Chapter Text
1988-Will Byers
Will Maldonado Byers was never a normal teenager, not even before he was bitten by a genetically modified radioactive spider.
Often, when he would walk the halls of any school he was in, he would feel a disconnect, like he was invisible, prone to being crushed under the weight of someone's Converse.
The only people that really made him feel seen before he gained more friends (more like acquaintances) were his close friends since he was a kid: Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, Robin Buckley, his older brother Jonathan, and his twin sister Jane Isabelle. And then there was one more person, the person who took his soul and kept it locked with him, Michael James Wheeler (MJ for short).
Of course, Will never told MJ, but he wished he had the nerve to do so. Will knew he was gay, but only a few people knew — and MJ was definitely not one of those people.
What was he supposed to say? Hey MJ, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and you’ve saved me just by being there. Yeah, no way that was ever going to happen.
Will was brought back from his thoughts when someone shoved past him in the crowded halls. The funny thing is that Will remembers that kid wearing a Spider-Man shirt the other day. Funny how the world works.
He finally reached the doors that were his saving grace and walked outside as he heard the final school bell go off. He felt the fresh New York breeze hit his face and ruffle his signature bowl cut, which started to somewhat mullet around his ears. He unlocked his bike from the rack and started to pedal home.
Unfortunately, today was not one of those days where he had time to stay and socialize with his friends—plus he was kinda glad to get out of hearing Lucas give Dustin tips on how to “charm” Jane—he had to go home, change into his spider suit and begin his patrol around the city.
Biking in the city was a challenge, but Will was up for it. Many people tended to yell at him, but it made life easier than walking for what seemed like miles or paying money for a slow taxi cab.
Will finally made it home and tripped on the entrance to his apartment, which someone had witnessed, leaving Will scrambling up and awkwardly waving to his elderly neighbour. Who waved back slowly.
“Will, honey, is that you?!” Will heard a familiar voice come from the kitchen and walked in with as much grace as he could to see his mom, Joyce Maldonado Byers, attempting to bake a banana bread.
“Yes mom, it's me.” He walked over and kissed her on the cheek before grabbing the water bottle out of his bag and refilling it over at the sink.
“Do you have homework tonight, sweety?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Will had to fight the urge to laugh and covered his smile with the sleeve of his dark red sweater, hand wrapped against the soft fleece inside.
It was a good thing that Will had finished his homework in class today because he needed all the time he could get. Usually, he had some work that he finished while sitting on his favourite rooftop, but today he decided that he was going to draw. He wasn't sure what he was going to doodle or sketch, but his hand usually ended up drawing the same face, the same eyes, the same hands, over and over again. Whether Will wanted to or not, it usually went that way.
“Okay, well, I suggest you go and get it done quickly so we can help Jon pick the best photos for the Bugle.” Will nodded and practically sprinted to his room to get his suit on. It was all black save for the lines that were a lemon yellow. He pulled the mask with the slit-shaped eyes over his head, careful not to mess up his hair too much. He shoved his sketch book into his bag and carefully cracked open his window and closed it behind him.
Will webbed his way across the many roofs of NYC until he reached the one he often sat by. A smaller theatre building just off Broadway. It was quiet there, but still filled with life and distant echoes of people singing songs of love and tragedy. Up there, no one would notice Will Byers—aka Spider-Man—sitting pathetically alone on a rooftop, doodling and cussing out his math homework.
Will lightly put his bag out on the roof against a tiny brick wall, and he grabbed his binoculars out, ready to keep watch.
For his patrol, he most commonly watched over little sections of NYC, making sure no one was fighting in the alleys, or getting run over by a taxi cab.
None of that stuff really happened, usually just people spotting him webbing around out of boredom and screaming his name, “Spider-Man!!! Spider-Man, I love you!!” Which slightly alarmed him, but he just assumed that that was the way people usually were with ‘popular well known people,’ and Will put that in air quotes because in truth it was just the suit that made him cool, nothing more.
Okay, maybe he did save the world from a big cloud of dust that tended to possess people—including him—but truly it was his friends that got him through that. Not that they knew. They could never.
He remembered Bob Newby—his mom's old boyfriend, whose mind was flayed beyond repair—once telling him in his last moments, “With great power comes great responsibility.” And he was right with every word.
No matter how much Will ached to tell Jane who would comfort him through stress, or Jon who would reassure him that he would be able to deal with the weight that oftentimes felt was choking him, or Dustin who would nerd out over the many mystery’s of his ‘gift’, or MJ who would be the right balance in between all — he had to protect himself even if it sometimes killed him.
What was Will Byers' life without a challenge or obstacle?
***
It had been a good 70 minutes before Will had done something stupid.
He was making his way through an area a little down from Times Square when he spotted him. It’s not like he was surprised. Will was the one who told MJ to go check out the place anyway.
But seeing him with the light reflecting in his stupid curls that stupidly caught his attention made Will pause mid swing and stare.
MJ was walking out of his favourite record store, which his brother had graciously introduced him to.
But what made Will stare even more was the bag in his hand. MJ had three vinyls in bag, ones that he couldn't make out. But Will nearly gasped when he caught a glimpse of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me by The Cure. Will had been saving up his money to try to buy it since it came out last spring.
In theory, Will had the money to purchase a small vinyl for a while, but he needed to start saving up for university, help his mom pay for food, and help pay for expenses that were more important than The Cure (as sad as that may seem).
But the most important question was what in the world was MJ doing with a Cure record?? He listened to the Butthole Surfers and whatever came onto the radio. Will tried to get him into The Cure, and maybe it was finally working!
MJ was about to keep walking when he looked up from his bag, startled, as if alerted by noise. Just then, Will realized that people were pointing at him, screaming his name, and he didn't even realize because he was too busy trying to figure out what vinyls were in MJ’s bag.
Will was now scrambling to quickly web away, but his webs weren't coming out.
Shit shit shit shit shit, he thought.
He was too nervous, and they weren't cooperating. Will didn't want to be stared at like this. He forgot that in this suit, he wasn't invisible; he was naked for the public eye to see.
Worse, MJ looked up to see what people were screaming at, and his head turned to look at Will—well, Spider-Man, but whatever—and his mouth fell open.
MJ started waving vigorously at him and screaming something he couldn't hear.
But MJ was waving at him, staring at him, like he was obsessed with him.
Spider-Man, Will quickly reminded himself. Spider-Man, not you.
MJ never mentioned being a fan of Spider-Man before, but now he was almost 100% he was. Or else he wouldn't be trying to get his attention like an excited child begging their parents to stop to get a balloon from a random man.
Once again, Will tried to get his webs to work, as he pulled at his arm, begging to detach from his string of silk.
Come on, come—
Snap
Suddenly, Will was falling.
See, this wouldn’t be a problem if he were alone—there he could get back up and dust himself off and wince at the bruises he’d get all by himself—but he had an audience that was doubling.
Will tried to scream but nothing came out as the wind was being knocked out of him.
He closed his eyes and got ready for the embrace of the concrete floor. A splat to end his life. This wasn't how he imagined dying. He imagined it to be at the hands of the Mind Flayer. It had possessed him once, and he thought that he’d never come out of it alive.
All the articles would read, “Spider-Man self-sabotaged death due to his staring problem.”
But, he didn't hit the floor. He felt something — no someone strong holding him. His arm grabbed onto this entity beneath him, and he felt long, lean arms.
Will opened his eyes and wondered if maybe he really did fall onto the concrete and if he was in heaven. And if he was dead he wished that no one would wake him.
He had fallen into Michael James freaking Wheeler's arms.
MJ was holding him in his arms, out of breath, with a very concerned looking face. “Are you alright? Are you okay?” He whispered gently. His soft, wavy curls frame his soft brown eyes and his light splatter of freckles across his curved nose.
That MJ Wheeler voice. The one that he always had when he was talking to someone who needed caring or someone he cared about.
Will thanked God for the fact that he had a mask over his face, or else everyone would be able to see the scarlet flush deepening over his cheeks. His hands ached to move to MJ’s neck and stay there forever, in an embrace of comfort and warmth.
But it was Spider-Man, not Will, so he quickly made a move to scramble out of his bridal pose that he was caught from and dusted invisible dust off his suit. “Y-yeah, I’m good– Thanks for, um, catching me.”
MJ nodded and gave a warm smile, “Anytime, neighbourhood Spider.” He added in a ridiculously dorky tone.
“Spider-Man over here!” Someone screamed off in the distance, and Will silently cursed them for running their "moment," and then the voice seemed very familiar.
His head turned to see none other than Jon snapping a bright picture in his face, and Nancy Wheeler with a notepad and pen.
Oh, screw me, Will thought, how long had he been there?
As much as Will wanted to give them something to write about for the Bugle, he was not going to be answering any questions after what just went down.
He turned back to MJ, saluted him, quickly let out “I like the record by the way,” took a deep breath and sprinted as fast as he could out of the busy street, begging his webs to work.