. Then another followed, and another, until he was gasping for air, hands curling into the wet fabric of his jacket like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
He folded in on himself, head dropping forward as the tears came faster, harder. Everything he’d been holding in—Mike’s words, the jealousy, the shame, the years of being scared and different and wrong—came crashing down all at once. It hurt too much to keep inside.
“I—I didn’t—” Will tried to speak, but the words tangled up in his throat and fell apart. He shook his head, frustrated, humiliated. “I’m— I’m sorry,” he managed finally, voice small and broken. “I don’t— I don’t usually—”
“Whoa, hey,” the older guy said quickly, shifting closer. “You don’t gotta apologize for anything, man. Crying’s not a crime. if that were true, I’d be in serious trouble. I cry during sad commercials..”
That earned a weak, involuntary huff of breath from Will—barely a laugh, more like a startled exhale—but it was something.
The guy smiled softly, like he’d take even that tiny victory. He gently moved his hand from Will’s shoulder up to his back, rubbing slow, careful circles between his shoulder blades. The touch was warm and steady, not rushed, not awkward. It reminded Will—uncomfortably—of how Joyce used to hold him when he had nightmares, before he started insisting he was fine.
“There you go,” the guy murmured. “Just let it out. You’re doing great, champ. Ten outta ten crying form. Really committing to the bit.”
Will let out a shaky, wet sound that might have been a laugh if he hadn’t immediately started sobbing again. He pressed his sleeve against his eyes, but it didn’t help much. His face felt hot and tight, his chest aching like it might split open.
“I—everyone—” he choked. “They— they think I’m—”
“Whoa, whoa,” the guy interrupted gently. “One sentence at a time, okay? You’re spiraling. I can practically hear the dramatic background music.”
That did it. Will gave a real laugh then—brief and cracked, but real—before it collapsed into another sob. He hated how easy it was, how quickly the stranger’s stupid jokes disarmed him.
“I’m sorry,” Will whispered again, mortified. “I’m being stupid.”
“Incorrect,” the guy said immediately. “First of all, you’re not stupid. Second of all, if being upset in the rain after eating asphalt makes you stupid, then congratulations—we’re both idiots, because I wiped out on my skateboard last week and cried in front of a mailbox.”
Will sniffed, peeking up at him through wet lashes despite himself. “You did not.”
“Oh, I absolutely did,” the guy said solemnly. “The mailbox judged me. I could feel it.”
Another small laugh slipped out of Will before he could stop it. His crying softened then, the sobs losing their sharp edge, turning into quieter, hiccupping breaths. The pain was still there, heavy and raw, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating with someone sitting beside him, unbothered by the mess of it all.
“That’s it,” the guy said, giving Will’s back a gentle pat. “See? Progress. Emotional breakdown downgraded to a manageable meltdown.”
Will wiped at his face again, embarrassed but calmer now. His knees throbbed, the pain finally breaking through the fog of adrenaline and sadness. He winced, drawing his legs in a little.
“Okay,” the guy said, noticing immediately. He leaned back slightly to look at the damage, eyebrows knitting together. “Yeah, those are gonna need some attention before you turn into a walking biohazard.”
Will glanced down at his knees again. The blood had slowed, but the cuts still looked angry and raw, streaked with dirt and gravel. “I’ll be fine,” he said automatically, even though the sting made his eyes water again.
“Mmm, wrong answer,” the guy replied. “That’s the kind of thing people say right before it gets infected and their leg falls off.”
Will’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Kidding,” the guy added quickly, grinning. “Mostly. But seriously, you should clean those up. You got lucky—could’ve been way worse.”
Will hesitated. “I—I can just go home.”
“In that state?” the guy asked, gesturing vaguely at Will’s soaked clothes, scraped knees, and blotchy face. “Kid, you look like a sad raccoon that lost a fight with a lawn mower.”
Will snorted despite himself, clapping a hand over his mouth like he could stop it.
“There it is,” the guy said triumphantly. “Laughter achieved. I’m basically a licensed therapist.”
Will shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips before it faded again. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Eddie,” the guy said easily. “Eddie Munson. Local menace. You?”
“Will,” he replied quietly. “Will Byers.”
“Well, Will Byers,” Eddie said, pushing himself up to stand and offering a hand. “How do you feel about a short trip to my RV? It’s dry, it’s warm-ish, and I’ve got first-aid supplies. Plus, zero judgment zone. Very exclusive.”
“Your… RV?” Will echoed, uncertainty flickering across his face.
Eddie tilted his head, considering him for a moment, then softened his voice. “Hey. No pressure. If you don’t wanna, that’s cool. I just don’t love the idea of you biking home in the rain with shredded knees and a heartbreak hangover.”
Will looked down at the ground, then at his bike, then back at Eddie. The rain hadn’t let up at all. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably, and his knees ached with every small movement. More than that, though, the thought of going home—of being alone with everything he was feeling—made his chest tighten again.
“…Okay,” he said finally, voice small but certain. “Okay.”
Eddie smiled, bright and genuine, like Will had made the right choice. “Awesome. Come on, kid. Let’s get you patched up.”
The RV door creaked open with a metallic groan, and Eddie flicked on the lights with a dramatic flourish. Warm yellow bulbs sprang to life, chasing away the gray gloom of the storm outside. The rain continued to drum against the roof, but in here it sounded distant, muted—like it belonged to another world entirely.
Will paused just inside the doorway.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Something dark, maybe. Messy. Intimidating. Instead, the RV felt… safe. There were mismatched blankets draped over the small couch, a stack of vinyl records neatly leaned against one wall, and strings of Christmas lights tacked along the ceiling, glowing softly. The air smelled faintly of incense and laundry detergent.
It was cozy. Surprisingly so.
“Told you,” Eddie said, clearly pleased with Will’s reaction. “Not a murder den.”
Will blinked. “I—I didn’t think it was.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie grinned. “That pause at the door says otherwise.”
Will ducked his head, embarrassed, but Eddie didn’t linger on it. Instead, he shrugged out of his jacket and pointed toward the small bathroom area.
“Alright, first order of business—you’re gonna catch hypothermia if you keep standing there like a soggy cat. Clothes off.”
Will’s face immediately went red.
“I—what?”
Eddie blinked, then laughed. “Whoa, easy there. I meant your wet clothes. I’ll turn around, Scout’s honor.”
Will hesitated, fingers tightening around the hem of his soaked shirt.
Eddie immediately noticed. “I’m gonna, uh, grab you something to change into,” he added quickly, already turning away. “No funny business. I am a gentleman.”
Eddie rummaged through one of the cabinets, muttering to himself as he dug around. “Man, I really gotta start labeling these. Socks in one place, band tees in another… future Eddie’s gonna thank me.”
Will changed slowly, his movements stiff and sore. His knees throbbed where Eddie had wrapped them loosely in a towel for the moment, and his fingers shook as he peeled off his damp clothes. When he pulled on the shirt Eddie handed him, it nearly swallowed him whole. The black fabric hung off his shoulders, the sleeves brushing his elbows, the hem falling all the way to his knees.
It smelled like Eddie—something warm and clean and faintly smoky.
Eddie glanced over when Will stepped back out and froze.
“Oh. Oh, wow,” he said, hand flying to his chest. “That is… objectively adorable.”
Will flushed instantly. “It’s too big.”
“Incorrect,” Eddie said solemnly. “It’s perfect. Very ‘tiny metal prodigy’”
Will tried—and failed—not to smile.
Eddie grabbed the first-aid kit from beneath the sink and plopped down in front of Will, gesturing for him to sit on the couch. “Alright, legs up. Let’s see the damage.”
Will obeyed, wincing as Eddie carefully peeled back the towel. The cuts looked angry now, red and raw, dotted with bits of dirt.
“Oof,” Eddie hissed sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s gonna sting. I apologize in advance.”
He cleaned the wounds gently, his hands steady, movements practiced. Will clenched his fists when the antiseptic burned, biting his lip to keep quiet.
“Hey,” Eddie said lightly, glancing up. “If you scream, I promise not to judge. I scream every time I stub my toe.”
“I don’t scream,” Will muttered.
“Sure you don’t,” Eddie said, deadpan. “Strong, silent type.”
Will snorted before he could stop himself, then quickly looked away. “Sorry.”
Eddie waved it off. “Nah. I’ll take it as a win.”
They sat in companionable quiet for a moment, broken only by the rain and the soft rustle of gauze. Eddie taped the bandages down carefully, like he was handling something fragile.
“People at school call me Zombie Boy,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out before he’d fully decided to share them.
Eddie paused.
“Zombie Boy?” he repeated carefully.
Will nodded, staring at his hands. “Because I was… I went missing. In the woods. Everyone thought I was dead. They had a funeral and everything.” His voice dropped. “And then I came back.”
He swallowed. “After that, it stuck. Zombie boy. Freak. Ghost.”
For a split second, Eddie’s expression went dark—jaw tightening, eyes flashing with something sharp and protective. Then he leaned back, tilting his head thoughtfully.
“Okay, hear me out,” he said. “Zombie boy? That’s actually kind of metal.”
Will looked up, startled. “What?”
“I mean, come on. You died—symbolically—and came back? That’s hardcore. That is actually a metal as hell nickname” Eddie grinned. “In D&D terms, that’s basically a resurrection spell. Rare. Expensive. Only happens to important characters.”
Will blinked again. “D&D?”
Eddie froze.
“Oh,” he said slowly. “Right. Uh. Sorry. That was—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m assuming you don’t really—”
“I do,” Will said quickly.
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?”
Will nodded, a little more confidently this time. “I’ve been playing since elementary school. I even was the DM a few times.”
Eddie stared at him like he’d just revealed he could breathe fire.
“No way,” Eddie said. “You? Dungeon Master?”
Will shrugged, suddenly shy. “I like making the stories and I like drawing maps and stuff...”
Eddie let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. That’s awesome.”
Will’s smile faltered. “We don’t really play anymore,” he added quietly. “My friends… they’re all into girls now. And dating. They say it’s childish.”
Eddie scoffed immediately. “Blasphemy. Absolute heresy.”
Will laughed softly, the sound surprised but real.
“Seriously,” Eddie continued, carefully taping the last bandage. “Anyone who ditches D&D for girls is making a tragic life choice.”
Will looked down at his wrapped knees, then back up at Eddie. “You really think so?”
Eddie met his gaze, expression sincere beneath the humor. “Yeah, kid. I really do.”
For the first time that night, the tight knot in Will’s chest loosened—just a little.
Eddie leaned back slightly, still perched on the edge of the couch, eyes scanning Will carefully. His tone softened, gentle but curious.
“Hey… can I ask you something?” he said. “Is… that why you’re so bummed out? All the cuts and the crying and the zombie stuff?”
Will didn’t answer right away. He stared down at his knees, fingers twisting the edge of the oversized t-shirt. His chest felt tight, like squeezing it might make the pain easier to hold. The words wouldn’t come. Not yet.
Eddie waited. He didn’t push, didn’t prod. Just stayed there, arms resting casually but ready, letting Will know he wasn’t going anywhere. The rain drummed softly on the roof, a quiet soundtrack for a pause that stretched long enough to feel endless.
Finally, in a small, raw voice, Will admitted, “It… it’s not just that.” His words trembled. “It’s… Mike… he said… he said, ‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’”
The confession fell heavy in the cozy space of the RV. Will’s eyes filled again, the tears threatening to spill over despite the bandages and dry shirt. He looked tiny in Eddie’s big t-shirt, vulnerable in a way that made the older teen’s chest tighten.
Eddie immediately leaned closer, resting a firm, warm hand on Will’s shoulder. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently, his voice a mix of reassurance and a little wry humor, like he was reminding Will that even the world’s worst moments weren’t permanent. “It’s okay. That… that’s a crappy thing to hear. I get it. But… you’re not broken. You’re not wrong. You’re not doing anything bad by just… being you.”
Will sniffled, letting the words sink in, the weight of his shame and hurt finally meeting someone who didn’t laugh, didn’t judge, didn’t try to fix him. Eddie’s hand shifted slightly, brushing back damp hair from Will’s forehead, petting him in a way that felt protective and safe, patient enough to let him cry as long as he needed.
He finally looked up then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t choose it. I tried not to be like this. I just—am.”
Something in Eddie’s chest clenched hard.
He scooted closer, slow enough to give Will time to pull away. When Will didn’t, Eddie rested a careful hand on his knee, warm and grounding.
“Hey,” Eddie said softly. “Listen to me for a second, okay?”
Will sniffed, nodding.
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Eddie said, every word deliberate. “Not a damn thing. Liking boys? That’s not a defect. It’s not a mistake. It’s just… who you are.”
Will’s breath shuddered. “But everyone—”
“Yeah,” Eddie cut in gently. “Everyone can be real dumb sometimes. Especially in this town.” He gave a small, crooked smile. “Trust me. I’ve got years of research to back that up.”
Will let out a shaky laugh.
Eddie squeezed his knee reassuringly. “And for the record? I like boys too. And girls. And people who look like they crawled out of a fantasy novel.” He shrugged. “Still alive. Still kicking. Still cool as hell.”
Will stared at him, eyes wide. “You do?”
“Absolutely,” Eddie said. “And nobody gets to tell me—or you—that that makes us broken.”
The tension in Will’s shoulders finally eased, just a fraction. Tears slipped down his cheeks again, but this time they didn’t feel as sharp.
“I was so scared,” Will admitted.
“I know,” Eddie said softly. “But you don’t have to be scared here. Not with me.”
He leaned back slightly, flashing Will a grin. “You’re safe in the party now, alright? And I take my role as protector very seriously.”
Will wiped his eyes with the sleeve of Eddie’s shirt and nodded.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Eddie leaned back against the edge of the couch, letting the quiet hum of the RV settle around them. He watched Will’s shoulders relax a little, the tension easing from the little boy who had been crushed by words and rain and fear. Eddie’s voice was calm, steady, carrying a weight that came from knowing what it was like to live in the shadows.
“You know,” Eddie began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “there are a lot of people out there—people like us—who get told to hide who they are. People who get scared to show the real version of themselves because the world can be… uh, not nice.” He shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all. Total jerks sometimes.”
Will blinked up at him, listening intently, wet hair sticking to his forehead.
“But here’s the thing,” Eddie continued, softening his tone. “Just because we have to hide, it doesn’t mean we’re alone. Not really. There are people out there—friends, family, communities—who get it. Who accept you for exactly who you are. And it’s not some far-off fairy tale. It’s real. And it’s waiting.”
Will’s lips trembled slightly, hope flickering where there had only been fear.
“And one day,” Eddie said, leaning closer, voice low, earnest, “maybe not that far off, maybe very soon… you won’t have to hide anymore. You’ll be able to just… be. And people will see you. Really see you. And they’ll like you. They’ll respect you. They’ll acknowledge you. Not for being different, but for being you.”
Will swallowed, tears still glistening on his cheeks, but now they were softer, lighter. His heart felt… lighter too, a little less crushed under the weight of shame and secrecy.
Eddie’s hand stayed on his knee, steady and warm. “I know it feels impossible sometimes,” he said gently. “Feels like the world’s too loud, too mean, too scary. But there’s a whole lot of people out there fighting the same fight. And you don’t have to fight it alone.”
Will looked at him, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?” he whispered.
“Really,” Eddie said firmly, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. “I promise you. And you? You’re not just gonna survive this—you’re gonna come out of it stronger than anyone who tried to tell you who to be.”
The storm outside continued, relentless and loud, but inside the RV it felt safe. For the first time in what felt like forever, Will believed that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to hide anymore. And maybe, soon, the world would be ready to see him for who he truly was.