Chapter Text
The ground was soft and squishy under Will's shoes. Every step in the dirt made a squelching sound that made his nose wrinkle in distaste. He would have to get used to the wetness now. His body felt exhausted just breathing in the damp air, as if he physically felt his energy depleting like a sunflower in the shade. Wasn't it supposed to be summer? How many days a year was it like this? It had already down poured earlier and the clouds were threatening rain again like they had nothing else to do.
The new house was practically surrounded by trees; Will might as well qualify for living in the middle of a forest now. He surveyed his surroundings closely. Somewhere further away, a bird cried out- causing multiple to fly across the sky, as if in warning, saying get out of here while you still can. A danger beyond your own comprehension lies deep in the woods. Inside a cave surrounded by the bones of past warriors who thought they could bring down this evil, a three headed dragon, the shade of blood, holds centuries worth of fury. Beware to those who–
“Will? Honey, can you help take boxes into the house? I have some of the lighter ones set to the side for you.” Joyce, his mom, huffed as she carried one marked FRAGILE inside.
Will turned to the U-Haul truck, where Joyce's boyfriend, ew, Hopper stood inside the trailer and brought their belongings from the back to the front. On the right side, a few smaller taped boxes have been placed. Will sighed exasperatedly and lugged one through the front door.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was almost like visiting a friend's house for the first time, all the different scents of cleaners, candles, and cooking waft into one. Sugar cookie and fresh linen blend into one, with a faint scent of maple- maybe from breakfast that morning? The living room to the right reminded Will of a page in the magazines his mom reads. It's huge. The carpet is in a shade of coral he's never seen before. Vacuum lines in smooth patterns that suggest order. Two mini couches with a feathery design in pastel blue, orange, and brown surround the coffee table. The shelves in the back hold fancy china plates decorated with blue leaves reaching out from the outer rim. Expensive looking gold vases sit between every few plates, a specific choice he understands the reason for when viewing the room as a whole.
He should be extremely cautious about what he touches.
His eyes fell to the hard floor beneath him. Pristine and completely wiped of any evidence of dust or dirtiness.
And his sneakers are still covered in the slimy mud. He whipped his head behind him to view the tracked mud prints from the door, wincing as his arms ache from carrying the box.
He grimaced and crouched to plop the box down next to the stairs, where a couple half open boxes lay, unsure of where it was supposed to go. Joyce appeared around the corner of what he assumes to be the kitchen before gasping at the mess he made.
“Ah, Will! Your shoes!” She exclaimed, taking peeks into several boxes before finding what she was searching for with the drop of her shoulders. Will stood back up and stepped onto the doormat, anxiously twiddling his fingers. Joyce throws a grey rag onto the closest brown shoe print and gets onto her knees to wipe it up. The slight strain of her limbs is visible from where Will is. He guiltily watched with a frown on his face as his last mark is picked up by the rag. “Sorry.” Will murmurs, not meeting Joyce's gaze.
“Oh, Honey.” She cooed in such a way it made him look up. She had a light smile on her face. The kind she unconsciously wore when cooking dinner or folding blankets. The kind of smile reserved for eyes meeting over a delicious dinner plate. The embodiment of home. “I’m not mad at you.” She assured. “Karen can be a bit of a clean freak. Even if we went to school together, I’m not sure if she would make exceptions for me after all these years.” She chuckled, lightening the mood in the air.
Joyce leaned forward, kissing his forehead. She stood up and ruffled his hair.
“Mom.” Will draws out, embarrassed, smoothing his bowl cut back into shape.
She turned around and took a hold of the bottom banister of the stairs. “Jonathan! Come help us unpack. I know you're not doing anything up there; all of your stuff is in the back of the truck. Come on!”
A muffled in a minute can be heard through the several walls. Will wonders which room is his up there. The house was gigantic from the outside, he can only imagine how spacious the bedrooms are. However big the rooms were, he doubted he’d fill the whole space up with everything from his old house. All he really brought with him other than his bed was his posters, cassettes, and drawing supplies. Which may include a few sketchbooks and various coloring tools. The clothes he had hadn't even come close to overflowing his closet.
The damp weather outside has told him repeatedly since he got here, You’re not in California anymore. All his shirts were short sleeves for the daily dry sun he experienced. He had maybe two pairs of pants thick enough for chilly weather- and no rain boots. He’d have to change his whole wardrobe just because of Joyce and Hopper's decision.
At least he had a new bedroom to look forward to.
His mom sighs at the staircase, defeated, and walks out to the truck.
Maybe he’ll come down if I try.
Will put his hand near his mouth to project his voice. “Jon,” He called, drawing out the name until there's no more air in his lungs.
He took a deep breath in, his head light for a moment. Waited for any kind of response. Footsteps. Words. Even a sigh would suffice.
Silence.
“Hm.” Will pouted.
His brother had been as happy about the move as Will was when they were told they'd be moving to the middle of nowhere, Indiana. But Will couldn't understand the older teens need to isolate himself. Back in California, they’d hangout almost everyday in Jon's room, listening to his tapes while Will sketched whatever his heart desired. He remembered an instance where Jonathan got a little concerned over one of his drawings.
Will bops his head to the beat of The Clash’s Rock the Casbah as he colors in the ogres pointed teeth. He lays on his stomach hunched over the sketchbook. The golden sunlight filters through the window, and Will basks like a cat in it. He picks up a grey pencil and shades the tooth more, giving the warped body part more life, like it's chewed through meat and bone. Jonathan leans back against the headboard and crooks his head to the side when he sees the paper.
“What’s that?” He wonders with his eyebrows drawn together.
Will glances up once and focuses back on the monster. “It's an Ogre. I want to make it look like he’s eaten Elves and Dwarfs, but I don't know how. I think they look pretty real, right?” He flips the drawing around, showing the grotesque humanoid creature to his brother. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open for a moment before he speaks again.
“Oh, wow. He is pretty freaky.” He says, getting a closer view. “Wait. Isn't Will the Wise an Elf?” Jon cocks his head. Will giggles and rests his chin on the top of the book. “An Ogre won't eat me.” He says surely.
“How do you know? Aren't you scared of it? I mean If I saw that I’d be running for my life.” His brother jokes.
“I’m not afraid at all.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve got magic.” Will replied with crinkled eyes.
Jonathan nods and stares at the drawing in thought.
“You know what?” He says suddenly.
“What?”
“Add a chipped tooth.”
Will can't fight the warmth in his chest at the memory. He misses those times with his brother. In the couple weeks leading up to the move, Jonathan had started to ignore him. Declining his requests to play Wizard Vs. Dragon. Where Will finds the most wand shaped stick he can find in the yard and Jon pretends to be a dragon terrorizing the City of Lenora. Flapping his arms out as wings while making the silliest sounds possible that somehow qualify as dragon roars in his mind. Will always ends up slaying the monster with his spells.
Fireball is always the final blow.
Not only had Jonathan not cared to indulge in his fantasy games, he had also replaced Will.
It happened while Will was flipping through a book of his drawings from Elementary School. Old landscapes and wizards cover slightly aged paper, barely any crinkles at all.
He had just turned the page when an unfamiliar smell reached his nose. He sat still for a moment, sniffing the air and scrunching his nose like a bunny.
It smelt so similar to a candle that Will almost let it be.
But his mom usually lit the candles out in the living room. And she hasn't gotten home from work yet. She would always tell him to never leave one unattended.
His curiosity got the best of him.
Will got to his feet and swung open his door.
The faint earthy scent grew in strength outside his room. Pine and musk with a nasty charred wood underneath.
He winced.
He peered down the hall, eyeing his brother's closed door. Hearing his voice in a soft tone, words illegible.
Will made his way in front of the door.
Jon would help. He always helps.
“Jonathan?” He knocked three times before turning the knob and stepping in.
The atmosphere in the room is dancing with multiple layers of smoke in the air. The beam of light coming through the closed window makes it feel almost alive. His brother is sitting propped against his pillows on his bed, bringing a– cigarette…? To his mouth. Next to him is a boy Will’s never seen. Sporting a red and white Hawaiian shirt and collarbone length hair. That's all Will gets to see when the culprit of the smell makes itself very known.
The smoke immediately launches outside the door to escape. Will throws a hand to his nose and coughs, his head feeling strange. Jonathan doesn't even seem to notice he's here. Keeping his gaze locked on a poster on the wall.
Jon's new friend finally turns in his direction. Eyebrows raising.
“Look!” Hawaiian shirt grips Jonathan's arm and shoulder as he shakes him around. His eyes move slowly across the room and land on Will. His friend laughed like he discovered a gold mine.
Will could feel a headache coming on.
“It's you! But young again. Dude, did we figure out how to clone?”
Will later found out his name was Argyle. Jon had made him swear to never tell Mom what he was doing. And it's not like Will had a clue what it was anyway. Jon had been more cautious after the incident, opening his window whenever he smoked. But it didn't stop the smell from lingering on his shirts and hair.
It sucked that Jonathan didn't want to be friends with his younger brother anymore.
Will couldn't come up with any good reason as to why Jon would distance himself from him. Maybe he missed his friends, but the only person Will had ever seen Jon hangout with at home was Argyle. It wasn't as if Will was enthusiastic to leave either. He might not have had many friends(Or maybe just one), but when it came to friendships, quality over quantity reigned. In California, Will was close with this red headed girl named Max. The way she dressed was so different from the other girls. Her tomboyish attitude and skateboard made her a target for the kids who had nothing better to do. Similar to Max, Will was a constant toy in the bullies' shenanigans. Getting tripped by a hidden outstretched foot in the hallways, hurtful notes shoved into his locker to find after class, rude comments about the way he…dressed and walked. Max had approached Will one day after he got shoulder checked and called a word that he didn't wanna think too much on. She had made the bully turn around and threatened to give him a black eye with her skateboard.
The kids in the hallways still considered them freaks. But it felt like something had been reclaimed when he met Max. How she was effortlessly herself and carried the term freak like it was something to be proud of.
Telling her the news was a challenge.
But he promised he would call and keep in touch. And he will.
And Will needed to speak to his brother more than anything. He would have no friends until school started and he could not go the rest of the summer radio silent.
At least he had a new room to put his D&D drawings up in. His limbs shook in anticipation, not able to stay still. He whipped around, running into his mom with a large lamp in her hands. The base slid from her fingers and hit the floor with a CLACK.
A shard of thick glass chipped off the bottom and clattered along the hard floor.
Will expected her to frantically pick up the piece. Or shoo him away, worrying about glass fibers that might somehow reach him.
But she doesn't do anything of the sort.
Joyce let out a long sigh and put her hands on her hips.
“Why don't you start bringing boxes upstairs?” She said with concealed annoyance.
“U–um okay.” Will nodded. Maybe it was best if he was out of the way for now.
She crouched, careful to not cut herself and gingerly placed the shard in the palm.
She walked to the kitchen, almost out of Will's line of sight before he remembered something.
“Oh, Mom,” He said quickly, catching her attention.
“Hm?”
“Which room is mine?”
“Um…” Joyce's free hand went to her hip again. Her head faced the wall like it might give her an answer. Her eyebrows furrowed and raised. “You can have the basement.” She finally replies, as if it was obvious.
“Basement?” Will parroted. His mind unhelpfully goes towards dusty, chilly and shadowed cellars. Ones where every species of spider has declared it their home. Visible rusty support beams and cracks in the ceiling that drip rainwater and spread across the floor like webs. But little did you know… The Spider King anticipated your arrival. The tiny hairs covering its ginormous body sensed you. The real reason why Karen's family isn't here is not because they went out for lunch, no, it was all a cover up. Upon hearing the all-powerful Will the Wise was moving into his territory, The Spider King captured the host family in a bulb of silk fibers so thick their cries for help couldn't be heard from upstairs. The evil arachnid clicks his fangs, awaiting the time where he will meet- and kill the Great Wizard. What he wasn't aware of in the moment, was Will the Wise knew of his–
“Karen told me the basement used to be a mini movie theatre, but then Mike 'grew out of movies’ so it just became storage. And you've got your own bathroom.” Joyce said as she rummaged through the bottom kitchen cabinets and dropped the shard of glass into the garbage can.
Will still stood on the doormat, rocking awkwardly on the balls of his feet.
The basement.
The complete and total absence of sunlight.
“Speaking of!” Joyce beamed as her eyes settled behind Will, a car pulled up the driveway, going out of view and settling in the carport before the engine was cut off. She bypasses him, avoiding the cracked lamp resting in the walkway, and he trails behind in her shadow.
“Oh Joyce!” A woman with wavy espresso- colored hair stepped out from the passenger side of the car and threw out her slim arms to pull his mom in for a tight hug. To the side, a man watched with quiet eyes and one palm fiddling with the keys in a case of extreme boredom.
And–oh.
Will caught movement from behind the car. A boy around his age came to stand next to his father, soft brown eyes meeting Wills.
Will must've been nervous to meet the Wheelers, his palms felt sweaty and his heart was beating too quick to be normal. The other boy had well groomed curls framed along his forehead, the color of a crow's feathers. The hair made his features on his pale skin stand out. Appearing sharper, even with the baby fat in his cheeks. He wore a striped blue, yellow, and grey collared shirt, probably from a name branded store, and cost more than double the one Will was wearing right now. It was a nice shirt.
Hopper came up, firmly shaking the dads hand and exchanged small talk.
Will's opinion on Hopper was so wavy, you could surf on it.
Three years ago, his mom had returned home from a school reunion looking like she’d won the lottery. From then on, she would stay on the phone late into the night, giggling as if she were a teenager speaking to a crush, twirling the cord and staring dreamily at the ceiling. Will could never be against his mothers happiness, especially since he still held in memory what his fathers booming voice sounded like bouncing off the walls around the same time of night. There was no spare thought in which he would rather have. Hopper was then introduced to Will and Jonathan that Thanksgiving break. He was the police chief of the town Joyce grew up in. A gruff man with a bit of an occasional attitude, but the love he had for Will's mom was his soft spot. Will could see the way his face softened when Joyce was in the room.
The example set for him was such a stark difference from Lonnie and Joyce's relationship, Will cried from it once.
And all Hopper did was compliment the drawing of his D&D character hung on the fridge.
None of Will's art stayed on the magnet when Lonnie was reaching for a can in an opened six pack.
Will was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't register the soft spoken voice leading him back to the present.
“ –Mike. You're Will, right?" The boy– presumably Mike introduced.
And Will performed the largest, most complicated act of self control and shifted his head away from the small patches of freckles littering Mike's nose and cheeks. A beautifully complex array of facial features right in front of him and he couldn't bring himself to risk a second glance. One was already enough to commit to memory, the damage had been done.
“Yeah, I'm Will Byers.”
I want to draw him.
∆∆∆
Despite how large the house had appeared from the outside, it still came as a surprise how much space hadn't been taken up as Will explored through the interior. The living room that could be viewed from the front door was only the first half of it, branching off into another layout of furniture and decor. With a very up to date television- was that the most recent model? playing a random channel Will paid no attention to. And a lay-Z boy recliner, which Ted had occupied no sooner than when the pleasantries ceased. His eyelids kept slowly inching down, his chin following suite. Will's socks padded without a creak on the smooth carpet as he passed by a closed-eyed Ted to approach the many photographs framed above the fireplace.
He started from one end and creeped down the lines of different points in time. A golden frame held a closeup of Mike, smiling right for the camera. It must've been recently taken, he didn't look any younger than he did now. Further down, were various baby pictures of who Will assumed to also be Mike. As the centerpiece, a photo of all three of the Wheelers looking posed and propped. Karen and Ted loomed behind Mike who stood in between them. Karen's hand came to rest naturally on his shoulder, it was the only inartificial move in the frame.
Will moved on to the older photos of Ted and Karen. Where the styling of their clothes was evident of the era it was taken in.
Will breezed by the frames, not taking a particular interest in them, though he admitted it was a bit strange to see Ted when he was younger. Maybe before the stress of raising a kid got to him.
Will took a sideways glance to the frames propped on the shelf, brow furrowing when he noticed two hidden behind a larger one, turned around facing the wall.
He shouldn't.
And then Will was fixing his eyes on Ted, who made no move to suddenly get up, breathing deep and slow. He briefly scanned the entrances, not waiting to hear footsteps before he lost his courage.
With a determined breath, Will was up on his tippy toes, reaching behind and grabbing ahold of the two frames. The glass made a quiet clink as he flipped them both over. Will didn't know what he was hoping to find, but in this case, his small bout of curiosity came back unrewarding. The first photograph was a close up shot of grass, someone's knees peeking into the top of the picture. The colors looked a bit washed out, like it was taken with older film. It wasn't an interesting shot at all. Will couldn't think of any reason why the Wheelers would keep and display a useless empty frame. Although display might not be the word for it. Maybe Jonathan would know, he was into photography. But then Will would have to admit that he was snooping around, and that's if his brother is willing to speak to him.
The other frame had the same aged look to it. But this time it had Karen and Ted with a young toddler sprouting black hair on his head. It was close to the same placement as the centerpiece, but the proportion was off. Karen sat on a stool next to Ted, their sides pressed together as she held onto Mike's hands in his lap. But it wasn't her that made the picture uneven, it was Ted with all the negative space ahead of him. His hands rested on air, like he had an invisible chair he gripped the back of. It was an uncomfortable photo. The photographer clearly had no idea how to pose people, no wonder these were hidden behind the others.
Will got back onto the tips of his toes and placed the frames where he found them. Ted was still sound asleep in his chair, the TV droning on illegibly.
Will had initially planned on exploring the kitchen next, but somehow he had ended up in front of a closed door. He had already found the bathroom on this floor, so this could only lead to one place.
The basement.
A strange tingling sensation settled in his limbs, urging him to finally get a look at his living quarter. Anticipation? Maybe.
He had just put his hand on the golden knob when a whisper cut through the white noise of the TV in the background.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Will's head followed the voice to his left.
Mike.
Will zipped his attention back to the tall slab of wood. “I’m gonna check out the basement.” He said simply. And Mike's face did something weird. His lips formed a tight line and his eyes crinkled before smoothing out into something casual. His fingers tapped a rhythm against his thigh absentmindedly. “You shouldn't… go down there.” He warned.
The Spider King is feared beyond just the inner walls of Hawkins.
Will's palm slips off the doorknob. “Is it dirty?”
“No.”
“Is there a bug infestation?”
“Ugh, no.” Mike sounded annoyed now.
“Is it creepy?”
“Listen,” Mike leaned close, looking behind him as if someone could be eavesdropping on them. “It's… I can't explain it, but I don't like it down there.”
Mike's seriousness on the subject doesn't transfer over to Will at all. And his relentless determination to keep him out of the basement catapults Will to a single conclusion.
“Are you afraid of it?” Will accused with a growing grin on his lips, bunny teeth peeking out. And Mike starts stuttering like there's no tomorrow. “No!” He finally manages to get out a little too loudly, wincing at the volume.
“You absolutely are.”
“I'm absolutely not.” Mike denied, brown eyes wide.
Will can't hold back the soft giggle that leaves his mouth. “Well? Is it dark and scary?”
A light pink blush rose on Mike's cheeks, perfectly visible against his pale skin, beautifully set behind the constellation of freckles. His gaze drops to Will's lips before he turns his head away, shy. “I used to watch movies downstairs every single night. But one day… I got this really bad feeling, like you're on a roller coaster waiting for the drop and it never comes. It was just that constant feeling. So I made excuses to my mom, anything to stay up here. I haven't gone down since.” Mike meets Will's eyes, a mountain of vulnerability inside. And something tells Will that he could be the first person Mike's told the actual truth to, whatever reason it might be.
“I’m sleeping in the basement.” Will blurted.
“What? You can't. Its–”
“No, Mike. I mean my room is gonna be set up downstairs.” He clarified. Mike's face somehow screws up even more. “No, no. There's no way in hell you're staying there.” He seems to ponder for a short moment. “You can sleep in my room.” Mike stated.
Will's eyebrows do some crazy dance around his forehead as blood rushes to his face. “W–wait. I–I don't know–” He stumbled.
“I have enough space.” Mike assured with a faint smile, though maybe he's also thinking out loud.
And Will can barely get over the fact that Mike brought up staying in the same room together. They haven't even known each other a day. They would wake up together, fall asleep together–
“I'm sure it's not that scary.” Will said, trying to reorganize his thoughts and sets his hand on the knob again, this time twisting. And it feels so right. Like this is exactly where he needs to be. Before he opens the door even a millimeter, Mike's arm shoots out, covering his over Will's and pushing it shut. Warmth blankets Will's arm, goosebumps rising from the difference in temperature. Will didn't even notice he was cold.
At the same second, the ear piercing sound of glass shattering startles the both of them, their hands flying apart and away from the door. Will glances at Mike, his heart beating a wild rhythm as Ted's voice booms from the living room.
“Heavens to Betsy!”
Will and Mike make the short distance to the living room, where crystals of glass litter the carpet. The front door has a broken window with spots of dark red dripping down the wood. And there, surrounded in a pile of bright blood staining and seeping into the plush fabric of the carpet, is a black feathered crow. Laying sideways on the ground, occasionally attempting to flap its wings, unaware it'll never fly again. Will gasps at the sight, his heart aching for the beautiful bird. Poor, poor thing.
“Ted! What was that–” Karen's strained voice is cut off by a gasp as she steps into the room, both her hands covering her mouth as she watches the crow roll back and forth, calling out in pain or in fear.
All eyes are on the hurt animal, transfixed.
The person to break them out of their trance is Ted stepping into the front row, assessing the damage.
“Oh, Jesus.” He muttered.
Karen seemed to come back to herself and notices the kids. “Oh, come on, you two shouldn't see this.” She said hastily as she sets a hand on both their backs and nudges them around the corner and forward to the staircase. “Go play in your room for now, alright?” She tells Mike. And as Will goes up every individual step, he can't help but feel like it was his fault.
∆∆∆
Instead of joining Mike in his bedroom, Will waved him off and knocked on what he thought was his mom and Hopper's closed door. There was no reply but he could hear the shuffling of a person on the other side, so he swung open the door. The only light source came from the window pouring in cloudy grey rays. At least half a dozen cardboard boxes are scattered along the floor, various belongings inside. A bedframe with a bare mattress sits in the farthest corner with pillows thrown on top with no care. Jonathan stands by the closet as he unfolded shirts from an open moving box and hung them on hangers, placing them on the horizontal rod. His attention snapped over to the creaking hinges, then his brother.
“Hi,” Will greeted unsurely. He wasn't a hundred percent sure if Jonathan would want to talk to him now. He hasn't said a word to him the whole drive here. It was disheartening to say the least. Will wanted him to apologize for the silent treatment. Apologize for the attitude and have them do activities together again. Will missed spending time with his brother more than anything else. They've been a team since before Will could even say words. And Will missed that. He missed his brother. Maybe now that they’re finally in the new house and getting settled, Jonathan's had a bunch of time to think over his actions and he’ll quit using those stinky cigarettes.
“This isn't your room.” He stated, resuming unpacking.
“I was looking for mom.”
“It's across the hall.” Jonathan turned his head back to Will when he makes no move to leave. “What? Do you need something?”
Will twiddled his fingers and then laces them together. “Can we play Wizard Vs. Dragon?” He asked hopefully.
The older teen gives him a side eye. “I’m busy.” He said obviously, gesturing to the items in his hand. “Aren't you supposed to be unpacking?”
Will visibly deflated from the answer. Yeah, he might have expected this outcome, but it doesn't hurt any less. Annoyance mixes with the months of being dismissed and it makes his chest ache. “Can’t you just play for ten minutes? Please?” He whined.
“No, now get out.”
“Please?” Will draws out the vowel.
“No!” Jonathan said, growing more irritated by the second.
“Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, ple–” His brother groaned and stood up, shooing Will out as he slammed the door in his face, the lock clicking. Will flinches and stares at the wood in shock. Jon's so mean. Irrefutably mean.
And Will has never felt so lonely.
Will's eyes burn as tears threaten to fall. He might not have been old enough to remember everything that Lonnie did, but in the silence, he remembered how loud he was. The sound of the screen door crashing shut, boots stomping on the floor. Will knows Jonathan is nothing like Lonnie. He knows he would never turn out that way, but it doesn't stop the memories from resurfacing. Will wiped whatever drops tracked down his cheeks and turns to his moms door. He walks in without knocking.
If Jonathan's room looked messy, this one just looks full. A half put together bedframe takes up almost the whole room, the mattress set against the wall. Two dressers and a nightstand take up whatever other space you had to walk. More packing boxes sit on top of the dressers and sit inside the empty frame as Hopper kneels on one knee, putting the pieces together. The sight is enough to distract Will from his previous tears. “Where's mom?” Hopper faced him as Joyce peeks her head out from the closet, surprised. Her hair pulled high into a bun on her scalp.
“Oh, hey honey. How’s it going? Better than us, right?” She shared a look of exasperation with Hopper, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Uh, I haven't been downstairs yet.” He admitted. Concern floods Joyce's features. “What have you been doing?” She wondered.
“Well… I–” Will gives another glance to the boxes, feeling guilty now that he realizes she's been working hard all day and he wants to play his stupid game. This must be what Jonathan was talking about.
But before Will can say anything else, he catches a small glint of purple fabric sticking out a box in a tight squeeze corner.
Will gasped animatedly, his chest swelling in anticipation. He can't believe he somehow forgot about the wizard costume his mom was sewing together for him. His limbs jitter and he jumps up and down to relieve the restlessness in them, his chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Mom! Did you finish my Will the Wise robe?” Before Joyce can even form a reply, he's already sucking his stomach in to get by the clutter. Reaching the box, Will yanks out a small bundle of deep purple material, way too little to be a whole cape yet.
“Ah, I haven't had the time to get around to it yet. I'm sorry Hon’.” Joyce apologized, pushing a heavy looking box across the carpet into the closet.
“But you said you'd have it done by today!” Will pouted. Staring dolefully at what is supposed to be his whimsical display of magic. “Can you work on it when you're done unpacking?”
Joyce shook her head solemnly. “I still have so much to do and I haven't run to apply for jobs yet.” She set another box out of the way and heaved the nightstand towards the wall with an effort.
Of course Will’s the one desperately begging for attention, he's barely assisted with any of the housework so far and everyone's got better things to do. Of course they haven't had the time to indulge in his silly childish games. They're adults. They put real life first and play pretend later. They don't believe in fairy tales and they certainly don't believe in the lies of a kid afraid of the basement.
Hopper gives her a look. “You're gonna pull something, I told you I should be lifting the heavy stuff, but you insisted.”
“Because I can lift it, see? A one woman job.” Joyce nods with her hands on her hips, a triumphant grin beaming at her boyfriend. Hopper huffs and returns to his work in response. She then scans around the room, peering behind the dressers and searching every corner of the room. She shook her head, her face pinched in confusion. “Hop, have you seen my lamp?”
Joyce and Hopper's voices fade away gently as Will gives them an Irish goodbye and makes his way down the hallway and down the stairs. Before he knows it, he’s staring up at the basement door once again and throwing open the door. The dark chasm below awaits him.
The Spider King–
No.
Will is stepping down the stairs like the normal kid he is. Leading him down. And down. And down.
Will immediately begins to look for a light switch, luckily finding one in front of the staircase.
Yellow beams flood the basement, and it's not a rusty, bug infested place at all. The carpet smells old and the air is stagnant and chillier than upstairs, but there's no monster hiding in the dark, nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact that this is now Will's designated bedroom. There's a couch with a complicated red and white design on every cushion and an arm chair across from it. Will can see his dresser from the old house placed behind it. Rugs of various colors line the floor like a toddler would cover up a cut with Band-Aids. Forgotten Knick knacks are stacked on top of each other against the wall. Records and books coated in a light layer of dust. With how old some of the random items seem to be, Will's surprised that the Wheelers have maintained even their storage so well, not a cobweb in sight.
Will easily found his way to the bathroom– the only door in the basement. He flipped the switch, earning a quickly annoying constant buzzing sound from the light. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, smoothing the hairs sticking up, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.
A sudden singular clock chime frightened him, sending his hands to his wildly pacing heart. The complete silence afterwards is even worse. Will couldn't remember seeing a clock placed anywhere, much less a standing one. He's sure he would have checked it out if he saw one.
Will peeked his head out the threshold, the basement still holding the same exact placement. His body started walking before his mind can catch up, scanning over all the junk and kitchen ware pushed to the wall.
And then he sees it.
In the shadows next to the couch you see when you take your last step downstairs is a jagged line that disappears behind it. Will gripped the arm of the furniture and yanks as hard as he physically can. The sofa legs catch and slide on the rough carpet, finally giving as Will gasped from the energy spent and sunk to his knees, ignoring the dust bunnies that hid and formed in the dark.
It reminded Will of the nasty scar on the top of Max's knee. The skin forcibly pulled back together to heal itself after an incident where her brother had dared her to go down a hill on her skateboard as fast as she could.
She was apparently doing great before the stick caught her wheel.
The scar on the wall was everything like a cut left on a human but this wasn't a human at all.
Will ran his thumb over the edge of it, feeling the individually healed paint skin and drywall.
It was ugly. No wonder the Wheelers hid the deformed face of the wall. Will raised to his feet and pushed the couch back into place and surveyed the basement one more time. No King Spider, no bad feeling. Just wood and fabric underneath the first floor.
Whatever had Mike so obviously freaked out was clearly a him thing. There was no way to see the basement as anything else other than a room. If he was scared of the dark, he could've just said so. Will may have teased him for it a little bit, but there was no shame in being fearful.
There's no such thing as bravery without fear.
Will's fought many beasts within the labyrinth of storylines woven into his mind, and it was easy, he'll admit. It was easy to face horrific villainous creatures when you knew deep inside that you weren't in any real peril. Being brave when you feel like you're in danger is the kind of trait Will would cherish if he had a fellow party member for D&D. But Mike lying to him for whatever reason irked him more than he wanted it to. It's not like they were friends…yet. Maybe there's not enough trust between them, they did just meet an hour ago.
Will took in a deep breath of smelly carpet air and blew out.
Time to unpack.
∆∆∆
Will was called upstairs for dinner quicker than he had liked to. He took his sweet time finding places for his belongings among the shelves and organized them accordingly. The sketchbooks on the left, following his drawing supplies as a border between the couple D&D books he had. Small decorative figures and trinkets lined the right side. Will was just figuring out if his striped tiger plush would look better with his knacks on the shelf, or on the couch.
His name is Yoda.
Will promised him that he'd be able to ride in the car for the drive, but ended up accidentally getting packed. Will felt bad for him.
Will might want to cuddle with the animal tonight.
And on the makeshift bed it goes.
Joyce and Hopper haven't gotten his mattress and bedframe out of the truck yet. They were so busy today that they probably wouldn't notice if Will disappeared. He would be just fine sleeping on the couch for the night.
The basement was almost starting to feel like home. Will’s favorite art and posters were stuck on the wall above the couch, displaying the wild colors and intricate pencil strokes he’d spent hours on. Will smiled to himself as he heard his mom yelling that dinner was ready. He hopped up each step and turned the corner, already smelling the flavorful aroma wafting through the home. The many lights lit up what the fading sun couldn't and Will paused for a moment in the threshold between the two dining rooms, stunned to find that everyone was gathered around the table and already had food on their plates. Water glasses for everyone–except Karen– with a wine glass that held Maroon liquid twirling inside as she circled the drink. He watched as Ted fed himself chicken and mashed potatoes at the end of the table. Joyce and Jonathan ate with their backs to Will, Hopper sitting opposite of Ted.
Mike sat silently nudging his food with his fork, eyes widening when they met Will's hazel ones. Mike nods in the direction of the basement, a silent question on his lips.
Will could almost believe he looked worried. He shrugged in response.
Karen finally caught him haunting in the entrance, finding an easy smile. “Will! Come join us, there's a chair for you right here.”
Her welcoming motherly energy seeps into his limbs and he effortlessly slides into his seat, between Hopper and Karen. Joyce continues eating without a word, eyes glazing over Will as she chews her food. Exhaustion coats her features, lingering sweat stuck to her scalp and dry eyelids drooping before focusing back to the meal. Hours of aching muscles and running errands have caught up to her. She looked ready to crash onto the first mattress she saw, Will couldn't blame her for not greeting her son joining them for dinner.
All of the guilt came pressing back onto Will's shoulders, making him sink into his chair. Joyce had so much to worry about with the big move– and Will pestered her about his trivial costume and whined like a child who didn't get their way. He had tracked mud onto the cleanest floors he'd ever seen in his twelve years of life like a kid raised in a barn. And he broke his mom's lamp by getting in her way like the nuisance he was.
Karen placed a piece of seasoned chicken onto his plate– along with mashed potatoes that hit the porcelain with a chunky plop. He didn't have the heart to tell her he hated the texture of mashed potatoes. It's always been a strange thing about him– disliking the way certain foods felt on his tongue. Some soft and slimy that made him gag immediately. Some mushy that melted in his mouth and should've tasted delectable, but his mind had different plans.
Will made an effort to eat most of the chicken. Though the shame from earlier sat heavy in his stomach. A weight that made his throat swallowing a difficult task. It didn't stop him from still trying to continue. It would be rude to quit now. Will forked the pieces and mindlessly chewed, the feeling worsening as time went on.
At some point, with a quarter of chicken left, he relented, setting down the fork. It was enough that no one would question it.
“Thank you Mrs. Wheeler, the food was delicious.” Will commented.
“Oh, you're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it, it's not often I get to cook for other people.” Karen said as she finished her wine.
Will stood up from his chair, pushing it under the table. “Mom, I'm gonna go downstairs for the night.”
Joyce kept eating her meal, unbothered.
“Mom,” He repeated.
She looked up this time, but not toward Will at first. Her head turned to Jonathan, who's taking a sip of water, then around the room, and finally to Will. “What, honey?”
“I'll be in my room.” He settled for.
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
Will caught Mike's eyes watching him as he turned the corner, eyebrows bunched together. He doesn't see the rest of his face to figure out the whole expression.
∆∆∆
Will took out pajamas from his dresser that he had put away earlier in the day. It was a weird thing to get used to. The entire basement was his playground. It would probably be like having a sleepover everyday– minus the friends part. He could watch movies down here. Listen to tapes however loud he wishes. It was a completely different world from the one he grew up in.
Will went to the bathroom– his bathroom to change, bringing his stuffed tiger along.
“Are you liking it here?” Will asks Yoda, setting him on the toilet seat.
Well you had me sitting in a box for days and days. I'm not sure I want to talk to you.
“What? Not you too, come on. We need each other.” Will said, changing to his sleeping clothes. A plain blue short sleeve and a darker pair of sweatpants.
I suppose that's true.
“You know it is.” Will supplied with a smile, picking Yoda up with two hands and holding him out like a baby.
“You protect me, I protect you. We promised.”
Did you protect me while I was stuck in the box?
Will faltered. “I– We were in different cars. I couldn't–”
A deafening singular clock chime rings out through the walls. Will jumps and brings Yoda close to his chest, staring at the closed bathroom door. His heart pounding so hard in his chest, he might be able to hear it.
There is no clock downstairs.
Will wearily took the handle, gripping Yoda in his other hand. The door opened and Will can see a red flare casting its form on the walls. Thank God Will left the light on while he changed. The two shades contrast against each other, causing double shadows on everything in distance. Will takes slow steps forward, gaining a better look at the culprit of the red glow.
The same scar on the wall that hid behind the couch was now torn open like a wound. Like the fresh slash of a knee crashing into pavement. Broken skin and blood tissue ripped and forced apart. It was about the same size as Will when he was crouched down on the floor. The entire cut was coated in a shiny substance, not dissimilar to the plasma that leaks out of crushed blood cells, rushing to deliver the proteins essential to heal. Something black and ashy outlined the whole cut.
Will set the stuffed tiger on the couch and pushed it away from the wall with a heave. He sank to his knees and stared in a trance, transfixed at the sight. He watched as shades of burnt orange and dead fallen leaves danced on the wall.
Will doesn't know what possesses him to reach his hand forward. Fingers gliding over the slimy material. He breaks through a layer of it, the evidence sticking to his palm uncomfortably like walking into a spider web. Will realizes that there must be various layers to get through. He pushes his palm as far as it can go on his knees, snapping the jelly and he's still not all the way done. Will takes a steadying breath and crawls forward on his hands and knees, hair taking the most of the slime as he moves, closing his eyes to avoid an incident. Does he want to know what the gel is?
Will cringed as his knees are soaked and fingers squelch in bubbly clear liquid. His scalp is doused in whatever the thin layers are made out of. It seems to go on forever. The icky textures really started to make him lose his mind. He makes a sound in disgust and his head reaches warm air.
Hands and knees hit carpet and Will's eyes fly open.
The basement gives him no acknowledgement.
“What?” He muttered to himself. He's exactly where he was before he went through the strange opening in the wall. The couch pulled to the side, the lights still on. Will rises to his feet and to his surprise– any trace of the spit-like substance has somehow disappeared. His sweatpants are dry and his bowl cut is neatly brushed. He gives a glance to the hole he came out of, and it finally hits him.
It's a magical portal.
Sure, it's not surrounded by sacred stone or formed by a century old wizard(Though, how is Will to know?), but the colorful patterns allude to extremely powerful magic being involved. And Oh my God he found a portal in the basement.
He has to tell Jonathan about this.
Will runs up the steps and opens the door. “Jon!” He calls, elated, rounding the corner to the kitchen, then the dining room.
But it's completely empty.
All that's left on the table are the decorative placemats. The chairs are pushed in and everything's been cleaned up. There's no way Will was gone long enough for everyone to return to their independent activities. He knew Karen liked her house clean, but unless she was the world's fastest dish washer– which Will doubted– it couldn't have happened so quickly.
That's when he heard it– a soft humming reaching Will's ears from the living room. A gentle tune he was unfamiliar with echoing out to him. The voice, though, he was very attuned to. Will breezed past the front door as he chased the sound.
His mother sat on the couch with bundles of purple and silver stars scattered over the cushions. Her hair fell into her face as she kept her head focused on the task at hand. Her musical rhythm went into a melody, one she clearly had memorized and wasn't just a mindless song. Joyce's fingers worked the needle through the fabric with haste and precision, practicing a long forgotten term. Her humming increased in volume, but the cadence of the rhythm stayed relaxing. It reminded Will of the times when she would sing him to sleep. Her tranquilizing voice would expel any energy left in his body and mind. Calming only in the way a mothers voice would soothe her child.
Joyce continued the lullaby as she mechanically sewed into the material.
“Mom?”
The humming abruptly ceased.
She raised her head to Wills and showed her teeth with a warm smile.
His brain short circuited when he saw the whites of her eyes. Literally.
His mothers iris and pupil were glossed a cloudy grey, glazed over like a murky cup of water for dirty paint brushes. His breath hitched as she met his hazel gaze, unwavering.
“I’ve been waiting for you, honey.”