Chapter Text
Nothing much could happen,
Nothing we can’t shake;
Oh, we’re absolute beginners,
With nothing much at stake…
- “Absolute Beginners” David Bowie, 1986
June 14, 1986
Max stepped outside, squinting as the sun hit her eyes. Even before Vecna, she’d been sensitive to sunlight. The temporary blindness, though pretty much healed by now, hadn’t helped.
It’d been three months since she’d died. Well, died for a minute. Thank you, El and Lucas.
Since then, her bones had managed to heal, though she was still limping and wasn’t nearly as strong as she had been before. Thin surgical scars now ran down her forearms and below her left knee, and frequent stiffness served as a reminder of the metal rod, plates, and screws that were fixed beneath her skin.
It was strange, knowing how close she had been to death. If El hadn’t restarted her heart and Lucas hadn’t pulled her out of Vecna’s mindscape by playing Kate Bush the second she had been breathing again, she wasn’t sure what might have happened.
Max hadn’t really realized the severity of her situation until she experienced just how much effort the healing process took.
And how much money.
At least she was on her way to solving that problem. The job interview she had just walked out of had gone well—extremely well, apparently, since they’d offered her a position right then and there. All she needed to do now was sign some papers, get trained, and pick up her uniform before starting on Monday.
The uniform was miserable: dumb poof sleeves, a thin vest, knee socks, and the most god-awful sailor’s hat she’d ever seen. Seriously, how did Robin and Steve do it?
Unfortunately, Scoops Ahoy hadn’t changed in the slightest. After the “earthquake” had split Hawkins in four and the military had taken up permanent residence, the mayor had decided people needed a way to boost morale, and his brilliant idea was apparently to bring back everyone’s favorite stores from Starcourt Mall.
Because reminding everyone of the mall that burned down and killed a bunch of people was the perfect way to boost morale. Right. Needless to say, Max had her doubts.
Trauma aside, though, the decision had actually succeeded in opening up a lot of new jobs in town, which was nice because no one was allowed to leave Hawkins to find work elsewhere.
So now it was Max who’d be slinging ice cream all summer, which was just exactly what she wanted to do with her second chance at life.
Whatever. Max was just praying that whatever stupid teenager she got stuck working with wouldn’t be too much of an idiot.
***
Mike was an idiot.
“You stole from your father?” his mom was yelling.
He was such an idiot.
“I mean, $200, Mike? That’s a lot of money!”
Honestly, he hadn’t thought his dad would notice it—god knows he never noticed anything else Mike did.
And he was going to pay him back! Eventually…Okay, maybe not, but that money was necessary!
Not that his mom would ever understand, but that money had secured vital equipment for helping El train—helping her find Vecna.
The pumpkins, wooden planks, and various other supplies were currently sitting in the back of Nancy’s car that she was letting Mike use for the day, and it should’ve been at the cabin by now but his stupid mom had interrupted everything.
“Are you even listening to me right now?”
Mike was in such deep shit.
“Yeah,” he sighed, fiddling with his fingers and staring down at his shoes. The front door was five steps away, he’d almost made it.
“Mike, I know things have been hard, but this is unacceptable!” his mom shrieked, her hands gesturing wildly, “This is a serious crime!”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Mike muttered, “I’ll pay it back."
His mom scoffed, “Oh, and how do you plan on doing that? Do you have some kind of job I don’t know about?”
“Well, no, but—”
“You know, I actually think that’s an excellent idea,” she said calmly, but with enough force to tell Mike there was no getting out of this. Her eyes had the worrisome gleam of someone who had just come up with a terrible, horrifying plan. “It’s about time you learn some responsibility—the value of hard work.”
Mike glanced around, eyebrows furrowing, “What, you want me to get a job?”
“Well, you’re going to have to pay your father back somehow!” his mom declared with distressing confidence, “And with all those new stores opening up in town I’m sure you’ll have no problem.”
Oh, great, she was serious.
“Mom, come on, I’m not—”
“Oh, yes you are!” she cut in, raising a pointed finger, “You are going to go into town, find someone hiring, and get yourself a job.”
This was ridiculous, Mike couldn’t get a job! He was busy, he had to help find Vecna, and help El train, and he should really be at the cabin right now.
“Okay, fine!” Goddammit, “Can I go now? I have somewhere to be.”
His mom huffed, “Okay. But I want you to have a job lined up by the time you come home tonight.”
So he was getting a job. Great.
“Fine,” he grumbled, already pushing his way out the front door.
“You’re lucky I’m letting you off this easy!” he heard his mom call out from behind him as he reached for the car door.
Lucky—yeah, right.
This summer was going to suck.
***
The sun was high in the sky by the time Lucas made his way into town, bike skidding across the asphalt as the afternoon heat beat down on him.
He needed to get a birthday present for Erica, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he should get. She’d become kind of nerdy, so maybe something he’d get himself?
Then again, he wasn’t so sure what he’d get himself anymore.
Things had been weird since spring break. He was officially a traitor, according to the Hawkins high basketball team, but the Party hadn’t fully warmed back up to him, either. Maybe it was just because of everything going on, but either way, Lucas felt…stuck.
He pulled to a stop in front of the strip of new stores that had been opening up, dull replicas of those from Starcourt Mall. Abandoning his bike, he made his way towards the first one, not really checking to see what they sold.
Only, just before he could reach for the door—
“Well, would you look at that?”
Lucas spun around, his gaze latching onto the imposing forms of Andy and Josh sauntering towards him.
“That you, Sinclair?” Andy called out, his face twisting into a sneer, “Didn’t realize they let murderers walk around free.”
Lucas felt something stir in him, a quiet anger that had more to do with how fed up he was with all of this than anything else. Three months, and he hadn’t been able to catch a break for a single second when the basketball team was around.
He knew better than to give them a reaction—it was all just dumb jabs, anyway. But he had been friends with Patrick, and Jason, to a degree. The idea that he was somehow responsible for their deaths, especially when these guys refused to hear any story other than the one they’d spun from their own hatred and paranoia…yeah, he was angry. Sue him.
“Just get lost, Andy,” he sighed, frustrated, “I’m not in the mood.”
Andy advanced slowly, Josh trailing after him, and Lucas took a step back. His heels hit the brick storefront behind him. “Aren’t you all high and mighty,” Andy scoffed, “You too good for us now, Sinclair?”
“Just trying to keep the peace,” Lucas muttered. The wall was pressed firmly against his back, now. He could feel his heartbeat picking up, his palms starting to sweat as the sun stared down on the scene with fierce intensity.
Andy scoffed again, “Peace? When the person responsible for my friends’ deaths walks free in front of me?” He laughed, low and cruel, taking another step forward,
“No, I hate that word—’peace.’” He spat it out like its presence on his tongue disgusted him, as though it had personally wronged him.
Lucas swallowed, anxiety spiking through him. His fingers twitched and curled inward, and his mind was racing almost as fast as his blood—he was ready for this. He wasn’t as small and weak as he’d been in middle school; he could defend himself now.
He just really hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt anyone.
“Almost as much,” Andy continued, his head tipping to the side mockingly, “As I hate hell…”
He took a step closer, “All your freaks for friends…”
Another step—he was crowded into Lucas’s space, now. Lucas glanced sideways, only to find his escape route blocked by Josh. Shit.
“And you.”
Lucas threw his arms up as Andy lurched forward, gripping his shoulder and shoving him back into the bricks—hard.
Pain slammed through his skull, but he was already pushing back. Andy stumbled backwards as Lucas shoved him, only for Josh to grab his left arm and spin him around, back towards the wall.
“Hey!” a voice shouted from somewhere, though Lucas could hardly hear it over the pounding in his head.
Hands were forcing him face-first into the bricks and he shifted his weight, preparing to swing a leg out behind him and trip his attacker. Then it was gone.
Lucas turned quickly, defenses still up. The store owner must have heard the commotion as he was standing just outside the door, one hand across Andy’s chest, holding him back, as he shook his other fist in Josh’s direction.
“You boys, you beasts!” he was yelling, “I’ve had enough of you disturbing these streets with these stupid ass brawls of yours! You wanna fight, go do it in the woods or somewhere the rest of us don’t have to see it!”
Lucas shuffled to the side, seizing his chance to get the hell out of there. He had his bike in his hands within a second and was just as quick to mount it, pedaling hard as he fled the scene.
The man’s shouts rang out behind him, “Last thing I need’s the military barreling in here, and god knows this town’s suffered enough without you boys beating each other up!”
The road sped by as Lucas stood, his bike shifting side to side beneath him. He was breathing hard, even though the altercation had only lasted a few minutes. Really, he had gotten lucky.
Erica’s present would have to wait. It was ridiculous—Lucas could hardly leave the house without having to watch out for bible-thumping jocks with a psychotic thirst for vengeance.
Lucas used to go to church, before everything. Now, his family wasn’t welcome.
If he was being honest, it was probably for the better. Peace and love had been replaced with vigilante hunting and fear mongering, and it seemed like no one had any sense anymore. The gentle faith Lucas had found some comfort in as a child was gone.
God was violent now.
***
Dustin had always loved mornings. There was something peaceful about the early hours that the rest of the sleeping world would never get to appreciate.
In middle school, he’d get up as early as six o’clock, passing the time in blissful solitude as he read his newest library finds, or tinkered with some project he was working on, or finished homework if he was really desperate.
Now, it was past noon and he was still in bed.
He wasn’t even sleeping—just staring at the ceiling as the blanket grew uncomfortably warm over him.
He hadn’t stayed up late the night before. He wasn’t particularly tired. He just didn’t know what he would do with himself if he got up.
There were a couple books spread out across his desk on the other side of the room, the sun boiling the pages as it seeped through the window above his bed. But none of them seemed interesting today.
He couldn’t call Suzie—he’d ended that when quarantine was first announced. Contacting her once the military moved in would have been too difficult. Too suspicious.
He kept staring at the ceiling. A small crack crisscrossed the plaster, thin and nothing more than the result of an old house.
It reminded him of another cracked ceiling, though. One split open by something far more sinister than aging architecture.
One in a trailer on the other side of town, which now sat empty.
Dustin blinked.
Maybe mornings had lost their magic.
The piercing ring of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts—shit, his mom was probably at work.
Grumbling, Dustin forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly as his body adjusted to being vertical for the first time that day.
He didn’t bother to glance in the bathroom mirror as he made his way to the front door. Whoever it was would just have to deal with him looking a mess—it’s what they deserved for waking him up.
Well. Sort of waking him up. Close enough.
The doorbell rang again and Dustin called out an annoyed, “Coming,” muttering various curses under his breath as he undid the deadbolt and yanked the door open to find—
Steve Harrington.
Of fucking course.
“Dustin!” Steve yelled, throwing his arms wide and smiling in greeting, “What took so long, man?” He looked up and down, taking in Dustin’s rumpled pajamas and bird’s-nest hair. “Aw shit, I didn’t wake you up, did I? It’s past noon, man!”
Dustin sighed, “Yeah, Steve, I know.”
Steve's eyebrows twisted, his ecstatic smile slipping from his face as his eyes narrowed and voice softened in concern, “Hey, you okay?”
Dustin’s voice came out flat, “I’m fine, Steve.”
“You don’t look too fine.”
“Well, I am, so you can stop worrying.”
Steve didn’t look convinced. As much as Dustin loved the guy, he had a kind of overly-anxious-mother attitude about him that could give even Joyce a run for her money. Honestly, he didn’t know how Will managed—it was exhausting.
“Did you need something?” he asked, mentally halfway back to his bed.
“Oh, yeah!” Steve’s face lit back up, his concern seemingly dissolving, “Robin and I were gonna go tour the radio station, seeing as it’s gonna be all ours by the end of the month. Wanna come with?”
Right, the radio station. Steve had mentioned he and Robin were trying to get jobs there. Something about the “perfect headquarters” and “sending secret messages”? Dustin just hoped Robin would be competent enough to figure out how it all worked since god knows he didn’t want to have to explain it all to Steve.
“I just woke up, man,” Dustin sighed, “Maybe another time.”
For the second time in this already too long conversation, concern clouded Steve’s eyes. Here we go…
“Come on, Dustin, you haven’t hung out with anyone in ages. Plus, you love all that nerdy radio stuff—you sure you’re okay?”
“I told you, Steve, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, see, I don’t know if I believe you anymore. It’s been months, man!”
Dustin laughed humorlessly, his gaze drifting to the side. This was how it had been all summer—since spring break, really. Since the earthquake.
Since Eddie.
And, sure, he knew Steve meant well. His genuine care for others had been one of the things that made Dustin want to be his friend in the first place, but now? It’d become kind of suffocating.
Plus, Steve was older, and loud, and far too strong of a reminder of—
“Dustin!”
He flinched as Steve clapped in his face, his eyes wide in that annoyed way of his.
“You gonna just stand there and creepily zone out? Need I remind you we have a pretty bad history with trances?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“So?” Steve stared at him expectantly.
“So,” Dustin huffed, “I already told you my answer.”
“Nuh-uh,” Steve shook his head, “You gave the wrong answer.”
Dustin blinked, taken aback, “The wrong—the hell do you mean, ‘the wrong answer’? I don’t wanna go!”
“Oh, you’re going!” Steve stuck a finger in his face, his other hand planted firmly on his hip. Jesus, he really was like someone’s mother.
“You can’t just drag me into your car, Steve.”
“I will if I have to!”
Dustin shook his head, “You’re insane.”
“No, Henderson, you’re insane!” Steve yelled, his voice growing rougher, “Something is very clearly wrong and we all know what it’s about but you’re too much of a coward to own up to it and let us help you!”
Dustin could feel his shoulders stiffening, his fists clenching—telltale signs of anger, his brain helpfully noted. Good, he thought, if I have to feel something, at least anger’s easy.
“Maybe I don’t need your help, Steve! Did you ever think about that? Maybe I don’t need you at all, anymore!”
Steve scoffed, but Dustin could see in the way his eyes jumped around that he’d struck a nerve. “That’s not true.”
“Really?” Dustin’s voice was sharp and mean, but he didn’t have the energy to be gentle right now, “You’re not my brother, you’re not my dad, and you’re sure as hell not him, so please enlighten me on why in the world I would ever need you.”
Steve blinked and staggered back like he’d been slapped across the face. The words were cruel, and some part of Dustin knew they weren’t true, but he didn’t take them back. He didn’t regret them.
If they got Steve to leave him alone, then Dustin couldn’t care less.
“Screw you, man.” Steve mumbled, dropping his head and stumbling down the steps as he hurried towards his car.
Dustin shut the door and went back to his room.
Maybe Steve would piss off for the rest of summer, now. Good. That’s what Dustin needed, really. Just a little peace and quiet so he didn’t have to think.
He fell onto his bed and stared up.
The crack in the plaster stared right back.
***
Jesus Christ, Mike really could not catch a break.
He’d made it to the cabin and delivered the equipment—after apologizing profusely for being so late—only to be dragged straight into El’s room.
Now, he sat cross-legged on the bed with El in front of him, looking at him expectantly.
And she’d just said...that.
I know you lied.
Somehow, Mike had found himself knee-deep in the very conversation he’d been desperately trying to avoid for the past year.
He honestly should’ve seen this coming. He’d been lying through his teeth in that Surfer Boy Pizza kitchen, borrowing lines from other people and jumbling them together into some hot mess he’d thrown at El and called a love confession.
He’d thought it had worked, though—El managed to save Max, and they hadn’t really spoken about it since.
“Mike? Did you hear me?”
But of course El hadn’t bought it. El was smart. Really, it was surprising that she’d waited this long to say something, though, to be fair, she hadn’t been saying much of anything to him over the past three months.
“Mike?”
She’d mostly just been with Max at the hospital, or with Hopper at the cabin, or with Will at god knows where. Seriously, those two were so inseparable now, it was scary.
“Mike!”
Mike startled, blinking as focused back on El.
Right. El.
“Um,” he started eloquently, “Sorry. What’d you say?”
El let out a small sigh, her eyes scanning Mike’s face sadly. Not sad for herself, though, more like…pity. Yikes. This wasn’t looking good at all.
“I said that I know you lied, in the pizza kitchen. About loving me.”
Mike stared for a second, his mind blank.
“Right.” Shit, “No—not, not right, just…I remember—I know. What you’re talking about.”
El pulled a pained, almost embarrassed face. God, he was so bad at this.
“See, Mike,” she began, taking his hands in hers and looking him flush in the eye, “This is the problem. When I try to talk about this, you cannot be honest. And I need you to be honest.”
Mike swallowed. He knew what was honest. Somewhere, buried deep in the back of the mind, the truth was there—locked up but glowing faintly nonetheless. But to let it free…
“I need you to tell the truth, Mike,” El lowered her head to meet his gaze, “Do you love me?”
Mike’s heartbeat was picking up. He could feel it growing louder as his eyes flitted across El’s face. His hands gripped El’s a little tighter—the answer was weighed on his tongue, obstructive and impossible to ignore.
He’d avoided this question for so long, but he couldn’t anymore. It was quite literally staring him in the face.
“No.”
The word fell from his mouth with surprising ease. The instant it was out, the room felt lighter, like the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. The biggest lie Mike had ever told was free, and he could breathe.
Well, maybe second biggest.
“I mean, I do,” he amended, “Just, not—”
“Not like that.” El finished for him, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Mike nodded.
“That’s alright, Mike. I don’t think I do either.”
Wait, what?
“You—you don’t?”
El laughed a little, giving his hands a squeeze, “As hard as it is to believe, no. I thought I could know what I felt before I knew who I was, but that was not possible. And I could not learn who I was when I was only focused on you.”
Mike just looked at her, a little shocked and a little in awe. When had El gotten so wise? It seemed there was a lot he hadn’t noticed.
Her words had also hit a little too close to home for his liking, but he pushed that aside. He had to focus on El right now.
“I’m sorry for that,” he said, “For lying, for holding you back. For not being what you needed.”
El’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “No, Mike, it was not your fault. You should not have lied, that is true, and it did hurt me. But if you do not love me, that is not something you can control. You do not have to be sorry for that.”
Oh.
Mike felt those words run through him like a ray of warm sunlight. El had always been unfailingly kind, far kinder than Mike deserved, and somehow, in that moment, she had known exactly what he’d needed to hear.
“Yeah?” His throat felt raw, and if he wasn’t careful there would be tears in his eyes in a second.
“You were my first friend, Mike,” El smiled sweetly at him, squeezing his hands again, “And we will always be friends.”
Goddammit, he was crying. He sniffed, blinking furiously as his vision blurred.
“So,” he choked out, “Does this mean…?”
El laughed, open and free. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
“I dump your ass.”
***
Will made his way through the quiet Hawkins streets easily, his mind wandering as he passed by the houses he’d known his whole life. The route to Mike’s house was one he had learned long before his family moved in, though sometime over the years the journey had lost its sparkling excitement that had once lived in the promise of fun and laughter and overwhelming comfort.
Now, none of that was waiting for him at the Wheeler house.
Now, it was only Mike.
Will sighed as he glanced up, a cool summer breeze ruffling through his bangs. It was almost odd how quiet this part of town was—normally, there’d be at least a couple of kids running around, though the increase in military personnel and general atmosphere of paranoia in Hawkins might have had something to do with the empty streets.
If I got taken again, no one would be around to notice.
It was an awful thought, but he was used to those by now. I wonder if Mike would care as much about finding me this ti—
The sidewalk slammed into him as he fell, his bike spinning out from under him.
His hands scraped along the concrete as he tried to catch himself, a sharp burn cutting across his palms. His legs were still tangled in his bike, which had somehow managed to fall into the soft grass without him. He winced as he held up his hands, assessing the damage.
They were scratched raw, the skin ripped clean off in spots and revealing the shiny red underneath. Dirt stung where it clung to the exposed layers. That couldn’t be good, and he was still a few miles from Mike’s house and its supply of clean water.
Will glanced around, but the street was still empty. His eye caught on a small rock a few feet away. Great, he thought, at least it wasn’t Vecna.
He looked over at his bike—there was no way he’d be able to ride it back. Even disregarding any damage it might have incurred, his hands were too injured to grip the handlebars. He wasn’t even sure he could push his bike without hurting himself more.
Will stood shakily, mentally preparing himself for the agonizing walk he was about to endure, since he was not leaving his bike there on the ground to be stolen.
“Hey!”
Will whipped around, a familiar jolt of fear running down his spine.
Someone—a teenage boy—was coming out from behind one of the houses, headed straight for Will.
Squinting, Will realized he knew the guy. It was Chance Lawson, one of the kids from the basketball team who had been targeting the Party since spring break.
“You alright?” Chance was asking, stopping a few feet from the crash site.
Will regarded him carefully, clutching his still throbbing hands to his chest. This was suspicious. There was no reason Chance Lawson would care about Will or about whether or not he was “alright.”
“Fine,” he muttered, “Just fell.”
Chance chuckled lightly, “Yeah, I can see that. You hurt your hands?”
He gestured vaguely at the hands in question and Will glanced down. They didn’t look any better than they had a second ago—if anything, they were worse. The skin was even more inflamed, practically glowing red, and they stung like hell.
“S’fine,” he repeated in a mumble. It was far from the truth, but Will was desperate to escape this conversation.
“Look,” Chance sighed, “I know your friends and my friends don’t really…get on. But I’m not a total asshole. I know that hurts like crazy, so let me grab the hose and help you wash them off, yeah? Just so they don’t get infected?”
Will glanced up, surprised. Chance was looking at him softly, but not in the way his brother or mom sometimes did, like he was a frightened animal who needed careful handling. No, this was something different. Weirdly…understanding.
“Okay.”
He hadn’t even meant to say it. Maybe that should’ve been his first sign that this was a bad idea. That he was walking into something completely beyond his control. But all he knew at that moment was that his palms were killing him and Chance was offering him a lifeline.
A smile split open Chance’s face and he stepped back, gesturing towards the house behind him. “Cool, c’mon.”
Will followed warily, trailing behind as Chance approached the side of the house and pulled out the hose that was coiled on the ground.
His sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, revealing strong forearms that were speckled in dirt—which was also clumped under his fingernails, Will noticed. There were a pair of gloves next to the hose. Chance had been gardening?
“Oh, yeah,” Will looked up to find Chance looking between him and the gloves. He chuckled again, this time a little sheepishly, “I was helping my mom. Was just putting things away when I saw you.”
This was weird. Chance was reaching to twist the hose on and this was so weird. What in the world was Will thinking, accepting help from Chance Lawson? Helping his mom? More like helping the basketball team corner him so they could jump him…or something.
“Can I?” Chance was holding out an expectant hand, the hose spewing water from where it rested in the other. Hell no, you can’t, Will thought.
He held out his hands.
Chance’s fingers settled on the back of his knuckles and Will startled, first at the unexpected touch and then at the cool water that hit his raw palms. He sucked in a pained breath, grimacing as the water stung the open wounds.
“Sorry,” Chance muttered. His brow was furrowed in concentration, one hand under Will’s in steady support while the other carefully guided the spray of water across his palms so as to not be too forceful. A strand of his dark hair fell in his eyes, moving as he blinked.
Again, Will was struck by how bizarre this entire situation was. Chance Lawson, basketball star and well-established dickhead, was gently cleaning his hands while practically holding them. And no one had tried to jump him yet.
“There,” Chance said decisively, looking up from his work and stepping away to shut off the hose, “Better?”
They still throbbed, but the dirt was gone and Will was much less sure he was going to get an infection.
“Yeah,” he glanced up, his gaze flickering over Chance’s face, “Thanks.”
“I’ve got some gauze in the garage, if you want?”
“Sure.”
Great. He’d done it again.
“Cool, I’ll be right back.” Chance disappeared around the corner of the house, presumably to get the gauze—or to signal to his friends that Will was alone and ready for a good beating.
Will looked around nervously. The house was really quite nice, with a beautiful little line of flowers growing alongside the wall. He managed to pick out the bright orange zinnias and yellow black-eyed susans, though the rest he was unsure of.
“Got it!” Chance called, jogging lightly back over to Will, gauze in hand. This time, Will held out his hands without having to be asked.
Chance gave him a quick smile, reaching out and starting to deftly work the gauze around Will’s left palm. The speed was almost impressive.
“How do you know how to do this so well?”
God, Will just couldn’t shut up, could he? This was normally never an issue for him—maybe the pain was getting to his head.
Chance chuckled again, that low little laugh that seemed private, reserved for just himself and anyone close enough to witness it. Which, in this case, meant Will.
Somehow, in just a few minutes, he’d been let in on the big secret: Chance Lawson had a soft side.
“Basketball injuries,” Chance was saying, “I’ve gotten pretty good at patching myself up quick and getting right back to playing.”
“That’s insane,” Will laughed breathily.
Chance looked up, his calloused hands stilling against Will’s and head cocking to the side playfully. “As insane as trying to walk your bike back home with busted up hands?”
A second, shocked laugh fell from Will’s mouth as he stared at Chance in awe. Who was this guy, cracking jokes and acting like he’d known Will all his life? Surely not the same person who sneered at kids in the hallways and plotted maniacal, religiously-frenzied man-hunts?
Chance’s smile grew wider, his heavy eyebrows creasing in amusement. For a second, he just looked at Will, eyes scanning his face just as Will’s had a moment ago. It was the same expression—like he was trying to piece together a particularly confounding puzzle.
“Let me walk you home.”
He said it so casually that Will didn’t process it at first, still stuck on the strange way Chance was looking at him.
“W-what?”
“Let me walk you home,” Chance repeated, his expression sincere, “Even wrapped up, pushing your bike’s gonna hurt. Let me take it for you.”
Will could feel himself gaping, his mind stuttering a little.
“I-okay.”
Dammit.
And that’s how Will Byers had found himself walking through the streets of Hawkins with Chance Lawson at his side.
The walk wasn’t unpleasant—far from it, actually. Chance spent most of it talking about anything and everything, from basketball to his mom’s flower obsession. Honestly, Will hadn’t been paying much attention.
For all his thinking, he still couldn’t figure out what was going on. He had never known Chance that well, but the little he did know was all bad. This new version, who was currently saying something about a dog he’d had as a kid, was entirely unfamiliar. None of it fit with the picture of Chance he’d previously had painted in his head.
When they finally approached the Wheeler house, Chance stopped.
“You’re living with Wheeler?” he questioned, confusion written all over his face.
“It’s just temporary,” Will explained, “We haven’t had a chance to find a house since we came back so suddenly.”
Chance hummed thoughtfully, glancing between Will and the house—a touch of suspicion had joined the confusion in his eyes.
“Well,” Will muttered, feeling awkward, “Thanks. For walking my bike, and the gauze…and the water.”
“‘Course.” Chance nodded, handing the bike over to Will. He regarded him for a second, something contemplative and unreadable in his gaze.
“See you around, Byers.”
And then he was gone.
As quickly as he’d arrived, Chance turned and walked away, as if the entire series of events hadn’t happened at all. Will watched him go for only a moment, then turned back and headed for Mike’s garage.
Over the Wheeler house, the sun was beginning to set.