Chapter Text
Gotta make a move to a town that's right for me
Town to keep me movin'
Keep me groovin' with some energy
- Funkytown by Lipps Inc, 1979
28th of August 1983
Will Byers’ worst fear wasn’t monsters or kidnappers, instead it was the time between being awake and asleep. It’s a rift between reality and fantasy, consciousness and unconsciousness. The split second where he wasn’t sure of his name, his whereabouts or his purpose.
That's what terrified Will Byers the most.
This phobia was even more inconvenient considering the fact that on summer break, Will rarely woke up in his own bed, making the second it took to remember his whereabouts that much longer. Most mornings he would find himself on the couch of his best friend's basement, twenty sided dice melting in the Californian heat and trying to become one with Will in his right hand and his Dungeons and Dragons character sheet in his left. On days like these Will was the least afraid of the split second between being asleep and being awake, the natural teleportation that took one from a fantasy realm to the grounded, real world. When he would wake up with the DnD board in front of him, he could escape to a fantasy world in his waking state.
“Will?” A familiar voice tries to reach him from the real world. Will tries to fight the sudden overwhelming feeling to open his eyes. All he needed was five more minutes…
“Byers!” Something indescribable to him in his barley-there state was hurled at him, jolting him and forcing him to reality instantly.
“Ugh, Maxine…”
“I totally knew that would get him!”
Will rubbed the sore spot forming on his head, his sleep tousled hair unsticking last night's discarded die from the palm of his hand.
“See,” The fiery red head's voice rose triumphantly as she bent down to pick up Will’s X-Men comic from the floor that he assumed she’d just thrown at him. “Awake.”
“Geez guys,” Will whines and squints his eyes, adjusting to the harsh basement light. “Why’d you have to wake me up so early…”
“It’s not early,” Maxine crosses her arms. “It’s basically the afternoon.”
Will slumps back against the couch. The afternoon was still too close to the disorientating edge where his brain hadn’t caught up yet and he wasn’t sure of himself.
“Well um—,” Dean, Will's best-friend who had a history with him that predates Will's memory, began to speak.
Born Dean Stevens to two parents in a loving marriage and married the second they could after high school (the way god intended). His parents inherited a large house at the end of a cul-de-sac and raised their ‘golden child’ Dean there’. He was like a human ball of sunshine and made Will feel warm inside with a single smile. His hair was stark black and stuck up at the ends, but that’s where his imperfections ended. Why he decided to hang out with Maxine and Will was beyond anyone's comprehension.
“My mom told me to wake you up,” is all he said, but deep down Will knew there was more. He knew it when he saw him and Maxine exchange a look, Dean’s honest eyes spoke every word for him —‘don’t say anything, max’— his eyes said. Will could read Dean like that. All he needed was to exchange looks with him to know what he was thinking, hiding, hoping…
Often Will wondered how someone could be raised so kind and in a household with so much love. He wondered this even more when he would compare Dean’s life with him and Maxine’s. Does the way you turn out have everything to do with how your parents treat you? If your parents aren’t loving and caring, will you grow up to be twisted and bitter? Will tries not to linger on these thoughts for too long, instead he looks around the room and the two people in the room with him. Maybe Dean’s parents had enough love to be spread between the three kids in the room and maybe they’d all turn out just fine.
Will tries to catch Maxine’s eyes—where Dean’s eyes would tell the kind truth, Maxine’s would always tell the blunt honest one. She avoids eye contact at all costs, it seems her fingernails were far more interesting at that moment. Will sighs, accepting his defeat and slings his legs over the couch despite the fact that his prepubescent height caused them to barely be able to reach the floor.
“So why did your mom want me awake? It’s not even that early…” He moans, his eyelids trying to betray his body.
Maxine instantly jumps up and he could tell the words were about to spill out of her—both literally and metaphorically—before Dean stopped her.
“It’s uh—,” His throat bobs, holding something back. He would always take a moment before talking to Will, carefully forming every sentence before he would speak it. Sometimes it would make Will feel like he was fragile and that sick feeling would begin forming in his stomach. Maxine wouldn’t think before she spoke which would also sometimes cause that sick feeling when her words would hit Will too hard. He would always question why people had to talk in the first place.
“It’s um your dad I think—”
“Yeah! He’s gone, like, psycho or something.”
That sick feeling Will was thinking of earlier popped up inside him. His dad had been acting strange lately, but Will would never describe him as a psycho. His older brother, Jonathan, told him that his dad was just getting paranoid. There had been kids going missing for a while now and homosexuals running rampant, Will wasn’t allowed anywhere but Dean’s. That was also only when his dad was gone long enough or was drunk enough that he wouldn’t notice he was next door and not in the house. Jonathan tried rationalising things with Will all the time—missing kids and some homosexual disease going around would make any father paranoid, right? Deep down he had felt that his dad would do something extreme someday, to him, to an innocent person… in the back of his mind Will could hear the clock tick.
“Psycho?” He quietly repeats, pushing the sick feeling down. Dean's eyes drop. God, he could see right through Will sometimes. He knew he felt upset. His throat goes tight and something inside him scolds him for being upset.
“Um, not psycho, that's not what I meant to say,” even Maxine could tell how this was affecting him.
“My mom just said he wants you. Think your brother might be waiting outside for ya or something. Don’t really know.”
Will keeps his eyes on the floor like maybe if he kept them there he wouldn’t have to move. Eventually his legs gain a mind of their own and he’s standing up and then he’s walking up the stairs. He didn’t know his legs could do that without his brain telling them to, maybe his own brain had betrayed him.
Behind him Dean and Maxine were closely following him, which he hated. Couldn’t he be left alone?
“Sure it’ll be fine. Your dad might just keep you inside for a while.” Dean reassured him, placing his hand on his shoulder and replacing the sickly feeling with a warm and fuzzy one.
“Yeah and we’ll just sneak in through the window and deliver your records if you miss them too much. Or, y'know, you can call us.”
He nods, surprised there weren’t any tears spilling by the time he reached the top of the stairs. Although, after a moment, he didn’t know why he was so upset or why his two friends were being so dramatic. This was definitely another false alarm or Jonathan trying to overcompensate for his lack of a paternal figure. He didn’t even really need one, he needed a brother and two good friends. Those boxes had already been checked. He didn’t care if his dad was a little crazy. He had everything he needed.
“He won’t need to call us,” Dean states, matter of factly. “We’ll see him tomorrow.” And then Dean smiles again and Will finally feels okay.
“Yeah!” Maxine says with that slightly sarcastic enthusiastic look to her—one Will imagines a mom would give after their toddler showed them a drawing. “And if we don’t… I can sneak him either Sex Pistols album or David Bowie.”
Both of the boys look slightly perplexed at one another.
“What? My mom must feel bad that I—y’know my—” A beat. “She just feels bad that I don’t have any cool records...” She kicks at something nonexistent on the floor and huffs. “It's not my fault I’m cool.”
“Did I just hear something about Bowie?” Jonathan, Will’s older brother, stepped into the room the three kids were conjugating in. Not only was he older, but Will must admit—he was much cooler. Everything slightly interesting about Will came from Jonathan. Music, style—he would even copy bits of his personality. If Dean was a warmth in Will's life, Jonathan was the stars, a shining guide in his life. He wanted to be exactly like him. But he’d never admit that…
“Oh good, you woke him up.” Dean’s mom enters the room looking straight out of a 50s housewife magazine, or maybe even Grease. Will was pretty sure that movie was set in the 50s, right? “Now I guess we’ll leave this to you, Jonathan. Please, call me if you need any help with your dad. It’s a lot of responsibility for a child, I’m well aware.”
In his twelve years of being alive, Will had never thought of Jonathan Byers as a child. But now, looking at him as the light highlights his soft features and insecure stance, Will knew he undoubtedly was one.
“Yeah thanks for the chat, Mrs Stevens.” Jonathan nods, adjusting the collar on his jacket. He always had to fiddle with something when he would compliment someone—who knows why.
“Well I guess that’s my queue.” Will turns to Max and Dean who had both looked to the ground and remained quiet for the majority of the earlier exchange. Will guessed they had all shared the same thought—if they stayed quiet he wouldn’t have to leave. He wouldn’t have to face his dad… but Will speaks up. He would be seeing them either tomorrow or soon, anyway. Even if he’s grounded, school starts again next week.
“Well see you tomorrow, Will!” Dean breaks the silence second, being the most optimistic of the three. He knew silence wouldn’t help—he knew words were more powerful. Of course he did.
“Yeah or next week! And I'll sneak you the records and, like, comics and everything when we’re at school again. Oh! Oh!” Maxine pulls out a white piece of torn out and crumpled paper from her jeans that Will was pretty sure had never been washed before. She grabs his hand—Will had never held hands with a girl before—places the paper in it and closes his hand for him, for some reason. “We got a home phone! That’s the number.” The smile that grew on Maxine’s face made Will’s grow, too.
“Oh thanks, Maxine.” He instantly shoved it into his shorts pocket. “I’ll call you and tell you if my dad actually went psycho.”
“You will! Cool…” Wow, she said that genuinely, no sarcasm at all. Maxine turns to Dean. “Oh and um.” She pulls out another crumpled piece of paper and holds it out in the air like someone holding out a piece of meat to a wild animal. “For you, too Dean.”
Jonathan finally pipes up, clearing his throat, his hand held a slight tremble. It moved like the pixels move across a video game.
“We really need to get going.”
“See ya guys.”
Dean had already snatched the piece of paper from Maxine when both of them waved to Will. Jonathan placed his hand on Will’s shoulder and they left, just like that. He didn’t feel guilty for not waving or looking back at them or for not hugging them like they always did when Will would leave. They had done their share of goodbyes to last a lifetime, who needs one more?
“Jeez, you were in a rush to get me out of here. Dad must be going crazy.” Will laughs, trying to lighten the mood. But Jonathan didn’t seem any lighter. He looked heavier.
“Yeah about that. Will when you get inside pack everything. I’m not sure where we are going. But it’s somewhere… I don’t think for long.”
The screams from his house grew louder whilst the cigarette smoke grew stronger. That always happened the closer people would get to the Byers’ house—to Lonnie Byers. This time, however, wasn’t the same. Boxes upon boxes were being loaded into Will’s dad’s truck. Peeking in, the house looked as though it had been either ransacked or raided by the government and Will wasn’t sure which option he would prefer.
“Just go in and pack everything, okay? Dad, he won’t notice at first but he’ll make us get in that car soon and I- I don’t want you to leave anything behind.”
Will could feel the anger building when he stepped away from his brother. He wanted to scream, sprint back and hug Dean, run away. But Will was too fragile and cowardly to do those things. Head down, he staggers into his bedroom.
Tears blurred his vision when he entered the room. Everything was unclear, he felt as though he was watching himself through one of Jonathan’s camera lenses. He wasn’t sure if he had just packed an X-men comic or a Rolling Stones vinyl into a box and he wasn’t quite sure which he preferred. He threw in the few pairs of shorts, shirts and jackets he owned. He trudged to his desk and pulled out his pack of pencils, his paint. His gaze lingered on his Dungeons and Dragons campaign book—the one he created for Dean and Maxine. Wherever he was going, he’d be back soon. He would never, ever join a party without them. So, he leaves it and opts to put it in his sketch book instead.
Twelve years of his life had just been, albeit not neatly, packed into a singular box. A singular box contained all the ingredients you would need to make William Byers. Why was he expected to pack his life into a box? Where was he going?
“Hey um.” Jonathan was standing at the door and Will was crying. How long was Jonathan standing there for? “Packed everything? Dad won’t tell us where we’re going.”
“Yeah I packed.” He sniffles and he feels like a child again.
“Cool, cool.” Jonathan picks up Will's life and carries it out of Will's room, the place most Will in the world. “So see you out there.”
The Californian sun hits Will’s eyes for what he presumed is going to be the last time it does for a while. Where he was going probably didn’t have sun as harsh as that. His sneakers hit the steps leading out of his house once, twice, three times, before he’s walking out to his dad’s car.
“Fuckin’ fairies fuck everything up!” Lonnie puffs cigarette smoke directly into Will’s direction, leaning all his body weight on some boxes trying to make them fit. “Fuck!”
“Dad, Will’s outside. I don't think you should be saying that stuff.” Typical. Will could speak up for himself, y'know. If he wanted his own dad to stop, he’d tell him to stop.
“Get your ass into the truck now, William!” Yikes, he wishes he’d had the courage to tell him no. He now realizes he wished he had said goodbye to Maxine and Dean. Despite the fact he’d said goodbye to them more times than he could count, at this moment he wished he’d done it just one more time. He had been mistaken. No matter how many farewells you wish someone, it will never be enough. Especially when you start skipping the goodbyes and the times you didn’t outweigh the times you did and then you end up skipping the most important one of them all, and then they are gone forever.
His dad hurls the box that contained everything important to Will that could be fit into a box into the car and closes the trunk once he’s done so. Will’s feet were stuck to the ground. Will can’t go, he won’t go…
“It will be like a vacation, before school starts.” Jonathan says through his teeth, the fake sweetness causing Will’s own teeth to hurt. Even though the lie was obvious, the thought of a vacation excited him. Maybe it would be a new fantasy world to explore with countless challenges to face and people to meet. Like the part in a movie where the protagonist has to leave his friends behind in order to return stronger. “And I uh– have something for you.” Jonathan slid something rectangular into Will’s hands. Written at the top in boxy handwriting, ‘FOR WILL.’
“Um…” He turns the object around in his hand, fingers tracing along the grooves and details. “Thanks?”
“It’s a mixtape.”
“A mixtape?” Will’s heart leaps. He had seen various girls receive mixtapes from boys at his school. Hell, he was pretty sure he had seen Dean working on a mixtape for someone—presumably Maxine. “Aren’t you meant to get mixtapes for girls?”
“Girls?” Jonathan’s cheeks flush. His cheeks never flushed before. “No! It’s for the car ride…” Jonathan then pulls out a cassette player out of his crossbody bag and places the headphones over Will’s ears.
“There you go.” He takes in Will like a proud dad. “So you don’t have to listen to dad’s rambling all the way to… wherever we're going.” He shakes his head and shoves his hands back into his pocket, his posture returning to the insecure one Will previously had observed.
Will gets ushered into the truck, his dad’s nonsensical rambling just background noise. The pungent smell of smoke goes through his nose and onto his tastebuds. He had the urge to gag, but something about the ashiness soothed him. The truck's engine revs when Will catches Jonathan’s gaze through the front seats rearview mirror. He nods and Will takes that as not only a sign to put in the mixtape, but that maybe everything would be okay. Breathing in deeply, and taking a moment to cough at his dads strong cigarettes, he places the cassette into the cassette player. His fingers trace Jonathan’s handwriting penned at the top. Music fills his body, his soul—and instead of Jonathan being his guiding beacon, the music now is.
Darling, you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here till the end of time
When his house disappeared in the side mirror, Will didn’t look back. Instead his gaze fixed on the front mirror and the way the sun highlighted the smudges and cracks. He could feel Jonathan’s eyes on him—like he might disappear if he looked away too long. He could feel his dad’s knee bob up and down. He could also feel the music. Instead of focusing on reality he lets himself drift off. Off into another world. Off into the music.
Darling, you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here till the end of time