Chapter Text
Darling, you got to let me know
He counted what remained in the drawer, adding its contents to his mental tally.
Should I stay or should I go?
He swung the rifle over his shoulder, fisting the last of the batteries into his flashlight.
If you say that you are mine
He regarded the space before him, reviewing if he’d missed anything. If he was going on reconnaissance, he sure as hell wasn’t going to forget anything because he was stupid enough to leave in a rush. He had nothing but time, after all.
I’ll be here ‘til the end of time
As he hummed to the Clash, wired headphones sported in one ear, he mentally repeated his list for this trip.
Batteries. Ammo. Fuel. Disinfectant. Bandages.
Then,
Canned goods. Another notebook. Yellow paint. A new jacket.
The tear on his jacket seemed to echo that last statement, the cold of the Nether seeming to sting his exposed sleeve underneath.
He held his homemade map of Hawkins in one hand, regions of the town crossed off from his previous missions. What number was this one? His nineteenth?
Today, he’d be forced to walk further than he was used to, silently cursing his younger self for raiding the closest homes first. Then again, when it came to facing the Nether, he was much more adapted as he was now than he had been in the early months. The memory of that poor twelve year old kid panged his chest, a kid long gone.
Three years had passed, and Will Byers felt much older than fifteen. Or sixteen. Or however old he was. It was hard to keep track of time, especially when every calendar he managed to find was frozen on that goddamnned day.
He had grown much taller, his shaggy brown hair messily pulled back. He once tried to cut it with a pair of scissors he found on a recon, and promptly gave up when the uneven pieces fell over his forehead. Now he resorted to just keeping it out of his face, most of it sitting atop his shoulders while the top layers were lazily tied into a bun.
His skin was pale and face hollow, the lack of proper nutrients presenting itself in his now sickly appearance. Scars of three distinct claw marks marred his face, traveling from one corner of his forehead to across his nose, narrowly avoiding his left eye and thankfully choosing to ruin part of his brow instead. Despite his lack of decent food, he’d tried his best to maintain some sort of muscle, spending his abundance of free time trying to keep active, mimicking the exercises he remembered from phys ed or from when he would see the older athletes practice. Anything to busy himself, busy his mind. Which was quite needed during the long days between recon missions or, on a rare occasion, hunts.
As he stood outside of the eerie Nether version of his house, he quietly hoped this recon would go as smoothly as it had two months ago. He pulled a black face-cover up over his nose, a pathetic attempt to protect against the ash-like pores in the air (an attempt he knew deep down was futile, not when his lungs were already damaged from the early months, not when his chest still hurt when he inhaled too quickly).
He tucked the map and flashlight into his pack, and shifted the gun to sit firmly in his hands, and began down the driveway, towards Hawkins.
If I go, there will be trouble
And if I stay, it will be double.
The neighborhood was familiar, one he went through countless times in his past, racing breathlessly on his bike with his friends in between half-hearted shouts and laughs.
He had once tried using a bike in the Nether for one of his earlier recons. After he brushed off the lingering fear that reminded him of the last time he had been on a bike, it almost felt like he was back home. He could almost pretend nothing had changed.
Until his bike tripped over a decaying vine and sent him hurtling towards the concrete.
The sting of rubbing alcohol on those scratches had him silently giving up on ever riding a bike again. He left it discarded in whatever street he’d fallen on, a bitter parallel to that first day.
He regarded his map again, eyes glazing over which houses were marked off, and began to head towards the untouched white house down the street.
That was, until a dangerous image flashed in his head, accompanied by a painfully familiar burning ache.
He evened his breaths, and closed his eyes, chasing after what he was shown, searching through his mind.
One demogorgon, quickly advancing towards his position. Will continued walking forward, eyes now open but mind some place else, following its tracks. Moving with it. Seeing through it.
The house came before him. As the creature neared, he saw through its eyes his own walking figure. He turned his head, facing the monster which had come closer to stand no more than ten feet away from him.
Its face fluttered, somewhat open, allowing Will to see a glimpse into the four petals of teeth underneath its skin, a slimy layer seeming to drip off from the unnatural layer. Will stared at it.
The creature stared back.
And then continued to walk past him.
He watched as it left, and finally let his mind click back to his own. The pain in his head sharpened, holding him captive where he stood for a moment, panting slowly as he waited for the pain to subside. As the monster got further, it dulled to a slight ache, and Will could finally breathe.
He wiped the familiar drip from his nose, and continued into the house, quietly adding painkillers to his mental shopping list.
Years ago, once Will had finally accepted his place in the Nether, it didn’t take long for him to realize his connection to the creatures in this world, his connection to the hive mind. He would occasionally get painful flashes of experiences that were not his, of thoughts that made no sense, of places he’d never been. That was when he understood he was seeing through the monsters.
He called them the demogorgans. Because, after all, “The demogorgon. It got me” ended up being painfully true for that poor young boy.
What took him longer to realize was that he could do more than just be subjected to the visions of the creatures. When he had been in the Nether for almost half a year, he noticed that he could sense them, feel them when they got close. And, for him, that was a weapon.
He sometimes found that his visions of the demogorgons didn’t all occur in the Nether. No, sometimes what he saw was of home. His friends, his family. They were fighting against these monsters, back in the real Hawkins. He should’ve been mortified at the idea, the clarity of his loved ones facing off against vicious monsters, but it only filled him with a flooding sense of relief and, even better, hope.
The real world still existed out there. His home still existed beyond this hell hole.
And it was possible to travel between the two.
There was a chance. Will had a chance. A chance to go home.
Six months of running and hiding, curling desperately around himself, waiting and praying that he would soon be rescued. That he would wake up one day and it would have all just been a terrible nightmare.
He survived for six months. Every day he felt a tiny piece of him break off, a shred of hope being lost with every demogorgon attack, with every sound of that eerie voice reaching out to him, with every time he forgot the details of his friends faces.
That all changed when he understood he had a shot. He didn’t have to sit around and wait for a rescue that was never going to come. If the demogorgons could travel between the worlds, and he was somehow connected to the demogorgons, then surely he could too.
That’s when he started to look deeper into his connection to the hive mind, seeking out answers. Anything that would bring him closer to home. He would spend hours sitting in the dark version of his home, eyes closed, living through the creature's eyes. He pushed through the pain in his head, the horror at the images he saw— it didn’t matter.
That was, until he saw a face he had almost forgotten.
Mom.
His mother’s face was grief-stricken and haunted, and, at the moment he saw her, frozen in horror. She cried in anguish as she called out for a man Will didn’t recognize, who had fallen to the floor gripping a bloody injury. The demodog’s attention locked onto the man, creeping closer too quickly for him to get up. Will understood in growing terror that that man was going to die. He also saw the same realization dawn on his mother’s aged face.
He couldn’t watch her cry anymore, not after knowing he had left her behind. Which was why, when the demodog lept, Will helplessly tried to reach out for her. He dug into the depths of his mind, of his connection, and watched in confusion as his and the demodogs' vision froze in place, unable to move.
And then a gun fired, and Will’s connection was broken, leaving him collapsed from his blistering head pain, alone again.
Thus he had learned that he could control the dark creatures actions, if at least for a brief moment.
And now, over two years later, he had honed that skill into the sole reason he was still alive. Reaching into the demo’s minds, and subtly redirecting their attention, altering their perception of reality so that he could go unnoticed. That was how he was able to survive so many recon missions, how he was able to survive in the Nether for so long.
And how he was able to walk into that next house undetected, gather what he could find, and then leave.
Back to his home, back to his temporary safety.
Will stared at the wall before him. He had
painted over every surface in his house multiple times already, and now he stared at the old painting at the end of his hallway as he contemplated what he would next turn it into. His paintbrush hung idly in his hand by his side, waiting to be used.
The wall depicted a familiar grassy hill, colors of a shifting sun setting in the background. He stared helplessly at it. When was the last time he had watched the sunset?
The walls around him varied in imagery, from breathless night skies to domestic suburban homes. In some far tucked corners, there were remnants of portraits he’d once attempted, angrily painted over in frustration when he couldn’t recognize the faces he’d drawn. They looked nothing like them.
He racked his memory, searching desperately for scenes from home that he ached for, that he missed.
The school field? No, that was in some left corner of Jonathan’s bedroom. Then it got painted over with children dressed in halloween costumes surrounded by poorly decorated pumpkins.
Mike’s basement? Nope, that was one of the first things he’d painted, on the wall in the living room. He continued to fill it with drawings of his favorite DnD creatures and characters until you could hardly see the actual basement anymore.
Sunrise over the lake? That was in the bathroom, small figures drawn in the water splashing around at each other. Eventually he added sea monsters behind them and dragons in the sky.
No, no, no. There was nothing left.
Will dropped the paintbrush, yellow paint splattering across the dark carpet. There was nothing left for him to paint. He’d picked over his memories and then some. He’d done it all.
Three years. Three years.
Will dropped to his knees. There was a way out, he’d find it. He’d get out. He just had to keep going. Just keep going.
The mantra silently repeated in his head as he let tears slip down his cheeks, hands coming up to cover his face as he wept in that melancholy hallway. Alone.
Will’s eyes were slow to open, a weighing force seeming to clamp them shut. He shuddered, a cold chill pumping through his blood.
When he tried to breathe in, he found that he couldn’t.
A sticky mask was clung to the lower half of his face, pulsing with each second, an ashy stream of smoke pumping into his frozen mouth. A similar slimy material held his arms by his side and held his head up straight.
A paranormal voice broke through his head, whispering to his subconscious. “You are just the beginning, William,” the voice echoed. He felt the material around him tighten, and the pump seemed to increase in speed as he felt himself choke on that ashy smoke.
He couldn’t breathe.
Will’s eyes ripped open, a rare sweat dripping down his neck. His breaths came in sloppy, unpracticed. He held a hand over his chest and tried to slow his breathing, repeating what he knew to be true.
Just a memory. A nightmare. I escaped him. I’m at home. I’m alone.
I’m alone.
Will was running out of time.
He knew that now. Before, he had assumed that simply the knowledge of a way out would sustain him until he escaped, but he overestimated how long his hope would hold out. And now, that hope was near flickering out.
He would not spend another three years in this place. Alone. He couldn’t.
It had been over a year since he last went on a hunt. Went into the woods searching for trouble. But answers weren’t just going to show up at his doorstep. Things had changed, and he needed information.
Even if the last hunt ended with him limping home, fresh bleeding scars on his chest. It took weeks for him to even feel comfortable enough to sit up, shotty stitches tugging at each movement.
No, it didn’t matter how the last hunt ended. Because, for the past seven months, not a single demogorgon had traveled to the real world. Will’s visions of unnecessary violence and slaughter had stopped, and the woods of the Nether had grown quiet. More purposeful.
Something was changing, and he’d be damned if he was the last to know what.
Will hadn’t heard that paranormal voice in a long time, not since he learned to hide himself from the creatures minds. But the one thing he knew was that that man loved to talk, and that was good enough for Will.
Henry wanted to find Will?
Might as well make it easier for him.
Castle Byers looked the same as it always had. Will may have taken out the blankets and pillows, but some of his old keepsakes still sat around on the shitty makeshift shelves. Jonathan used to tell him that no castle was complete without its treasures.
And now he stood before it, a gun swung over his shoulder, and one knife in each hand. Waiting.
He’d already circled the area around the castle with the liquid fuel he’d found at the Wheeler’s house, and with the click of a lighter he set ablaze a small wall of fire to surround him.
And to hail whatever was nearby.
He tried to ignore the goosebumps that lined his skin, not from the bitter cold he had grown used to, but from the thought of who exactly he was luring in.
“Will?” A voice rang quietly from the other side of the door. “Will, it’s okay.”
The boy sat in the corner of his room, shivering, with his legs pulled against his chest. He didn’t know how long he had been there for, but his stomach was aching and his chest hurt from how his breaths came in weirdly now. Ever since he left that place.
The voice was different from the one he heard before, the one that spoke to him while he was trapped. This voice was softer, friendlier. “My name is Henry,” it said.
Will risked peeking his head up, looking towards the locked door. He knew the voice stood on the other side. “You must be lonely and confused, I know, but I can help you, Will. We can be on the same side,” it cooed.
“Where am I?” Will’s voice squeaked out. It was hoarse and scratchy. Either from disuse or from whatever was put inside him, he didn’t know.
“A new world. A world that will soon be better.”
“What are those creatures?” He trembled. The clawmarks across his face were still fresh, stinging in the cold air. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mom.
“They don’t matter, Will. They won’t hurt you if you work with me. I can help you,” The voice reassured.
“Help me go home?” He hoped. He was standing now, eyes locked on the door handle. He hadn’t talked this much in weeks. He was lonely.
“Open the door, William.”
Will froze. William. That was what that.. monster.. had called him. When he was trapped. Will retreated to the wall, squeezing his eyes closed as his head rang in pain. He pushed at the feeling, hands coming up to grip his ears.
The voice hissed in discomfort from the other side of the door and a banging beat against the door. And then silence.
Will fell to the floor, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. He quietly hummed his favorite song, imagining he was back in Jonathan’s car with the windows down and music turned up all the way. “Should I stay or should I go now..”
A stuttering screech echoed in the distance.
Will braced himself as he ignored the pang in his head, turning to face the demogorgon to the right of him. He readjusted the hilt of the knife in his hand, testing its weight as the creature got closer and closer, until…
It began to open its mouth to utter another roar, and Will let the knife go flying in its direction. It tore directly into the center of the beast’s mouth, cutting skin as it let fresh blood pour from around its teeth. Not wasting a second, Will spun back around to face the opposite direction, sending the second dagger directly to the second demogorgon that had approached simultaneously. He hit his target.
As the creatures stumbled in place, he retreated to the center before Castle Byers, taking in the four other monsters spread out along the pitiful wall of fire.
Only, they didn’t move. They stood in position, attention undoubtedly locked in on Will’s nonthreatening figure, ready to pounce. But waiting for something. Waiting for someone.
It was working. Having successfully drawn this many demogorgons to one place, Will closed his eyes and focused on that interconnecting web of consciousness within his mind. He followed the trails of these creatures' orders, their wills and beings, tracing echoes of tunnels back to the source. To Henry.
Will’s eyes burst open, only he was no longer standing in the woods of the Nether before a wall of fire and monsters, his vision wasn’t his. Instead, it followed behind… a teenage girl. Her styled red hair bounced with each swaying step she took, white and green cheerleading uniform contrasting the genuine and kind smile she wore on her face. Yet Will could see a kind of tension beneath that smile, a haunted confusion underlying her fake happiness.
His vision transferred, switching to the front of a broken-down trailer home. A teenage boy with long curly hair was seen through the window, head seeming to jam in beat to some unheard song. The image flickered back to the girl, whose smile had mostly vanished and been replaced with a silent hope. She was walking in the direction of the trailer park.
Why is Henry watching an unassuming high school girl?
Will didn’t have much time to think about it, not before his vision snapped back to the Nether. Still without his own eyes, he seemed to be in some large public building, one that’s walls were covered with fleshy vines and heaps of mass. Will knew it. Recognized it. It was the first place he escaped from in this hellish world, where he had spent days suspended against the wall, barely conscious as particles were pumped into his very being.
Will had only meant to spy on Henry. To learn of what had changed. And he’d promised himself that he would never have to look at that room again.
Will pulled back in his mind, preparing to sever his connection. But as he went to twist back through the web of the hive mind, he found that nothing had changed. His vision remained in the same place, seeing far away from where his real eyes stood.
“You made the wrong decision spying on me, William. I’ve been looking for you for quite some time now,” A dark and unforgiving voice echoed in his mind. And then his vision slowly turned around, away from the bleak contents of that room, facing instead that grotesque fleshy wall from all those months ago.
Where Will’s defeated body was suspended behind a slimy type of silk, a vine connected to the lower half of his mouth, moving in tandem with the beating in his mind.
And, once again, it got him.