Chapter Text
Will couldn’t say he actually had any real complaints about being twenty years old and still living at home. Still being here in Hawkins. It wasn’t even that lonely, really, even though he was the only member of the original party still here. He liked having this quiet little life—seeing his parents daily, having dinner with Robin and Steve once a week, going up with Steve to visit Dustin at MIT, and working at the library.
(He liked that the best, though.
He’d never been much of a reader growing up.
Still wasn’t, truth be told.
Why read about a fantasy world when he could create his own?
But—God. The Hawkins Library made him think of Mike every single time he walked through the doors. He’d see books that he knew Mike had read.
See his name in books he’d checked out so many times over the years.
Get to smell that faint scent of old books that he had always associated with Mike.)
It was hard being so far away from the party, even though he still lived with the ghosts of their pasts. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Lucas, to Max, to Mike. He knew, from El and from Dustin, that they were all doing okay. That Lucas and Max, settled in some tin-can apartment in Los Angeles, were doing their best to adapt, with Lucas studying Criminal Justice and Max studying Human Services. El wasn’t, technically, studying anything, but she and Mike were up in New York, in a tiny apartment in the heart of the city that El had fallen in love with. Dustin was off at MIT, proving his brilliance to minds as special as his own.
And… he was here. Not painting. Not really living. He just… watched. And waited. And prayed. He’d chosen it, though.
(It was the night that they’d finally closed the Upside Down. He’d seen Mike and El wrapped so tightly around one another and tried not to let the jealousy, the hurt, the pain that was festering in his chest show.
He must have been doing a shitty job of it, though, since Murray clapped him on the shoulder and guided him away. “You alright, kid?” It had been gentle. Not something anyone ever seemed to get from Murray.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just—overwhelmed, I think. You know how it is. I can’t believe we won.”
Murray nodded quietly. “Did we, though?”
Will couldn’t help but squint when he looked over at the older man, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “You don’t—you don’t think we won?”
“I think,” Murray’s eyes flickered away from El and Mike and back to him, “someone needs to be here with powers to make sure it stays gone.”
“I mean—maybe El and I could… I dunno, take turns, or—”
“I’m gonna be blunt when I say this, kid.” He sighed gently. “I know, I know. You’re hoping he’s going to pick you. I get it. I’ve seen it before.” His eyes flickered over to Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve. “We like Will. But we don’t love Will.” He looked back over to El and Mike. “You know what I mean?”
"Yeah." He nodded. He had heard similar words before, from Jonathan, years ago.
Murray hummed as he watched the couple. "She deserves to be happy, doesn't she?"
"Of course she does." Will let his eyes travel back over to them. “I guess it was kind of dumb of me, huh? Thinking he’d be like me.”
Murray fixed him with a sad look. “Not dumb. Hopeful. Sometimes it’s all we have in this shitty world.” He patted his shoulder one final time. “And sometimes it’s still not enough.”)
So. He had decided.
He’d stay behind.
He’d keep things safe here.
Let El and Mike and the others move on.
(It was nice, as selfish as it was, having Robin and Steve around. Robin, who saw him. Who knew him. Who understood what he had given up. And Steve, with his goofy smiles and his never-ending laughter.
It was different than when he’d been sixteen and terrified to let anyone else know him. He was older. Wiser. Being their friend felt more like being their equal than the pathetic Zombie Boy everyone thought they needed to save.)
And things had been good.
He didn’t let himself think much about Mike.
Lucas and Max at least called every now and then. It wasn’t often—maybe once every few months—but they always sounded so delighted to hear from him.
(He wondered if they knew he was lying every time he said he was happy here. If they knew he was lying every time he said he was working on a new painting.)
And Dustin? Well, surprisingly enough, Dustin had somehow become the most permanent fixture in his life. He and Steve would travel up to Boston, or Dustin would come home for a long weekend, so there were always at least two weekends that belonged to Dustin. He didn’t even want to know the exact number of calls he and Dustin had between the two of them.
(“Man, fuck you,” Dustin had snorted over the phone when Will had called to tell him that he was positive he had just had a dream where Dustin was the real-life Marty McFly.
“I’m serious!” Will grumbled as he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“Nah, you’re good, buddy! I’m actually in the process of making pudding shots.”
“I don’t think I need more information on that, Dustin,” he’d sighed.
“That’s fair.” He could picture Dustin’s solemn nod. “Listen, buddy, I’ve been thinking—have you ever thought about leaving Hawkins?”
Yes.
“No,” he said instead. “Why?”
“I dunno, man.” He heard Dustin sigh on the other end of the receiver. “I just—Boston’s cool, you know? Really fucking cool. Tons of cute guys, too. I mean, I think you’d think they’re cute. I’m moving on. I’m just saying—if you ever do want to get out of Hawkins… well. I’ve got a spare room. You know I love you, man, right?”
He felt his throat tighten, but he wasn’t sure if it was as tight as the grip Hawkins had on him. “I love you too, Dustin. You’re—you’re my best friend.” He sighed shakily. “I’m gonna go back to bed. Keep me updated on your pudding shots.”
“I’ll see you in your dreams!” Dustin purred.
He dreamed about a life outside of Hawkins, in Dustin’s tiny two-bedroom apartment overlooking Boston.
Even in his dreams, he didn’t let himself think about Mike.)
He had a routine.
Wake up.
Get ready for work.
Don’t think about Mike.
Have breakfast with his family.
Don’t think about Mike.
Have lunch with his seventy-five-year-old, grandmother-of-seven coworker, who kept trying to set him up with her eldest granddaughter, DJ.
Don’t think about Mike.
Go home.
Don’t think about Mike.
Eat dinner.
Sleep.
Don’t dream about Mike.
It worked for him. Mostly.
Or at least it had.
Until now.
He’d barely toed his shoes off at the front door, only mildly surprised that Hopper and his mom were home. “Mom? Hop? It’s me!”
He walked into the small kitchen to see Joyce on the phone, while Hopper was pacing angrily around the room. He blinked slowly as he took his jacket off and laid it on the counter. “Who died?”
“No one. Yet,” Hopper growled as he continued pacing.
“El? Sweetie, I know, I know, it’s just that… your father isn’t unhappy, per se, honey, it’s just a shock—oh! Will just walked in. Let me hand him the phone. You tell him the news and I’ll talk to Hop, alright, sweetheart?” She gestured for him to grab the phone while she shot a glare at Hopper. “Hopper! That was not the reaction she wanted!”
“Hello?” He let his mother slip the phone into his hand as he watched them whisper furiously back and forth through narrowed eyes.
“Will.” He could hear El grin.
“Hey, Ellie.” He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face the second he heard his sister’s voice. “Looks like you pissed off Hop. Whatcha do this time?”
“I have news!”
“Apparently so,” he snorted. “What is it? Are you alright?”
“Mike and I are getting married!” She laughed, warm and bright in his ear.
For a minute, it felt like the world stopped. All he could feel was his heart sinking to his feet. His pulse in his ears drowned out his sister’s voice. His hands trembled around the phone. “Wh—what?”
“Mike and I,” she repeated, a smile in her voice. “We are getting married.”
“You and Mike?” He echoed. He wondered if he sounded as dumb as he felt. Of course they were going to get married. Of course they were. They were El and Mike.
“Yes! You are not mad like Hopper, right?”
“No, no. Um—congratulations, El. If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
“We are coming back to Hawkins for the wedding,” she continued. He could almost picture her, sitting on the couch in the apartment she and Mike shared, nodding decisively to herself. It made him feel sick. “We want to be married before summer is over.”
“That’s—wow. That’s really soon, El.”
“It is,” she agreed. “Do not worry. I am not pregnant. I am just… ready.”
“Then—” He swallowed. Or tried to, anyway. It was damn near impossible with the lump in his throat. “I’m really happy for you, Ellie. If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”
“You think so?” She sounded younger. Smaller. Will had to remind himself that she was his baby sister. He needed her to be happy.
“I know so,” he said firmly. “Hold on, Mom and Hop are done arguing. I’ll pass the phone back.”
“Wait! We are flying in next week, all of us. The whole party is coming home for the summer. Would you be able to pick us up?”
“Yeah, El.” He’d have agreed to shave his head if it meant he could get off the phone. “Just—um, call me with the information.”
“I love you, Will.” He could picture her sweet smile.
“And I love you, El.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
He handed the phone back to his mother and somehow managed to sit himself down in a chair at the table.
Mike and El were getting married.
They were getting married.
She was going to be Mrs. Jane Wheeler.
Which was all she and Mike had ever wanted.
Who cared if he was the one who had loved that idiot since they were kids.
Who cared that Mike hadn’t called him back once since he’d left.
Who cared that he eventually gave up on calling.
Who fucking cared, right?
He wasn’t the boy who got a happy ending.
He wasn’t the one who got to have a life.
He got to stay here.
Watching. And waiting. And praying that the Upside Down never resurfaced.
It was good, right?
El and Mike could have their stupid happy life, with their stupid wedding, and have the happiest, stupidest marriage in the world for all he cared.
The sound of breaking glass finally tore him out of his thoughts as he watched numbly while the light bulbs in the kitchen shattered around them.
Hopper stopped, blinking up at the ceiling.
“El? Baby? Uh— I gotta call you back.”
Joyce wasn’t looking at the lights, though. She was looking at Will. With a shaking hand, he reached up to touch his nose, surprised to find it bloody.
“Baby?” She walked slowly toward him, arms outstretched. “Was this—was that—you?”
“No—I—I mean—I don’t think so.” He blinked again at the broken lights. “I—a coincidence?”
“You haven’t felt anything, have you?”
(He hadn’t felt anything in years, actually—until now—but it didn’t really seem like a great time to bring up his existential dread right this second.)
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t felt him. Nothing.” He lightly touched the back of his neck, as if needing proof that he hadn’t felt the tug of the Upside Down pulling at him.
“Okay,” Joyce said slowly as she cupped his jaw, blotting at his nose. “A coincidence, then.”
“A coincidence,” Hopper agreed—but Will knew he didn’t believe it.
“A coincidence,” he echoed.
God.
He really felt like this was stupid Mike’s fault, too.