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In his quaint apartment in New York, Will gets postcards, photos and souvenirs in the mail, from all kinds of places around the world. No notes or addresses to return them to, only clumsily taken pictures of beautiful scenery accompanied by silly key chains or the occasional oversized shirt with the bold text of "I heart Whatever-Place."
He's starting to run out space on his pin board for the photos, so he's started sticking some of them to his fridge.
"Did you know that there is a volcano in the shape of a perfect triangle in the Philippines?"
Will startles, dropping his comic as his hand flies to his chest from the shock of the girl in front of him appearing out of nowhere. El— Jane— ElJane(?) simply continues to stare at him, waiting for him to answer.
"…Yes?" he answers after a while of awkward eye contact, some tension leaving his body.
It was strange, living with his best friend's girlfriend. Made extra uncomfortable by the fact he was hopelessly in love with said best friend. But El was nice. Not stupid, he thinks with a little guilt.
She was very observant, and very curious about every little thing he did. He's not sure what's so interesting about him that she follows him around even when they're not in school and she doesn't have to, but the company is nice, with Jonathan being at work all the time.
She was quiet, too. That was okay. They both were.
"The Mayon, right?" he continues when she doesn't cease her staring. "It's not, like, a perfect triangle. But it definitely looks more defined in shape than other volcanoes or mountains. It's pretty neat, actually."
El nods. "I'd like to see it up close."
Will blinks. "Now?"
The girl smiles, shaking her head like he'd said something silly, which he supposed he kind of did. "No. Some day. When it is safer."
"Oh," Will says, and chews his bottom lip. He tries for a small but sincere smile in return. "Well, one day, it will be safer. Then we'll ask my mom about a flight there. We could guilt trip the guys from the lab for the money."
El laughs, and he grins.
Will has a key chain in the shape of the Mayon Volcano attached to his set of keys. He had given Hopper the extra that had come with it, as well as a copy of the photo of said volcano.
"Whoever took this needs lessons from your brother." the man had joked with a ruffling of his hair and a thanks, and Will's heart ached a little with the easy fatherly affection.
"Yeah," he had replied. "She does."
His mom finds the photo tucked into Hopper's breast pocket, on laundry day. She had quietly put it back in after taking the article of clothing out of the dryer.
Will keeps a photo in his wallet. His second boyfriend had once laughed about it, criticizing the angle and the lighting of the shot. He was an ex boyfriend a week later.
Will has done his fair share of crying himself dry in the bathroom. He's not sure he's ever been on the other end of the situation, the person waiting outside the door in silence. There's a first time for everything, he guessed.
El sobs, muffled, in what he can tell is a sign she has her face in her hands.
"El?" he asks tentatively, knocking softly on the door. "Hey, Angela doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, okay? She's just—"
He sighs. He's never been good with coming up with insults while lacking material. He'll work on that later.
"Just.. come out, alright?" he pleads. "We'll fix your poster together, and it'll be a hundred times better than anything she could come up with, because it was by you."
He's not sure if he's doing this right, but El has stopped sniffling, so maybe he hasn't screwed up being a brother after all. He had Jonathan for an example, so he has some guidance, at least.
The door swings open. The red rimmed, frazzled sight that greets him breaks his heart.
He opens his arms, unsure if the invitation will be taken well. El crashes into him, burying her face in his shoulder as he rubs her back. He hopes Angela trips and falls flat on her face today. And everyday after today, too, actually.
"You know," Will says into the silence of his kitchen, stirring his tea cup. "I ran into Stacy at the grocery store this morning. Like, Angela's friend Stacy."
He knows no one's going to answer. He hopes someone's listening, anyway. It's not like there's many people he can bitch to about with the topic of this specific crowd.
"She acted like we were best friends," he scoffs, lifting his cup to take a sip. "Like she wasn't right there with her friend making you miserable back then."
He scrunches his nose, the tea a bit too bitter. He puts it down, considering pouring it down the drain.
"She told me Angela got her face done after the incident," he smirks a little, maybe a tad too vindicated for a six year old grudge. "Full circle moment. She really is plastic now."
He hopes he hasn't gone senile when he thinks he hears the echo of a laugh.
He gets a California postcard, the next week.
It's the first one from a place in the States.
"Is that my shirt?"
El looks up from her project, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. A bit of her glitter has smeared on her cheek.
"It's.." she pauses. "Jonathan's?"
"Ah, yes," he deadpans. "Our brother, Jonathan 'pink ruins my aesthetic but I won't explicitly say that or I'll sound like a snob' Byers has a hot pink shirt with printed white stars in pattern all over it."
She continues to stare wide eyed at him, if possible going even wider. He starts to lose his faux annoyance from confusion.
"What?" he asks. "Is it my shirt or—"
"Our brother," El cuts in, eyes the size of saucers. "You called him our brother."
Will doesn't get it. "Cause.. he is? Our brother."
"He's your brother," El continues, wincing a little. "The two of you are brothers. I am.. something else. I do not know what to call it."
Oh, Will thinks. "You'd be our sister. Me and Jon are your brothers. That's all it is, I think."
"But Joyce is not my mom?" she sounds… lost.
Will gnaws on his lip, unsure, before, "She kind of is, isn't she? I mean, you don't have to call her that, but I'm pretty sure her and Hopper were going to be a thing— and, uh, he listed her to be your guardian if something happens. So she kind of is. And that means you're my sister. I think."
El stays silent, and he crosses his arms a little tight.
"You don't, um—" he swallows, internally berating himself for slipping up in the first place. He sighs. "You don't have to call us that, if you don't want. Or we won't call you… that. Again, if you don't want."
"I want."
He looks up, and she's beaming at him. He smiles back, a little more at ease now.
"I want to be your sister," she says, sounding more sure now. "I want you to be my brother. Jonathan too."
"Okay," Will says. "Cool. Now, about my shirt—"
"It is comfortable!"
"It's my favorite sleep shirt, you—"
Will has a bunch of matching pajama sets now, which is a little weird. Over the years his college friends have seemed to come to the conclusion it's what he wanted every Christmas.
There are two sets with the same plaid designs, though one is yellow and one is purple.
He doesn't like to think about how he'll probably never get the chance to send one for Christmas.
"I need to recharge."
Will blinks from where he was already stacking waffles on his sister's plate. "You need to eat."
She shrugs. "That is what I said."
"Don't call eating 'recharging,'" he scoffs, passing her a fork as he sits beside her with his own plate. "You're a human being, in case you forgot."
She shrugs again, eating her waffles. She looks a little ridiculous, her hair slicked back the way it was, stuffing waffles into her mouth. Will has the strange brotherly urge to poke her cheek and disturb her eating. Unfortunately, he knows it will lead into getting his own waffles telepathically thrown at his face.
She looks too serious, he thinks. Nothing like the girl who he had once woken up to sneaking out of his room with his flannels in the middle of the night.
"I think I honest to god hate my boyfriend."
In another time, he would hear a dramatic gasp, before a demanding voice asks him for details.
"He's shitty to waiters and literally every service worker we've come across," he drones, twirling his wine glass in hand. "And he called Jonathan's short film mediocre the other day. I'm thinking about dumping him tomorrow."
He sips on his wine. "Tomorrow's a good time, probably. Nothing too devastating happened recently that's gonna make him, like, traumatized. Probably."
He likes to think that she'd maybe nod along. Max would be here, too, if she was around. They'd encourage him dump his ass.
He takes another sip, letting the buzz wash over.
"It's hard, loving him, isn't it?"
Will freezes.
She smiles back. He swallows.
"I think the problem is that it's too easy," he laughs. It's humorless. "I can't. I don't know."
He closes his eyes. "I can't imagine not doing it. Or wanting to not."
She takes his hand, squeezing in support. "You are stronger than me, there."
His eyes fly open, and they stare at each other.
The bursts of laughter follow.
He's twenty six years old when he gets a New York postcard in the mail.