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When I lifted her urn
Divinity says, "Destiny can't be earned or returned"
I feel when I question my skin starts to burn
Why does my skin start to burn?
//
So share me your plan
If I implore you, could I be your lamb? Understand
I look for the truth in the back of your hand, and I
Look into the open sky
He could never get her eyes right. So he tried again. He captured her in watercolour, in acrylic, in oil. He sketched her in charcoal, in pencil, in pastels. He outlined her in ink, but no amount of attempts would breathe life back into her eyes. The pages on the desk piled up, none of his tributes right enough, good enough for her.
Will spent a lot of time in her room in Hopper’s cabin. His room, now, he supposed. His cabin, his house. Not as though he had anything to show for it, save for a box of items he’d collected from the Wheelers. Remnants of the eighteen months he lived there, hardly filling half a cardboard box. He’s only lived here a month, after spending the immediate aftermath with Mike and Nancy as they waited for their parents to be discharged.
When Karen and Ted were given the go-ahead to move back home, nearly two months after they were attacked, the Byers officially moved out. This was in part because the amount of livable space had considerably shrunk after the demogorgon attack, but also out of deference for Ted, the rest of them figuring that finally getting out of his house was as good a “get well soon” gift as could be. They all still stopped by during the day, Will helping whoever needed a hand; Jonathan cooking and prepping meals, his mother cleaning, or Hopper clearing out debris and mending the holes in the walls as well as they could.
When he first settled into the cabin, Will cleared out space to work on his art at the desk and half of a drawer of Jane’s dresser. He didn’t need more space, having never regained what they left behind in Lenora. So, he left the rest of the room as untouched as possible. The bookshelf remained full of magazines, comic books, and novels she was able to squirrel away, most either donated by Mike or Max. Hand-me-downs from his mom and Nancy hung in the closet, and the shelves were lined with trinkets and knick-knacks and VHS tapes that clearly came directly from Hopper.
It had been three months since he watched his sister get swept away. Three months since he stood by, helpless to do anything but call out to her. He didn’t even know if she was able to hear him. Will didn’t know about her plan, and at first, he blamed Hopper and Mike for not telling him. But deep down, he blamed himself for not noticing the change in her demeanour. He had been so caught up in preventing the future Henry showed him, and he had chalked up her stoicism to focus.
His mind wandered to the last moment they shared, just the two of them, her holding his sobbing form in Henry’s mind. Her saving him, just like she had all those years ago, without ever having met him. She was always saving them, saving him, time and time again, but when she was the one in trouble, he failed to return the favour. A memory floated to the front of his thoughts, and he recalled hearing about her asking to see him mere moments after reuniting with the rest of the group after a year of them presuming she was dead.
Some nights, Will could swear he felt the brush of her hand against his as he lay in bed. He knew it was nothing more than the whisper of her memory, his body refusing to accept the loss. He let it comfort him anyway.
The first night that he had felt it led him to get out of bed and pull out his sketchbook and a pencil; unbidden and trancelike, he began to draw her. From that moment on, any time he struggled to sleep, which was most nights, Will found himself drawing his sister’s face. When he grew frustrated with the dullness in her pencil-drawn eyes, he switched to pastels. Then to acrylic, then to charcoal, and so on. He ran through mediums like he was twelve years old, being chased by a monster in a strange new world.
If Will had allowed anyone into her (his) room, they would probably be concerned. Which is why he resolutely kept the door closed and did his best to avoid anyone peering in. It wasn’t a difficult feat; his mom and Hopper seemingly both in agreement that they weren’t ready to see it. It was a bit harder to keep Jonathan and his friends out, but even still, he was able to successfully deflect and redirect them away from their room.
Outside their room, Will was coping well. At least, that's what anyone observing him would say. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t grieving, but he didn’t let the others see the depth of his pain. He knew they were all dealing with their own, along with the added struggles of Max’s recovery or Mike’s parents re-adjusting to their new reality. He never let the ugly feelings clawing at the back of his throat escape, not until he was in the safety of solitude.
He spent a lot of time with Dustin, with the others all preoccupied. Dustin was different, but not the same kind of different he was after Eddie. Rather than pushing everyone away, Dustin held the group together in the wake of their loss. If Will started to withdraw into himself, Dustin would give him a few days before inevitably knocking on his door with a video game or an album nicked from the SQWK, and Will would come out of his room and allow himself to just be, Dustin, remaining a steady presence at his side. He was appreciative of this, most days. But some days it made Will want to scream and fight and just break something.
He didn't get to be alone much these days, and he wouldn’t dare let out his feelings when he was with the others. And so, he had taken to trekking the once-familiar paths in search of privacy. That’s how, one afternoon, Will found himself in the junkyard. He was wandering around the woods near the cabin, not paying attention to where he was going, when he stumbled into the clearing. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but not enough that he couldn’t see the dead grass underneath. Looking around, he saw debris from the obstacle training course Hopper had set up for Jane. A small hill made of half-frozen rotting pumpkins was stacked at the tree line, making Will scrunch up his nose in disgust. His gaze roamed over cars in all states of disrepair, a rusted crowbar sticking out from a pile of tires, and metal barrels, the outsides eroded after facing years of storms, both regular and interdimensional.
His eyes scanned the landscape, stomach twisting into knots at the rush of memories, good and bad. He could almost see his sister, like a mirage, decked out in a set of Nancy’s old gym clothes, flying above the old school bus. The ghost of a smile passed his lips, rapidly fading as his heart broke all over again.
Will wasn’t sure how much more sorrow his body could carry before he ran out of space to breathe. Now that the Wheelers were more settled, and the military was in full retreat, there was nowhere left to turn his attention but inwards. And he didn’t want to look inwards anymore. He’s spent so much of his life in contemplation and reflection, and for once, he wanted to let go of the past, but it clung to him, wrapped around him like barbed wire.
The thing is, Will wasn't new to grief. He's spent years mourning the childhood that was stolen from him. He watched his mom struggle with the loss of Bob while he learned to navigate his own sadness and guilt for being the reason he got involved in the first place. He sat with Jane in her grief after Hopper died, stepped in when his mom threw herself into work, and Jonathan was too busy numbing his own pain. He witnessed his friends respond to Eddie's death in their own ways: Mike pushing it down, and Dustin pushing them away. He consoled Lucas at Max's hospital bedside, joined in anguish and repentance.
The new part, however, was the anger. Maybe it's replaced his usual guilt from being the reason his family and friends got involved in all of this in the first place. Or maybe it's the unfairness of it all; Jane being treated like a weapon her entire life, never getting a childhood, and at the end of it all being reduced to her blood. The thing that made her into a science experiment, and stole the life she could have had. That it simply wasn't fair that out of everyone, she made the ultimate sacrifice. The inherent injustice that the girl who remained curious and loving, despite all attempts to condition her humanity out of her, never once got to experience peace. It made his blood boil.
His eyes trailed back over to the crowbar, and before he knew it, Will was holding the tool in his hand and swinging. He swung at everything in sight, hit loose car doors, smashed windows, and tore up grass from the frozen ground. And he screamed. He cried out until his voice was raw and cracked, and then he kept going. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts about Henry, Brenner, and Kay. The people who took her life from her, but could never take her kindness, no matter how hard they tried.
The crowbar made contact with the windshield of the nearest vehicle, a ‘70s Ford Pinto, he thought in the back of his mind as the glass shattered. He swung again, harder this time, as his mind raced through his mental catalogue of enemies; all the ones who turned a child into a weapon and then had the gall to act surprised when she fought back. Every guard and scientist who went along with it, all the government officials who covered it up like she was nothing. He pictured the faces of the soldiers who held him back that day, the ones who stood between him and the gate, stopping him from going after her. Every hit, another face, and it just served to make him angrier and angrier.
He started bleeding at some point, but he didn't care. He wasn't worrying about sharp glass or the blisters he could feel forming on his palms. He held the bar tighter and relished in the sharp pains shooting across his hands.
He thought about Kali and her dangerous ideas, the sheer audacity she had, calling Jane her sister when she didn't even know her. That somehow she felt entitled to Jane because she knew her first. Kali didn't hold her while she cried about Angela and the bullies at school. Kali never cheered her up after Mike said something stupid. Kali couldn't even begin to understand what it felt like to have Jane as a sister. To feel so complete, like he'd gone his entire life with just half a soul, until he met her. Kali didn't know what books she liked, which TV stars she thought were cute, or her favourite Madonna song. And yet, she called her ‘sister’ and put fucked up ideas in her head. As if she had any right. Will swung with a miserable strength, leaving an impressive dent in the hood of the car he's abusing.
Deep down, Will knew it wasn't fair to blame Kali. Just like he knew it wasn't fair to blame Hopper for not telling him, or to blame Mike for being the one she picked to say goodbye to. Or blame himself for not catching on. But knowing it wasn't fair still wasn't enough to stop the rage from bubbling in his gut. It simmered and steamed until it crawled out of his throat and pointed a finger at anyone who dared mourn wrong. So, sue him; he knew it wasn't fair of him to get angry at Lucas for spending so much time at the hospital that he rarely saw Jane, or to be upset with Jonathan for getting high and leaving him to pick up the pieces of his family back in Lenora.
But it wasn't fair that Jane died, so Will found he wasn't too concerned with fairness anymore.
He didn’t notice the time passing as he swung, and kicked, and screamed at the sky. His body protested with every hit, but he kept going until he found himself hunched over on the ground.
He only noticed that he had collapsed when his vision filled with stars. At first, the thought that the lights were an image conjured by his fall, but after a few moments, he put together that they were real. He was lying on his back, every muscle crying out, his lungs heaving with effort. Sometime during his storm of emotion, the sun had set, and the clouds had cleared. Weakly, he realized that he first wandered into the woods mid-afternoon. He was too tired to count the hours, but he knew it was more than was probably healthy. Every inhale burned his lungs, and his vision spun until he closed his eyes. He kept them closed until the pain settled into a dull ache, no longer enough to distract him from the rush of thoughts that stormed his mind.
He didn’t move, though. The constellations transfixed him. It’s been a cloudy winter, and he hasn’t found himself this far out from the town’s light in so long. His heartache stretched upwards, reaching to touch the night sky. For a brief moment, it felt like the stars were reaching back, meeting him in his melancholy. His grief bridged the distance with the light, straining to cover the vast expanse of space.
Will's mind wandered to a memory, unremarkable yet one he now held to his chest like a precious gemstone.
It was a few weeks after they arrived back in Hawkins to find their home transformed. The sky seemed to have a permanent canopy of storm clouds, but rain didn't fall. The military had descended on Hawkins, and the quarantine had been declared, but the checkpoints in and out of town hadn't yet been fully established. Jane was hiding out in the cabin, and Will hadn't been able to see her in nearly a month. After begging his mom day in and day out, they finally permitted him to visit for a night, on the condition that they don't leave the cabin. They agreed on a night when Hopper was planning on heading out to survey the tunnels under the cover of darkness, so that El wouldn't have to be alone.
She hugged him when he arrived, and he spoke softly as he gave her updates and well-wishes from the other boys. She remained quiet most of the evening, like when they first got back, but that wasn't a problem for Will. He had gotten used to spending time with her this way, him painting while she read, the only noise being the flipping of paper and the distant sound of his mom pitching on the phone.
This was a different kind of quiet, though. There was a heaviness that filled the room until Will couldn't take it anymore.
“Have you ever climbed up on the roof?”
It had been a silly question, Will knew that, but he was staring at the hastily repaired hole where the Mind Flayer broke through, and it was the first question that popped into his head. She told him she hadn’t, and a few minutes later the pair of them were perched atop the cabin, the ladder Hopper had used to fix the roof still leaned against the side.
It was spring, but when he looked up, Will noticed how bare the tree branches were for this time of year. He had a moment to think that it must be a result of the fucked-up weather brought in by the cracks in reality running through the town. He still couldn’t believe how quickly the government had been able to swoop in with their claims of an earthquake, and how easily the people of Hawkins believed it. He was taken out of his thoughts by a quick intake of breath to his left, and he turned his head to see Jane (or El– he still wasn’t sure what he should call now that they were back in Hawkins) staring up through the trees.
It was a clear night, one of the first since they returned to Hawkins, and Will leaned back so he was lying down, and signalled for her to do the same. She mirrored him, and the two of them lay in companionable silence for a few minutes, staring at the stars, before Will broke it.
“Do you prefer Jane or El?” He asked, recalling his earlier question.
“What?” She responded.
“Do you like being called Jane or El more? ‘Cause obviously we referred to you as Jane when we were in Lenora, but I know a big part of that was ‘cause mom didn’t want us drawing attention to ourselves. But now we’re back in Hawkins and everyone is calling you El. So, what one do you want me to use?” He explained.
He watched his sister’s brow furrow as she contemplated his words. He waited patiently as she took her time thinking about it before responding. That was always something he appreciated about her, something they had in common. While some of their other friends were quick to speak out, the two of them tended to consider their words before talking. They each had their moments of outburst, of course, and he isn’t ignorant of the fact that at least part of the reason she takes her time is due to her trying to find the right words, not as practiced at the back-and-forth of the Party as he was. But still, he found comfort in her ability to slow down.
“I like both, for different reasons,” she said thoughtfully, “I like when people call me Jane, like in California, because it makes me feel normal. Like I am not a monster.”
“You’re not,” Will cut in reflexively, “you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
She turned her head and smiled at him, and reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it in thanks.
“I do not like it when it is strangers, but I do like it when my friends call me El. It’s the name Mike gave me and it makes me think of that. Of making friends. So you can pick.”
She squeezed his hand again for emphasis, and Will smiled back at her.
“Alright, Jane,” he said, and he couldn’t help but catch the way her eyes lit up when he said that. Will knows what it’s like to feel different, to feel wrong, and if her birth name made her feel normal, then Will was going to make sure he used it whenever he could.
They went back to quietly watching the night sky when Jane gasped and pointed upwards with the hand that was still holding Will’s.
“Look,” she said in awe, and Will followed her, gesturing to catch just the end of a shooting star.
“You get to make a wish, now,” Will whispered, further at the confused tilt of her head, “when you see a shooting star, you’re supposed to make a wish. But you can’t tell anyone, or it won’t come true.” She giggled at his answer, but her expression turned serious as she got lost in thought for a moment. “What now?” She questioned, her face morphing back into the curious and excited look from before.
“Now, you wait for it to come true.”
She responded with another question about stars, and wishes, and eventually the conversation turned to constellations. Jane asked Will if he knew any, and he pointed out the handful that he did. She liked the dippers the best, because she claimed they were the only ones that looked like what they were called, which made Will laugh. When he showed her Casseiopia, she scrunched her nose and protested that it made no sense. She declared that the ‘W’ shape meant it should be called something with that letter, like ‘Will,’ which made him join the soft laughter.
They stayed up there until the night air got too cold for their pyjamas, and spent the rest of the night whispering to each other in her room, until they heard Hopper return hours later, and pretended to be asleep.
They’d had lots of nights like that in Lenora, sneaking into each other's rooms because Jane had questions she was too embarrassed to ask in the light of day. They kept each other company during nightmares and made fun of Joyce’s obliviousness to Jonathan’s constant high.
The night at the cabin hadn’t stood out to him as anything special until the realization washed over him that that was the last night they spent like that. Not long afterwards, the military established its presence in Hawkins, with patrols roaming the streets in the name of ‘safety,’ but they all knew who they were really looking for. He wasn’t able to visit her at the cabin anymore, and while he knew it was the smart thing, he had been disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see her like that until after it was all over. Only, he didn’t know then how permanent that would be.
He thought about that night as he lay on the cold ground of the junkyard, exhausted and bereft, as his vision blurred and the twinkling lights clouded. He blinked the fuzziness away, barely registering the tears as they spilled down his face, pooling uncomfortably in his ears.
There was a flicker, a fraction of a second, when he could have sworn he saw his sister’s eyes among the constellations. His breath caught in his throat. He’s sure he was just hallucinating, dehydrated and delirious from overexerting himself. But he let himself have this, for one, eternal minute.
“Jane?” His voice cracked, hoarse and raw.
“I miss you. I miss sitting in your room and showing you music. I miss the look on your face when you hated the song but didn’t want to offend me. Your laugh when you couldn’t hold back anymore,” Will spoke, unbidden. It hurt to talk, in more ways than one, but a part of him compelled him to carry on.
“I worry about that a lot. Forgetting your laugh. And your voice. There’s a video from Christmas in California, the only one we really got together, and I can hear you in it. I want to ask Robin if she can make a copy of it. But I’m scared something will happen, and the tape will get messed up. And I’ll lose the only way I could ever hear you again. And I can’t–”
His voice broke, choked sobs interrupting his divulgence, but he pushed through.
“I can’t risk losing that sound. I’m already losing your eyes. I can’t get them right no matter what I try. It’s too– you’re too– I just can’t.”
Will, I’m here.
He swore he heard her voice. It was an echo, the fragment of a memory of a dream, whispered through dimensions, choosing this moment to resurface. He could almost picture it, him crying as she cradled him in her arms, after saving him once again.
Will, it’s okay.
Part of him felt it as though it were real. He gazed at the stars as they twinkled like her eyes when she caught wind of a piece of gossip she couldn't wait to share.
It’s okay, I’m here. It’s me.
The stars kept him company, as he was too weighed down by dolour to get up, but too haunted to truly rest. Sorrow settled in his bones, heavy and full, as he watched a burst of light shoot across the stars. He wished he knew what she had wished for that day. He can only hope she got whatever it was she had wanted, when all he wanted now was his sister back.
It’s me. I’m here to bring you home. It’s okay.
His fingers itched for a pen or a brush, as it dawned on him that this was it. It was never a problem with the medium, he concluded as he stared up at the night sky. It was that he had forgotten about the stars in her eyes, how, to Will, she could light up the darkest room with just a look. He couldn't ignore the wave of emotion that washed over him when he realized that he'd forgotten the stars, how their shine inspired him.
–coming for you.
The voice sounded younger, now, the words distant and muffled. It wasn't a version of Jane he recognized, but something in the sound pulled at a memory buried in the deepest depths of his mind. He reached for the thread, tugged until it revealed an instance shadowed in torment, when her words were beacon in the dark. Pain and resignation turned into a flicker of hope for a young, very lost boy. He held tightly to the faded vision of the ghost of a strange girl in a pink dress holding his hand through the worst moment of his life.
Just hold on a little longer, Will.
Her voice sounded even further away, as if it were floating up, up, up, until it joined the symphony of light in the sky.
I’m here to bring you home.
It echoed across the vast expanse of space. Will's consciousness felt split between the past and present. He could feel the cold from the ground seeping into his aching muscles, but he could also feel his sister's arms wrapped around him, her whispering those words of comfort.
“Will?”
Will is shot back to the present at the sound of someone calling his name. His body instinctively tenses, his arm reaching out to grab the recently abandoned crowbar. He didn't dare breathe, and reacting on the spike of adrenaline from the interruption, Will sat up with dizzying ferocity. The subsequent headrush was enough to make the adrenaline dip, as he heaved in the air.
“Will– shit, Will, are you okay?” Mike's voice cut through the static, pricking at the back of his eyelids.
Will reoriented himself to see his best friend rushing over, immediately crouching at his side.
“Are you hurt? What happened?” His words were laced with a barely concealed panic, and Will felt the guilt for making him worry creep up his throat.
“I'm okay, not hurt,” he managed to spit out, but it came out cracked and raw, and not reassuring, judging by the look on Mike's face. Thankfully, though, he seemed to realize that Will wasn't in immediate danger, and he watched his shoulders drop in relief.
“Fuck, Will, you scared me,” Mike spoke softly, his hand resting delicately on Will's back. “Your mom called and asked if you were at mine cause she didn't know where you were,” he continued, seeing the look of confusion on Will's face, “I figured you were out on one of your walls, but it was dark out so I biked over to look for you.”
“Oh,” Will let out with a cough, “what did you te–”
“Don't worry, I said you were with me. But what happened, Will? Is that blood?”
Will's not sure where Mike was asking about, so he just nodded slowly. Apparently, that response wasn't good enough for Mike, because he pressed on.
“What have you been doing out here? Your hands…”
Will’s eyes followed Mike’s concerned gaze down to his hands. He saw the blisters forming under the layers of dirt and blood, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to care.
“I just… I couldn't get her eyes right,” Will whispered, whether he was speaking to Mike or the stars was up for debate.
“Can you stand?” Mike’s expression softened even more, his voice growing quiet in the way he only gets with Will. Will shifted experimentally and nodded with a grimace. Mike supported Will as he slowly adjusted his body into a position where he could haul himself up. Before he knew it, Mike had his arm around him and was carrying most of his weight as he pulled him upright. He whispered soft encouragements that Will couldn’t hear over the rush in his head. They stood there, or rather, Mike stood while Will leaned on him, for a few minutes while Will caught his breath.
“Let me know when you feel ready to move. I’m parked not too far from here, and I can take you home.”
“No, I… Not the cabin,” Will pleaded weakly. Mike looked at him, assessing, before responding.
“I can take you to mine, then? If you want?” he offered.
Will gave a small nod in reply and then gestured to indicate he was ready to move now. As they walked away, steps slow and painful, Will cast his eyes upwards one last time. He drank in the stars blinking above him, and held tight to Jane’s voice, binding it to his memory.
I’m here to bring you home.
Stars blink like my sister's eyes
Stars blink like my sister's eyes
Stars blink like her eyes
Like her eyes
I dream of eternal life
I dream of eternal life