Chapter Text
The church parking lot still smelled like rot and mold. That had been the first thing Will noticed, because that stench had not left him since he got back from the Upside Down. For a week he had breathed in the smell of rot, decay and mold around him, and that had created its own space in his sense.
It was only after that, that he noticed the sudden rise of crosses in backyards, the rise in church attendance, and the heightened caution that lingered even in the silence.
The town once had people running around, always bustling and lively, but now it had devolved into a landscape of fearmongering, and desperation. Where once backyards would have basketball hoops or little kiddie pools, it was dead grass and small crosses. Where once stores were clean and busy, they were now littered with broken windows and graffiti.
The church had become the center of unity for the entire town, with volunteers coming in daily to set up tables of food, piles of clothes and a daily updated list of displaced people. It was easier to call them displaced than dead.
There was a huge board in the center of the volunteer room with a list of people that were missing. People would come in each day to update the list as family members were found, either dead, or alive.
Everyone had lost something, and the ones who lost the most were the ones showing up the most. Will had thought maybe that meant people would be kinder. That the common hurt and loss would bring everyone together.
He should've known better.
He adjusted the flannel hanging over his shirt and lifted another box out of the back of Mr. Clarke's truck.
"Careful there, Will," Mr. Clarke said gently. "Those cans are heavier than they look."
Will smiled. "I got it," he reassured his old teacher and took the box inside to the designated food area.
He set the box down beside Mrs. Walsh, but the unevenness of the ground beneath them rocked the box, and some of the overflowing cans fell out and rolled away. Will immediately bent down to gather them up. He hadn’t noticed Mrs. Walsh bent down to gather them as well.
In their rush, for half a second, their fingers were close enough to touch. Before they could even graze each other Mrs. Walsh jerked back as if she had been stung.
It was sharp enough for people nearby to notice, and Will noticed them look at Mrs. Walsh in sympathy.
"Oh." Will said quietly, straightening up and placing the cans back in the box. He noticed a few people subtly point to the box and whisper around, and he felt his heart clench.
Mrs. Walsh straightened as well and she looked at him with a tight smile, but said nothing. She simply turned away and resumed working, noticeably further away.
Will stared at her hand, and then back at his. He tried to rationalize it to himself that maybe she had a fear of germs, or maybe she thought there was some dirt on his hand, but that last thought just made it worse.
The rest of the afternoon went the same way. He tried to help out at various stations. Growing up poor, he had learned most basic skills. He was good at sewing, he was a quick folder of clothes, and he had an eye for organization, but somehow every station he went to suddenly seemed to run out of tasks. They seemed to need every help, but his.
He noticed the other kids as well.
Jennifer Hayes was given a warm pat every time she was done with her lot of clothes. Robin and her friend were given quick high fives every time they reached their goal. Steve, Dustin, James, Stacy and everyone around him received constant approval and physical contact.
It seemed like they were in constant contact with someone. As if the community altogether was trying to affirm and reassure that their kids were fine.
Being surrounded in this cloud of concern, made him being an outsider even clearer.
No one came close to him. No one spoke to him, much less touched him. Almost like touching him meant something would spread. He felt his skin tighten across his back, feeling inhumanly aware of every hair, every breath and every atom of his that came in another person’s vicinity.
They were treating him like he was sick. And part of him felt like he deserved it. Maybe the dirt on his hands and body was visible to everyone but him.
This was one of his biggest fears when he had first realized that the slurs and rumors the town spread around him were true. The wounds and pains had healed a little by being in California and meeting Carlton, but being back here? With the constant reminder of Vecna and his presence through the gates, Will had never felt more on edge, and on the verge of ruin.
He would’ve pushed through it. He would’ve dealt with it, after all his own father had made him feel unclean and sick enough times that he could use that experience to keep doing good, but that was when he saw a man put on plastic gloves and take the box that he had just singlehandedly filled with PB&J sandwiches and drop it down in the trash pile.
He looked around and he noticed that the cans that he had brought in at the start of the day were still on the table, and that everything in its vicinity had been taken away. The clothes that he had helped organize were pushed to a side. Anything that had come in contact with him was considered unclean and unusable.
That’s when he realized, even with his help he was just causing more harm. He felt his blood rush to his head and felt dizzy and lightheaded. He had to get out of here.
He ran out through the back door to the backrooms of the church and fell down and held his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t just leave right now, his mom or Jonathan or Mike would take one look at him and know something was wrong.
He felt weak and pathetic for running away and hiding and crying in a corner. He felt like he was ten again, and his father had just abandoned him again for being a failure.
He sat in his humiliation, trying to keep his face hidden even though there was no one around. Hawkins had never been kind to him, but they were still never exclusionary like this.
He would’ve stayed like this for hours, trying to nurse his wounds and regain some dignity, but he heard footsteps from the further end of the hallway and rubbed his hands roughly over his face to hide the evidence of tears. Maybe if he left any trace of presence they would refuse to come back here.
He looked around for another exit but found nothing. The footsteps got closer and he felt panicked at the thought of being caught here alone. He looked around for any hiding spots, and found a closet. He backed away and hid in it.
The inside of the closet was incredibly cramped and dusty. Once he closed the door, it was dark and he could feel the thin silk of spider webs on his neck, the sensation frighteningly reminiscent.
Two women walked closer, both talking in low tones. When they got closer he recognized the voices and Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Miller. They stopped in the room right next to the closet, and all Will could hear was the shuffling and moving sound of cardboard boxes.
"—poor Sinclair boy." Mrs. Jenkins' voice was finally comprehensive.
Will froze.
"Still no improvement?" Mrs. Miller asked in faux obliviousness.
Mrs. Jenkins sighed. "Coma. Can you imagine?"
"The whole town's cursed."
"Not the whole town." Jenkins said with a hushed, sort of secretive voice, even though to their knowledge there was no one else there.
Mrs. Miller must’ve made a face or given some indication of confusion because Mrs. Jenkins added, “You know what I mean,” with a conspiratorial tone.
Will stopped breathing at her words. Things were slowly coming together.
"I mean after all, everything was fine until that Byers boy went missing." Her voice was louder now, as if the thought of Will and his family brought some rage to this woman’s mind that just couldn’t be suppressed.
"Now, Linda—"
"No. Think about it. Barb. Bob Newby. Chief Hopper. Starcourt. Those kids. All those deaths. And now Lucas Sinclair."
There was a long silence. Then Mrs. Milled continued, her voice a little tentative and searching.
"My husband says that Sinclair is only in the hospital because he stayed friends with Will Byers."
Will felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought about himself before, but to hear it from someone else’s mouth. That made it real.
"That's awful."
"It is, and honest to god, I feel sorry for the kid. People say she refused to let him go. I don't know what happened in that quarry, but dead is dead. That's God's business, not ours. The boy was dead, rest his soul but we saw the funeral. She must’ve done something to bring him back, but that’s not how God works. The craziness runs in the family. Also look at the men." Mrs. Jenkins added, continuing to add fuel to the flame.
“What men?” Mrs. Miller asked with curiosity, but the tone was filled with excitement and glee, as if his mother’s life and trauma was a reality show.
“I mean just think about it, Bob was all sweet on her, moving around her, and what happened to him? Dead, unknown cause. The Chief? Everyone knew he was waiting around for her, to get a chance, and as soon as they got closer, what happened? He also died.” Mrs. Jenkins said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if everything she was saying was verifiable truth.
“Well maybe it’s a good thing Lonnie got out. Lonnie always said there was something wrong with that boy. Maybe he handled it wrong, Lord knows he drank too much, but maybe he saw things the rest of us didn't, but the woman just wouldn’t let him. Kicked him out of the house. But I say, good for him, he got away from this cursed family,” Mrs. Miller said, and Will couldn’t breathe.
They thought Lonnie was in the right. That hitting, abusing and locking up an eight year old kid was for his own ‘good’. That his mom walking in and seeing one of his drunken rage against Jonathan and finally kicking him out was bad.
“You know what though? I hate to say it, but thank god the Wheeler boy wasn’t here. I swear that family has some fascination with the Wheelers. You know how the younger one was always moving around Michael, never leaving his shadow. And then he comes back, and what happens? Nancy leaves the Harrington boy, for the older brother. Sensible sweet girl like her? I’m telling you, they are targeting the Wheelers.” Mrs. Jenkins said in a poor imitation of sympathy. They must’ve finished doing whatever it was they were supposed to do, because their footsteps moved away, although their talks didn’t stop.
Will couldn’t move from his spot. The already tight closet seemed to be falling into him, and he felt like the dust had all accumulated and directed itself straight into his windpipe, stopping him from breathing. He was managing all the new information he had just learned. All the different ways that town had apparently been perceiving his family for years, but the comment about the Wheelers hit deep.
Because that one was true. At least on his part. He did see Mike when he was five years old, and from that moment he had latched onto him. If the town people, people who didn’t know him could see the tether that Will tried to keep tied between him and Mike, then what had the people who did know him notice?
What did Mike notice?
Was that why he had pulled away?
He felt a shiver creep up right from the base of his neck, all the way till it seemed to cradle his entire skull.
Will felt himself gag, the feeling was not normal, he knew that this was not just a reaction from hearing what was said and his realizations. It felt like a touch, like a dragging, chilling touch.
He heard phantom breathing, if he tried enough he could hear the rustling of the vines from the Upside Down, and he could hear the deep pitch of another voice.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was back at Castle Byers, back in the Upside Down. Cold, shivering, scared. He could hear his own voice shakingly sing along to ‘Should I Stay or Should I go?’. He heard the steps of something approaching…
…And just like that he was back in the closet.
Will pushed his way out, refusing to believe that any of this was real. Like the ladies had said, craziness ran in the family, maybe they just got the start of the run wrong.