Chapter Text
There was a hand, but not a hand holding him still.
He felt the weight before the ropes, the damp, slimy veins around and on his skin. A thousand small cords threading over his body, pressing him down until he couldn’t tell where the tips of his fingers and his arms were supposed to start and end. He tried to move them; perhaps the cruelest thing was that he could feel his muscles answering him. But nothing shifted. Something else decided where his limbs belonged, and it was not him.
There was darkness around him that was not quite dark.
It was the color of the inside of his eyelids when he pressed them too hard while he waited for Mike, Lucas, and Dustin to hide. It was the kind of darkness that came when he shut his eyes because he could still see the way Lonnie threw punches at Jonathan from the cracks of the cabinet doors. It was the kind of dark that left a reddish-black that hinted at shapes and never actually gave them.
It was just a dream, Will tried to think. Just a dream, he repeated as the thought slid away.
But dreams didn’t have texture and taste like this. In dreams, he shouldn't be able to feel the way these veins slid across his torso, leaving slick on every inch they glided over that clung as they passed. Soft and spongy like rot-water moss, yet pulsing faintly beneath his fingertips, as if it was all connected to a heart beating somewhere.
Dreams didn’t taste bitter and heavy as they sat underneath his sternum. The inhales he took weren’t supposed to taste wrong, greeting his tongue with a metallic prickle. That faint tang of old pennies and fresh wounds clung to his teeth, his throat, and the back of his mouth. Each of his breath was heavier than the last. He shouldn’t feel the way the atmosphere thickened in his dreams.
The pressure tightened. Growing vicious, enough to make inhaling feel like pushing through wet sand. He opened his mouth to drag air in—
Something was already there.
It was inside him, he realized with a gnawing terror. Lodged in his throat. A blunt, impossible weight pressing behind his tongue, thick and cold and so, so wrong. His esophagus convulsed around it; it swelled, gagged, and swallowed again. Deeper it sank the more he tried to clear it.
Tears welled up in Will’s eyes. Hot tears spilling from the corners. He’d choke. He knew that. He’d choke, and his lungs would burn, and his chest would constrict and seize, and there would be hands too rough, too tight on his shoulders, a voice too deep, too hoarse telling him to stop making a fuss, and–
No, it couldn’t be. He’s gone. Mom kicked him out years ago. He’s not here, not here, he’s not–
A wave of sobs racked him as it cracked his ribs. The thing inside Will shoved downward, slow and relentless. It crawled from the back of his mouth to the narrow, unyielding tunnel of his throat. Will could feel the bumpy veins scraping his insides in a way no object ever should, in a way nothing human ever could.
He tried to make a sound louder than his pathetic muffled sobs. A cry, a shout, but there was no air attached, just a dry click of cartilage and useless muscle. It filled the passage of his neck, taking with it every heave and every bit of air Will so desperately needed to keep.
The cords tightened further around his chest, his arms, his hips. No longer fighting him now that Will had no strength to fight with. Instead the weight restrained him almost kindly, too gentle in a way that reminded Will of someone trying to pin down a flailing child so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves.
Will screamed into the silence.
That was when the hand came.
His lungs were rattling against his ribs so hard that he almost missed the way a thumb brushed its pad onto his cheekbone lightly, like his mother clearing away a smudge. Its short, blunt nail scraped against his skin. The skin underneath was cold, but not dead. It was the kind of cold that came from someone who’d been standing in the eye of a snowstorm long enough that they nearly succumbed to it. The thumb stroked down once, then back up, slow and unhurried like they had all the time in the world.
For what? To do what? To take him? To keep him again? Until he could no longer feel anything but pain? Until he could no longer be anything and cease to exist?
Agonizing memories that he’d tried so hard to bury under the moving boxes and new house and the comforting smell of his mom’s unburnt cigarettes surged in a rush of terror and shame.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
He was gone. There shouldn’t be any hands on Will anymore.
But the thumb still lingered beneath Will’s eye. Then fingers joined it, cupping his jaw so gently it felt mocking. The touch turned his stomach inside out. It was wrong in every way at once. Wrong that it was soft. Wrong that it was careful. Wrong that it knew exactly how to hold him still without leaving visible bruises.
He wanted it to hurt instead. Pain would have made more sense. Pain would’ve been seen.
A voice came with the hand.
So soft, it crawled along the inside of his skull. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence like someone murmuring into a lover’s hair as he’d watched in those movies Mom liked. But Will couldn’t make out most of it. The consonants blurred, the vowels stretched. All he caught was the shape of his name.
“William.”
His whole body recoiled, but the veins didn’t allow it. The thing in his throat sank a little deeper.
And then a second word. Clear. Careful. And so terrifying.
“Beautiful.”
“So, beautiful.”
Will’s skin crawled so violently he thought it might tear away from his bones.
He had hated that word once. For years, he had hated it on instinct, because boys weren’t supposed to be ‘beautiful,’ not in the way his mother’s magazines used it. Pretty girls, lithe women, actresses in shimmering dresses, they were beautiful. Boys were something else. Strong. Tough. Handsome, maybe, if they were lucky and older and not him.
Then Joyce had used it. One bad day, one worse night, when he’d come home with skinned palms and a ripped drawing and eyes like open wounds. She’d cleaned every bleeding scratch, combed every disheveled strand of hair, bathed him and put him back into the soft pajamas she’d bought first thing when she received her pay that month.
“My baby,” her voice croaked as her soft gaze landed on his, her beautiful brown eyes hidden by a glass of unshed tears. “You’re so, so beautiful, Will. The most beautiful a person could ever be.”
Will had stopped hating hearing the word then. It felt good for the first time hearing it. A sweet compliment instead of a jeer. Will had felt being seen and protected and loved, all wrapped into the same four syllables. He let himself belong to the word, and the word belonged to him. That it had been carved for someone like Will too.
This version of it did not belong to him. It didn’t belong to anyone.
The hand on his cheek tightened almost imperceptibly at the end of the word. It poured out from the speaker’s mouth like a gluttonous man savoring his undeserving meal.
Something slid the last inches down Will’s throat.
His chest convulsed. The cords didn’t loosen. His lungs clawed at nothing. Panic burned white-hot behind his eyes. He tried to force air in through his nose, his mouth, anywhere, but there was nowhere left. The world shrank down to the scrape in his throat, the hand on his face, the word echoing between his ears.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Men shouldn’t be called beautiful. Voices rang. No man should be called one, unless he is fa–
Will wished for death. Come, come, come. Pick me up, take me away, come.
The darkness around him contracted, and maybe this was a dream. Because for the first time Will’s prayer was answered, and his vision— whatever counted for vision in this endless void of darkness— narrowed. It funneled into a single trembling point, the thuds matching his heartbeat, fast, frantic, and slower, and—
Will woke up without a sound.
The room he woke up to hummed from the heater. He blinked, once, twice, trying to adjust his vision to his surroundings. Air rushed into his lungs, harsh and dry, but real. Real as he heaved. In and out. Hands clutching onto the rough weave of the blanket tangled around his legs. He gasped as he wriggled out, relief washed over him once he realized he’s not entrapped.
Will’s chest rose and deflated taking the smell of the musty carpet and detergent in the Wheelers’ basement. The string lights along the ceiling were off, but a faint wash of grey from the moonlight crept in through the tiny window near the ceiling.
He ran his hands through his legs, hips, belly, chest and neck, checking for the veins, for the hands, and found none but his own.
Will let out a shuddering cry, as he took in the sight of himself sitting on the pull-out mattress in Mike’s basement. He could breathe, he could see. Nothing around him, inside him. He’s not in the Upside Down. He’s not in his old house. He’s in Mike’s house. He’s safe. Safe.
But his heart didn’t care to pay heed to his rationale. It was still hammering so hard against his ribs, still trying to punch its way free. Will glared at the underside of the stairs. Hands still clutching on the collar of his sweater. No veins, no hands but his own. He could move his fingers, nothing. No one’s touching him.
It was a dream, but it felt too real. He could still feel it in him. The phantom scrape, the feeling of the intrusion. He coughed and his throat was raw like he’d been screaming, but he couldn’t have been. Otherwise people would’ve come down, shaking him awake.
Or maybe they just didn’t care. Will bit back a sob, swallowing carefully, and the motion made his stomach turn, a lump rose to his throat.
It was just a dream. His brain replaying old fears in new disguises. Nothing else.
Will rolled onto his side slowly, and was met with an empty mattress across him. Jonathan was upstairs in Nancy’s room. He’d heard the muffled laughter through the floorboards earlier that night, then the hushed whispers, before it turned to deafening stillness. And then the squelch of the vines–
No.
Will gritted his teeth, standing, arms hugging himself against the cold night breeze. So childishly he wished that his mom was here with him in the basement. What Will wouldn’t give to be hugged by her to sleep, to hear her soothing voice and calming scent.
But Joyce was at the cabin with Hopper and El. She’d said she had to help Hopper train El as she prepared for the inevitable battle against Vecna. Will wanted so badly to stop her, arguing that she could still help with the training without having to sleep there. But Hopper had stopped being the Chief who just happened to be Joyce’s friend.
Hopper was his mom’s boyfriend now, and they shared a child. El was his mother’s daughter just as much as he was her son. It was El’s turn. Superheroes need parents, too.
They definitely needed them more than someone like Will. At least tonight Joyce wouldn’t have to be woken up by a crying teenager begging to be held by his mom like he was eight years old again. El would never make their mother worry the way Will constantly did.
Another rattling breath, and Will pushed himself upright. His muscles trembled with leftover adrenaline. The air felt too still down here, the ceiling too long. The mattress sagged beneath him as though trying to pull him back down. He needed water. He needed light. He needed a room that didn’t remember every nightmare he’d ever had.
He climbed the stairs slowly, one hand sliding along the rail. Each step creaked in a familiar, comforting way. This house had its own sounds, and Will had grown into them over the past year living here since he returned from Lenora. The scent of Karen’s detergent was oddly grounding to him.
Upstairs, the kitchen sat in darkness except for the faint blush of dawn seeping through the window above the sink. Remnants of last night’s dinner clung to the air, pushing aside the clean-laundry scent drifting up from the washing machine in the basement. The clock beside the staircase glowed an unhelpful 3-minus-something. It was too early for anyone else to be up.
Will filled a glass from the tap and watched the water catch that pale light. His hands shook as the rim brushed his lips. The ache in his throat lingered, and Will made a stupid wish that the water would soothe it before he drank in heavy gulps.
It hit his stomach like a stone. He braced both hands on the counter and stared at the sink, waiting for his breathing to even out.
The night was too quiet and Will did not want to return to the same place that had brought him this feeling just minutes ago.
You could go to him.
The thought slithered in without permission. Mike’s room upstairs would be warm and cluttered, the corners filled with his deep, uneven snores. Rougher than the hum of the heater, but alive. Proof of life. Chest rising, falling. Mike would be asleep, hair sticking out in a hundred directions, blanket kicked off because he never stayed still, no matter how soundly he slept.
Will could knock. Mike would answer, bleary-eyed, the same way he had countless times in the past year when Will told Jonathan it was fine to spend the night in Nancy’s room whenever their mom was gone. Plenty of times Will had woken him up in the middle of the night and not one single complaint was uttered from his best friend’s mouth.
Will could knock. He could say, I had a nightmare that was more than a nightmare. He could say, It was so real I can still feel him in my throat. He could confess, I can’t breathe in the basement, it’s too still, I miss how you’re never quiet even when you’re asleep. He could plead, I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t let me be alone.
Or he could say nothing at all, and just curl up against Mike’s door and let those snores lull him back to sleep like a promise that the monster’s gone and Mike’s here. He’s here.
He almost moved. His weight shifted, his hands leaving the sink.
But a single bird outside chirped, and suddenly he was back at the cabin. Back to the smell of pine and smoke. Back to Hopper’s low rumbling in the other room, fussing over Mike and El behind closed doors while Joyce fussed over Hopper’s fussing.
Will had sat at the kitchen table with Holly’s borrowed crayon, sketching like a restless child. Each drag across the paper grew rougher the louder Mike and El’s voices drifted from the crack in her door.
He almost welcomed the ache when he watched them walk out together, Mike’s fingers loosely tangled with El’s. Will’s smile was wide, trained, perfectly genuine when El slipped an arm around him in greeting. Shame crawled up the back of his neck and wrapped tight around his chest. How selfish was he, to feel jealous that his sister finally had time with her boyfriend—their one full day together in a month—while Will had spent every waking moment with Mike? Living in his house. Eating at his table. Sleeping in his room.
He couldn’t go into Mike’s room tonight. Not again. Not when this familiarity, this comfort, kept tricking him into wanting more. He had leaned too far into the closeness Mike offered so freely. Let it consume him. Let it fool his stupid, hopeful heart into believing he had some unspoken claim on Mike’s time.
He couldn’t walk to Mike’s door and take advantage of Mike’s kindness again.
The glass in Will’s hand clinked too loudly against the counter. The sound felt sharp in the stillness. He stood there for a moment, fingers stiff around the rim, telling himself he wasn’t going back downstairs yet. Not to that room. Not to that dark.
He turned toward the living room, searching for something to do– anything that didn’t involve being alone with himself. The La-Z-Boy sat empty now, its old leather sagging as though it longed for its loyal occupant. Will hovered, tempted, imagining how warm the seat would be if he let himself fall into it. He didn’t. The image of Mr. Wheeler catching him there made his stomach tighten, so he drifted toward the bookshelf instead.
He reached for a book that looked older than Mike’s grandma with its spine creased like her skin. But the page never met his fingers, because movement on the porch pulled his eyes sideways.
Holly sat outside like a little ghost someone had forgotten to bring in. Knees tucked to her chest, hair catching the porch light in a pale shimmer. The bulb above her flickering faintly, illuminating her as she whispered down into her lap.
For a second, Will thought it was a kitten. It would’ve been just like her to smuggle one in despite her own dad being allergic to it. And to be quite honest, the long, hanging wait before the end of the world was such an agonizing boredom that Will would not be above offering her help to raise one.
He slid the door open an inch, “Hey,” he whispered. “Um… what’re you doing? You got something there?”
Holly turned slowly, hands empty. Her smile came late as she blinked up at him.
Will’s breath stalled. “I thought you had a kitten,”
“I can’t have kittens.”
“Right. Yeah.” He stared at the blank spot in her lap. “Just… thought I saw you petting something.”
She didn’t answer. Shrugging, returning her eyes back onto the backyard.
“What’re you doing out here?” he tried again, stepping onto the porch. The boards were freezing under his socks. “It’s cold.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Something in his chest pulled tight. “Nightmare?”
Holly nodded, chin dipping once.
Will sat beside her, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.” She mimicked his posture, knees up, arms wrapped around them. “Do you have nightmares too?”
“Yes,” the honesty slipped out of him too easily.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Will’s let out a soft breath that caught in a laugh.
“No.”
Holly just hummed, and rested her chin on her knees. Will watched the way she stayed tense and tiny, and realized that this was the first he ever saw her like this. Staring into the shadows in between the lines of trees that bordered the outskirts of the woods of Hawkins. He wondered when she’d stopped going to Karen or Ted for comfort. When she’d started doing what he did. Facing fear alone in the quiet.
“You’re not supposed to be out here by yourself,” he murmured. “Your mom would freak out.”
Holly wrinkled her nose. “You’re not supposed to be either.”
He huffed. “Okay. Fair.”
They lingered for a moment, both awake when they shouldn’t be, both trying not to shiver. Then she leaned into him, small and warm, and so trusting. The knot in his chest loosened in a way that made him feel stupidly close to crying.
“Wanna draw?” she asked suddenly, tilting her face up to him.
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
He thought about telling her to go to bed. He thought about all the sensible things an older kid should say, all the rules Karen would expect him to enforce. But there was something in her voice– something he recognized too well.
“Okay,” he murmured. “But inside. It’s freezing.”
Back in the living room, the house felt different with the lights low and someone else awake. It felt so silly that Will was the one who’s comforted with Holly’s presence. But he’s never been one who’s brave, anyway.
So Will then gathered blankets and pillows, making a soft island in the middle of the carpet. Holly spilled out her art supplies beside him, the half-used markers, stubby pencils, scraps of paper she’d carried around the house for months. She lay on her stomach like she’d done every night after dinner when she didn’t have any homework, feet swinging lazily behind her.
Will sat cross-legged, sketchbook balanced on his knees. He started with a knight. Simple lines, easy shape, armor with a heart stamped on the chestplate because Holly liked symbols she could name (nothing else, but that reason alone). Beside the knight he drew a cleric, cloak pulled in close underneath blonde pigtails, and a tiny wooden lantern charm tied at the wrist for her holy focus.
Holly scooted closer, hair brushing his arm. “That’s me, right?”
Will shrugged lightly. “Mike said you wanted to play a cleric.”
“I do.” She pointed to the lantern. “’Cause you’re one too.”
He stilled, the pencil hovering in the air. “…You wanna be one because of me?”
She nodded like it was obvious. “You help people. You don’t get mad. You always know what to do.”
The words hit somewhere deep and sore and unprepared. He swallowed, but the feeling didn’t go away. He opened his arm and she leaned in without hesitation, pressing her cheek to his shirt. She was so warm. He was always so cold.
Then she tugged at the page. “Draw you too. I’m not going on adventures with just me and Mike. That’d be so boring”
He snorted.
“You have to be there,” she repeated, cheeks puffing.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, following her command. Just a small cleric beside her larger one. Will’s lantern focus a little dimmer, a little crooked. When that felt too vulnerable, he added a kobold at their feet, its spear too big for its tiny lizard hands. Mike stood in front of them with a shield, the eternal protector whether he was right or not.
When Will handed the drawing to Holly, she marveled at it with her big eyes, before clutching it onto her chest like a blanket.
She lasted maybe five minutes before her head drooped, hair spilling over her cheek. Her pencil slid from her fingers and thumped onto the blanket. Will caught it on instinct. When he looked back, she was asleep on her folded arms, breath soft against the paper.
He should take her upstairs. That’s what a responsible person would do.
Instead, he shifted, letting her rest her head against his shoulder.
The house around them breathed its own tired breath. The refrigerator humming somewhere in the dark, old pipes sighing in the walls. Dawn still hours away. Everything quiet in that way a house gets when everyone is asleep except the ones who can’t be.
Will leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyelids heavy.
Just for a minute, he told himself.
And for once, sleep didn’t reach for him with cold hands.
-
There was a hand touching him.
Gentle, as it wrapped around his arms. Soft, as it shook him. Pulling him back to his surrounding, hazy and pale wash from the morning sunlight covering the Wheeler living room through the half-closed curtains.
“Will?”
A voice called out. Gentle, and soft to his ears. There’s a weariness to it.
“Will, honey, wake up.” The voice repeated, and he did not hate the way she said his name.
The hand shook him again. Will stirred in his place, his neck ached, his back protested the angle he’d ended up in. His hand was numb where it had been trapped under something small and warm.
“Holly?” He called to the weight resting on his side, “You need to move, I can’t feel my arm.” He mumbled, forcing his gritty eyes open only to find Karen Wheeler standing a foot before them, hair pulled up in a loose knot and apron tied over her clothes.
Holly, who was still slumped against him, groaned, lifting her head as her mother went and helped her up. Karen ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, examining every inch of her face. “What are you doing out here, Hols?”
Will was now fully awakened when he realized the mess surrounding them. Drawings and markers scattered everywhere, unused paper overlapping on the coffee table and floor. He straightened up. “Sorry, Mrs. Wheeler.” he said, “We, um… we couldn’t sleep.”
Karen’s features softened fully at that, “Oh, and she dragged you into this, did she?” she hummed, pulling Holly into her chest, “Feels like I should be the one to apologize on her behalf.”
“It’s nothing really,” Will interjected, “I also didn’t want to go back down.”
Karen stared at him before looking down at her child. She seemed as if she wanted to tell him something but stopped and gave him a smile instead, “Well, then I’m glad that you were here to keep her company. Now, Holly, why don’t you go upstairs and rest a bit more while I make breakfast, hmm?”
The girl nodded, shuffling her way against the layers of blanket before climbing upstairs. Karen watched her go and turned to Will. “You want to help me start breakfast?”
“Sure,” he said, “I just need a couple minutes to tidy the room and freshen up.”
Karen nodded and slipped back toward the kitchen. The house was still waking. Pipes murmuring in the walls, Holly’s quiet footsteps somewhere upstairs, the faint scrape of Karen opening the fridge. Will gathered the blankets, smoothed the cushions, and rinsed the sleep from his face, letting the cool water steady him. By the time he headed for the kitchen, the pale morning light had lifted enough to give the house a gentler shape.
Will moved without thinking, muscle memory guiding him to the cupboard where the pans were, the drawer with the spatulas, the fridge with its stumbling light. Karen filled the kettle. He cracked eggs into a bowl, the shells making small, clean sounds as they broke; whisked them with a fork; poured them into the pan once it was hot enough to hiss.
“Thank you,” Karen said after a moment, leaning against the counter, watching him. “You’re always so helpful. Honestly, you’re nicer to me than my own kids most days.”
Will felt his cheeks burn. “I-it’s nothing, Mrs. Wheeler. It’s the least I could do. After everything you’ve offered us, I mean–”
Karen laughed. “It is well appreciated, Will.” Then she turned fully to him, hand on her hip. “But I hope your mother knows how lucky she is to have a boy who actually knows how to pick up after himself and others. Honestly, Michael should’ve learned a lot from you by now.”
“He does,” Will said instinctively, remembering all the times Mike fussed over the trash and the outgrown grass, and how he’d made Will sit on the lawn to yap about whatever as he tidied up his house’s backyard. “He just didn’t want you to see.”
She raised an eyebrow,“When did he start thinking that not caring is cool?” Then she shook her head, muttering, “Teenagers, I swear.”
Will returned the laugh, and for a moment the kitchen felt like a good dream. Just him and Karen and the crackle of eggs and bacon in the pan, the impending thud of Holly’s feet on the stairs. He could pretend that there were no monsters hiding, no world ending. Everything was so beautifully ordinary.
Then the word from his dream fluttered at the edge of his thoughts.
Beautiful.
He tightened his grip on the spatula. The pan sizzled. Karen turned away to rummage in a cupboard, humming under her breath.
Will watched the eggs set and tried not to remember the way that same word had sounded in someone else’s mouth. How wrong it had sounded. How terrifying.
Holly barreled back to the kitchen, fully awake and hungry this time. Will forced a smile, took a plate from the cupboard and gave her the omelette. More plates clinked dully on the table. Ted Wheeler came in and pressed a peck on his youngest’s forehead and his wife’s. He waited for her to make him his coffee, his eyes tethered to the newspaper. And then it was breakfast time.
Soon Jonathan and Nancy appeared. They were already dressed and ready for the day, adventuring to some place Will was pretty sure he’d be prohibited from joining them in. Because it didn’t matter if the world was ending, Algebra was still important for him to learn firsthand this week. Mike trailed behind them, equally dressed but somehow still half-awake and blinking too fast.
They all took their seats and began eating, all peaceful and calm until Karen asked rather pointedly to Jonathan, “Hope you didn’t miss your brother too much last night, I found him asleep in front of the TV with Holly drawing themselves to sleep.”
All heads, except for Ted and Holly, turned to Will.
“Did you—” Jonathan stopped himself, probably realizing that the wrong question asked would indicate to the Wheelers that he had been sleeping in their daughter’s room for the past month. “I mean, yes, I’m sorry, I guess I was too knocked out to notice”
“It’s okay,” Will said, shoving the eggs into his mouth, avoiding his brother’s eyes. Which was a bad move since now he was meeting Nancy’s.
“You look exhausted,” she observed, her stare piercing as if she were trying to read more than what Will gave her. “Bad dreams again?”
Will shifted on his seat. “It’s nothing. Just… just a dream.”
Nancy kept her eyes on him until Mike nudged Will in the side.
“You should’ve come to my room,” he said quietly, “if you couldn’t sleep.”
Will’s throat closed. Heat crept up his neck so fast he ducked his head to hide it. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
Mike scoffed under his breath. “You never bother me.”
Will swallowed, forcing the warmth in his face down, shoving it into the same corner where he kept all the things he wasn’t supposed to want.
“It’s fine, really,” he mumbled to his plate. “Besides, Holly and I had fun drawing late.”
Mike had raised his brows at Holly in that faux-disapproving way Will thought made him look like an adult. Holly, unbothered and ten, stuck her tongue out at her brother. “We were drawing,” she declared, chin tilted high, “and you weren’t invited.”
Karen had already drifted back to the counter, buttering toast when her voice entered the conversation sideways. “So where is Joyce again, Jonathan?”
Will’s brother froze, gulping on his orange juice before smoothly answering, “She's out of town sorting some things with a relative.”
“Oh,” Karen hummed thoughtfully, “and when will she be back?”
“Tomorrow, I think. For Will’s birthday.”
He wished Jonathan wouldn’t bring it up. Wished he wouldn’t drop the word birthday into the air like it was harmless, like last year hadn’t been a slow-motion car crash only Will seemed to notice. No one remembered. Not even until the night was over. It was so bad that Will was now hoping no one would remember his birthday ever again if it only ended up with them not caring about it.
Karen, unfortunately, was the opposite. “Well, that’s something to celebrate,” she said brightly to Will. “We’ll have a little dinner for you, okay?”
Will went red so fast he felt it in his ears.
“You really don’t have to,” he mumbled. “You’ve done so much already.”
Ted hummed from behind his newspaper, clearly agreeing that their generosity to the Byers had passed beyond what’s normal. Mike shot him a sharp glare, and Karen rolled her eyes.
She turned back to Will, patting his shoulders. “Nonsense. I’m glad you’re here, Will. Besides, none of my children help me in the kitchen like you do.”
She flicked a mock-accusing look toward Mike and Nancy, but her eyes were staring pointedly at Ted, who just dismissed her by flipping another page of his newspaper.
The table drifted back into its usual morning noise with clinking forks, and Holly rambling about absolutely nothing, but Will couldn’t quite rejoin it. His throat tightened again.
Will reached for his fork, and tried to focus on the food on his plate.
But each spoonful felt heavier than the last.
He could still feel him inside his throat.
-
Mike, Will and Holly rode their bikes to school in a comfortable silence, broken only by the bright little ring! of Holly’s bike bell whenever the boys drifted a bit too far ahead. Will eased up on his pedals to match her pace, and Mike did the same, his left arm kept twitching forward every time her bike tilted a little too sharply.
“You okay back there?” Mike murmured, leaning over just enough for her to hear.
Holly shrugged, wobbling slightly. “Yeah. Just… don’t leave me behind, okay?”
Mike’s expression softened immediately. “Sorry. And hey, never gonna happen.”
Holly hummed, reassured, and kept pedaling until they rolled up to her school gate. Mike hopped off to help her park her bike properly, while Will stared up at the building. It was too grey, too colorless for an elementary school. He didn’t remember it being this bleak when he was little. It looked like the place had never really recovered after The Quake.
Holly thanked Mike with a quick smile before practically launching herself at Will, giving him a tight little hug. “Bye, Will! See you later!”
Will hugged her back. Mike just stared at them, eyebrows raised.
“Seriously? She’s not even trying to hide who her favorite is.”
“Not my fault she thinks I’m cooler than you,” Will said, grinning as he swung back onto his bike.
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Mike muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
They pushed off from the curb again, falling into the rhythm of the morning traffic. For a moment the air felt lighter, the road stretching out in front of them with nothing but the quiet whir of their wheels. But as soon as Holly’s school disappeared behind a bend, Will felt that familiar heaviness settle in his chest again.
“Hey,” he said softly, “She’ll be okay.”
Will nodded, but the knot in his stomach didn’t loosen.
They kept riding.
-
After class, Mike and Will met Dustin by the bike racks. Lucas had already peeled out of the parking lot, heading straight for the hospital to see Max. The empty space he left behind felt bigger than it should’ve been. With everything that had happened to them–everything Hawkins had chewed up and spit back out–Will couldn’t stop thinking about how different they all used to be. How easy it was before.
Before all of this.
Before he happened.
Students drifted past in clumps, laughter ricocheting off the lockers, backpacks slamming into shoulders. A few basketball players from Jason Carver’s old orbit strode by in their jerseys, faces sharp with disdain. One of them muttered “Satanic freaks,” and another echoed it under his breath, eyes locked on Dustin.
Dustin shot back instantly. “Yeah? Gimme your name, man. I’ll add you to my cursed list!”
“Dustin, stop trying to bait them,” Mike warned, grabbing him by the arm. “Come on. Seriously. It’s not worth it.”
But Dustin jerked his arm free. “Why? So they can talk crap about us? How long do you want us to roll over like fucking losers?!”
Will felt the ground tilt under him. That slow-building, dizzying haze running from his head to his chest. Will clenched his fists, trying to keep his face neutral. He didn’t want Mike to notice, didn’t want Dustin to see and realize that he might as well have been talking about Will.
Another jock called out, “Why don’t you three crawl back into your demon cave?” A few others snorted. “Yeah, maybe summon your little Satan club, so that you all can burn together, we’ll help you.”
Mike flinched, but his voice stayed level, jaw clenched so tight Will could see the muscle ticking. He was trying. He was actually trying to keep Dustin from exploding again, and Will almost believed they would get out of this without—
Then someone else stepped forward. A tanned boy roughly Mike’s height, same haircut but straighter, colder. His gaze swept up and down Will, and he said, “Figures Byers hangs around you losers,” the boy sneered. “Bet he likes watching you guys in your little dark room together.”
It took Will a second to register the meaning as laughter broke open around them.
His stomach dropped clean through him. That lump–God, that disgusting lump–rose into his throat again, choking him, making everything inside him curl up tight.
Through his blurry vision, Will saw Mike going still.
Absolutely still.
Then, like a pulled wire, something appeared to have snapped inside Mike. Clean, and violent, as he surged forward and shoved the boy hard, so hard he sent him stumbling into one of his friends, who caught him before he nearly hit the pavement.
Will didn’t even know Mike could do that.
“Say that again,” Mike hissed, voice shaking with fury.
The courtyard froze. Everyone who knew Mike Wheeler knew that he was sharp-tongued, stubborn, and quick to argue, but they also knew that he was never one to start fights with his limbs.
The boy lunged back and shoved him. Hard.
The others circled fast, hungry for a show. Will grabbed onto Mike’s arm without thinking, feeling the heat and tremor running through him. Mike was breathing too fast, too loud, like the anger was burning straight through his lungs.
“Mike,” Will pleaded, “Come on. Let’s just go.”
“Yeah, Mike,” the jock taunted, grinning. “Listen to what your boyfriend told you.”
Will’s whole body jolted. The air went thin. And he didn’t get to think, not even for a second, because Mike sprang forward and punched the jock’s nose so hard Will could hear it crack.
Chaos exploded instantly. Another boy shoved Mike, Dustin barreled into the fray, yelling something incoherent; someone grabbed Will’s shoulder; Will’s ears rang so loudly it drowned everything out. His vision narrowed until all he could see was Mike’s face twisting in anger, raw and unfiltered and terrifying.
He looked like he wanted to throw another punch.
Before it could go any further, their social-studies teacher, Mrs. Scott, came storming across the courtyard.
“HEY! Break it up! RIGHT NOW!” she shouted, “I swear to God, if any of you move, you’re all getting detention until Christmas!”
The boys scattered instantly, muttering curses as they backed off. Dustin shoved away from the last jock, chest heaving. The second Mrs. Scott looked down to jot names on her clipboard, Dustin grabbed his bike and stormed off, not looking at either of them, not answering when Will called his name, not slowing down once.
Mike didn’t say a word. Not when they unlocked their bikes. Not when they pushed off toward the road. His jaw stayed locked. Shoulders stiff. His eyes fixed ahead glaring at the asphalt.
Will rode beside him, but it felt like trying to keep up with a storm.
He didn’t dare say anything. His throat was still full of that awful lump, that nausea hitting him deeper with every pedal.
What a coward Will was, always freezing, always making things worse. He couldn’t defend himself and had to wait for Mike to stand up for him, had to let Mike take one of the insults for him. Like a fucking weak loser that he was.
And because he’s so, so selfish, the only thing that kept filling his head was the look on Mike’s face when the jock called Will his boyfriend. The only thing he could think about was this self-pitying reminder of how disgusted Mike had looked. How the very idea of being with Will like that had revolted him so much, he’d resorted to violence.
Will thought he might actually be sick.
By the time they reached the Wheeler driveway, the silence was deafening, and Will wished the ride had lasted longer.
At least on the bike, he didn’t have to look Mike in the eye. He didn’t have to explain to Mrs. Wheeler that her only son had to take punches because Will was too much of a coward to defend himself. That Mike had let himself be the target of the same insult and slurs that they constantly threw at Will.
The same insults that weren’t actually insults because they were all true.
By the time they reached the Wheeler house, the sky had dipped into that late-afternoon color, blue fading toward a muted gold near the horizon like the edges of blankets brushing against the rows of roofs underneath it. Had it been another day, Will would’ve appreciated how picturesque it was.
But all that his eyes could linger on was the smeared blood on Mike’s knuckles, the skin split across them, the way he’d kept his injured hand tucked into his sleeve, climbing up the porch just as the screen door shuddered and banged open.
“Will!”
Holly launched herself out, socks sliding on the wood, until she clutched onto Will’s backpack strap, tugging him inside the house. Her eyes barely skimmed over Mike. “Will you draw with me again?”
“H-Hey, Hol–” Will glanced sideways. “Mike, your–”
Holly planted herself right in front of him. “You need to help me with the dragon!” she announced. “I can’t get the shadows right, it looks funny!”
“I-I know, I just–” Will twisted, trying to see past her. “Mike, your hand, it’s–”
Mike didn’t slow. He brushed past both of them, shoulder catching Will’s for half a second, before he rushed to the stairs.
Will stood at the door as footsteps hammered up, then a bedroom door slammed, the sound grating at his ears.
“Will?” Holly tugged again. “Come on, I did the trees like you said, with the lines. I just need to fix the dragon. You gotta see.”
“Yeah,” he glanced at her. “Of course.” He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to smile. “Give me a sec.”
Inside, the Wheeler house felt like it always did in late afternoon. Warm air, laundry detergent, something tomato-based lingering from lunch permeating the corners. Karen was in the hallway already, keys in hand, a bag on her shoulder.
“Oh, Will! Hi, honey.” She beamed at him. “I’ve gotta run a few errands. I’ll be back around six. Can you tell Mike to take the trash out? And there’s some leftover meat if you boys want to make snacks, just remember to clean your dishes, please.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler.” His fingers clenched around the strap of his backpack. “I’ll tell him.”
She kissed Holly’s hair, patted Will’s arm, and swept out, the door shutting with a soft click that somehow made the house echo.
Silence settled. The fridge hummed. Holly had already spread her things across the dining table by the time he wandered in. Her feet swung under the chair, heels knocking against the chair lightly.
“You said you were gonna add shadows,” she reminded him. “For the dragon.”
“Yeah,” he said again, defaulting to it like a broken record. “In a minute. I’m gonna make lunch first.”
Making sandwiches was easier than thinking. Bread, leftover meat, and cheese. Knife scraping against the cutting board, he’d done it almost every day since he’d started staying here. In between those days, Karen had made him her personal sous chef, and despite having no interest in cooking, Will was glad he had something to do to make himself less useless than before.
Will made two identical plates without thinking about it, and so foolishly out of habit, he almost called up the stairs with the plate in his hand.
But flashes of blood on split skin, sneers, and low, foreign guttural anger coming out of his best friend’s mouth stopped him.
Instead, Will went.
The climb felt longer than usual. The hallway light upstairs was off, only a slash of daylight spilling from beneath Mike’s door. Will’s pulse thudded in his neck. The plate smelled like mustard and cheap pickles, he wished he’d brought something better.
With a dejected sigh, Will lifted his fist to knock.
The door flew open before his knuckles landed.
Will flinched back, the plate wobbling. “I–”
Mike stood there, breathing a little too fast, hair mussed like he’d been dragging his fingers through it in tight, frustrated handfuls. His right hand was wrapped in a lumpy, hurried bandage, a smear of rust-brown at the corner where the gauze had bled through.
Will’s mouth went dry.
“Um. Hey,” he managed. “I, uh… made a sandwich.”
Mike’s eyes flicked to the plate, then to Will’s face. “Thanks.”
He took the plate with his left hand. Will’s fingers brushed his; Mike’s skin was cold.
“Is– Is your hand okay?” The question stumbled out before Will could stop it. “Like, did you… break anything?”
Mike flexed his fingers once, the bandage tugging. “No. It’s just… scraped. Sore.” The words came out clipped. “It’s fine.”
“Right. Okay. That’s… good.”
The silence thickened between them, clogging up the doorway.
“Well, uh. I’ll just head downstairs.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He shouldered past Will again, already moving. Will blinked and followed without much thought, because his feet had been doing that for as long as he could remember. Following Mike wherever he went.
Downstairs, Mike set the plate on the counter only long enough to yank his backpack from a chair. He shoved the sandwich into a Ziploc bag, then into his bag.
“Where are you going?” Will asked. “You just got home.”
“Dustin’s.”
“Now?”
Mike’s jaw worked. “Yeah. Now.”
“But–” Will glanced over his shoulder, toward the dining room where Holly’s humming drifted through faintly. “Holly’s here. We can’t just leave her alone.”
Mike stopped with his hand on the doorknob. For a second, he went completely still. He turned his head, just enough to look at Will.
“I’m going to Dustin’s,” he said, voice low and precise, and so foreign.
It took Will a while to grasp what he meant. “Right,” he said rather pathetically. His fingers tightened around the back of a dining chair until the wood dug into his palm. “Okay. I’ll, um… I’ll stay with Holly.”
“Yeah.” Mike’s gaze slipped off him, back to the door. “You should.”
He pulled it open. A slice of colder air slid into the house, then was gone as the door shut behind him.
Will stayed where he was, the ghost of the argument in the parking lot replaying under his skin. The jocks’ voices, the word boyfriend spat like a joke, Mike’s fist connecting with someone’s face, the sudden bright smear of blood.
He had made it weird. Of course Mike didn’t want to be around Will now, he was probably–
“Will?” Holly called from the dining room. “I finished the dragon’s wings!”
His throat felt tight, and his vision started to blur again. Will shuddered out a long, jagged breath. Drying his eyes with his sleeves, he forced his feet to move.
Holly’s papers were scattered everywhere. She held up her latest drawing, proud, the dragon’s wings bigger than its body, almost too big for the page.
Will sat down beside her. The pencil felt heavy in his hand, but he complied with every bit of her request, fixing the intensity of the colors, telling her at which line and angle it should be darker to create the illusion of shadows.
Holly took over again once he was done, filling up all the empty spaces with more details. Will stared at the untouched blank corner, waiting for his brain to suggest anything that wasn’t Mike’s back disappearing through the front door.
“You look weird,” Holly announced suddenly, not looking up. “Like when Mike ate that weird school lunch last winter and was dead sick for a week.”
“Thanks.”
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
Her pencil slowed. She studied him properly now, head tipped a little. Then, as if she’d come to a decision, she dropped the pencil and hopped off the chair.
“Let’s play.”
“We are playing,” Will replied weakly, gesturing at the paper.
“Drawing isn’t playing.” She made a face. “I mean outside. Hide and seek. Please?”
He followed her gaze to the window.
The trees at the back of the yard stood in a solid, dark row. The branches tangled together like hand clutches, desperate grasps, and binding holds. Beyond the first line of trunks, the world dropped into a shade darker, the ground looking damp in spring soil.
“Please?” Holly said again, softer this time. “You can be the seeker first. I’ll go easy on you.”
He glanced down at her, at the hopeful tilt of her eyebrows, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt. If he said no, she’d ask why. If he told her why, she’d never look at those trees the same again.
And she didn’t deserve that.
“Okay,” he breathed. “But we don’t go far, alright? You keep the house in sight the whole time. You promise?”
“I promiiiise,” she sang, already bouncing toward the back door.
When they were outside, the smell of cut grass tickled the tip of Will’s nose. A thin ribbon of gasoline from a neighbour’s mower threaded through the air, mixing with the damp, earthy sweetness rising off the soil where the sprinklers had missed. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and then fell silent, leaving only the soft buzz of insects crowding the hedges.
“Ready?” Will asked once he found a tree by the fence to lean on. The bark was rough under his skin. “I’m counting to ten. You better hide fast.”
“You’re supposed to do twenty,” Holly complained, already bouncing on her toes.
“Ten,” he repeated with a faint smile. “I’m merciful.”
She giggled and bolted away, sneakers thudding over the patchy grass. Will watched her go, and couldn’t help the warm, stupid swell in his chest. Mrs. Wheeler always looked vaguely apologetic whenever she asked him to watch her youngest, but Will never saw it as being stuck with babysitting duty. Pathetic as it sounded, he was grateful for Holly’s company. All his life it had been other people hovering over him, fussing, worrying. Jonathan always looking out for him, taking care of him. He’d always been too little, too soft, too breakable for anyone to trust him with anything.
Being the older one for once felt weirdly good. Holly made him feel like the opposite. Like he could be the one holding someone else together for once.
He’d never admit it out loud, though; he didn’t think the Wheelers would approve of having someone like Will treating their youngest daughter like a little sister.
Will counted slowly to ten, eyes closed until he heard the thumping of her footsteps die down. When he opened them, he immediately caught her foot sticking out from behind the maple, sock bright against the bark.
He exaggerated the search anyway, making a big show of peering behind bushes and crouching under the picnic table.
“Wow,” he said loudly, “where could Holly possibly be? She’s invisible.”
Holly snorted, and Will stomped dramatically across the grass, “Guess she ran away forever.”
A high-pitched giggle gave her away. He rounded the tree, and she shrieked as he scooped her gently around the shoulders.
“Got you!”
They swapped. He hid next, choosing the shed even though it barely counted. He left half his shoe visible on purpose. She found him in seconds, throwing herself at him in a tackle that nearly knocked them both over.
“You suck at this!” she exclaimed in between giggles.
“I’m lulling you into a false sense of security,” he said, brushing grass off his jeans. “It’s strategic.”
Holly rolled her eyes in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of her older siblings. “Okay, my turn for real. Like, real real. I won’t go easy.”
“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “My greatest fear.”
“Count loud!” she yelled over her shoulder.
Will rolled his eyes, sighing as he pressed his palms to the tree trunk again, shutting his eyes tighter this time.
“One… two… three…”
He listened to her footsteps pound across the yard, fade toward the far fence. A faint rustle followed. The creak of wood. The leaves murmuring.
“Seven… eight… nine… ten. Ready or not, I’m–”
He opened his eyes and the yard stared back at him, empty.
Will narrowed his gaze, scanning the familiar spots. No flash of blue shirt behind the trees. No socks sticking out from under the picnic table. The swing chain dangled motionless. The sun hung low and hazy, turning the fence boards into a row of pale ribs. The only movement was the slow, lazy sway of branches high up where Holly couldn’t possibly reach.
“Ohhh, Heroic Holly,” he called, sing-song. “Where are you hiding? Did the mighty warrior flee the battlefield?”
He poked his head around the maple, checked under the picnic table again, even lifted up the edge of the tarp by the shed.
“I’m gonna start charging a rescue fee,” he added, half to himself. “Seriously, Holly, you’re not that sneaky.”
No answer.
The joke died quietly in his throat.
A stillness settled over the yard, flatter and stretching too thin. Will stood there for a moment, listening for the soft shuffle of sneakers or the muffled giggle that might betray her. Nothing. Just the faint hum of distant cars and the whispers of leaves above him. A small pulse of unease pressed against his ribs, tapping, begging for him to remember something he didn’t want to recall.
He went through the easy places first.
He checked behind the shed first, pushing aside a dangling branch. A rake leaned crookedly against the wall, a cracked plastic bucket lay on its side, and spiderwebs clung to every corner. No Holly.
He moved along the fence next, there was a beaten-up baseball lay half-buried in the dirt, forgotten since The Quake, its stitches frayed and dull, and still no sign of her.
Then he crouched to peer under the porch. Dust coated the wooden beams, a couple of soda cans lay crushed in the darkness, and no small, stubborn ten-year-old hiding where she shouldn’t be.
“Holly, come on,” he tried again. “This isn’t funny.”
But it was the breeze who answered Wiil, a loose leaf brushing across the yard mocking him like one of those scenes in a cartoon. Suddenly, the sounds around him sharpened, the distant hum of a car became a low, menacing growl. A crow hanging in one of the branches began to caw, and his heartbeat thudded right to his eardrums.
She’d promised she wouldn’t go easy on him. But she’d also promised to keep the house in sight.
“Holly!” he shouted, “Come on now, you win! I’ve spent too long!”
Still nothing.
The quiet swelled until it pressed at his temples. Will sprinted past the fence line, and the air became heavier, thicker, like the woods were exhaling right into his face. Will’s breath kept catching, little stutters he tried to swallow before they turned into something ugly.
Every time a leaf crackled under his shoe, he flinched hard enough to embarrass himself, glancing back at the yard as if Holly might reappear and laugh at him for being dramatic. But the yard stayed empty. The woods waited. And Will’s feet kept moving forward, slow and reluctant, he rubbed his hands on his jeans, once, twice, grounding himself the way his mother had taught him, but his surroundings still stilted wrong. The shadows looked too long. The fence too far away. His heartbeat too loud, too wet. And Holly still wasn’t answering.
He took one step toward the woods, then another.
The air changed beneath the canopy. The smell of sun-warmed grass gave way to cold soil and the faint rot of fallen leaves. It was spring but the toxic spores that had penetrated through Hawkins since The Quake made most plants hesitant to show up this season.
Asphalt underfoot turned into uneven earth, slippery with wet mulch and broken twigs. Will moved too carefully, the last time he fell in the woods he hadn’t stopped falling. He’d dropped too far, too fast, straight through the thin skin between worlds until he was somewhere no one should ever be. Somewhere that hadn’t let him belong to himself anymore.
For a split second, the trees doubled; trunks turning into long, spindly pillars dripping with vines that weren’t vines, shadows twitching like they had their own breath. The ground felt lower, softer, like it wanted to give way and swallow him whole. The air tasted metallic, dusted with the old chemical tang he used to wake up choking on. His stomach lurched.
No. Not this. Not now.
Will dragged a breath in, hands shaking. He tried to calm the tremor in his chest, reminding himself– out loud, maybe, he wasn’t sure– that this was about Holly. He needed to find her. He needed to be here, not there. The rational part of his brain whispered that Holly was probably hiding behind some log, trying not to giggle, waiting to jump out at him.
The rest of him remembered what it was like to open his mouth and scream and have nothing come out.
“HOLLY!”
The trees swallowed her name and gave nothing back.
His hand ping-ponged uselessly at his side before he finally reached out for balance, fingers brushing against the nearest trunk.
The bark gave under his fingertips, softer than it had any right to be. Warm. Wrong. For one horrifying second, he felt a slow, sluggish beat beneath his palm, like the tree had a pulse.
He yanked his hand back so fast his nails scratched his own skin.
His thoughts stopped being full sentences and broke into fragments, sharp and frantic.
Not her.
Please, not her. Not again.
Take me–
Take me, I don’t care, just not her, please, please–
The words thundered inside his skull, loud enough the woods should’ve heard them. Loud enough that if something or someone was listening, it would know exactly what bargain Will Byers was offering.
That lump, that fucking, sickening lump rose up in his throat again, and all he could think was his nightmares that were more than just nightmares about to be Holly’s reality. He couldn’t let it happen, not to anyone, not to her. Losing yourself, your entire life because you couldn’t find yourself back home. Taken, broken, abandoned.
He didn’t want that for Holly. God, he couldn’t bear the thought. She was ten, and bright, and whole in a way he barely remembered being. She still believed people came when you called their name. She still believed woods were just woods. She deserved to grow without something dark reaching out of the trees and deciding her story for her. She deserved to come back different only because she’d gotten taller, or braver, not because the world had taken something from her she could never get back.
The thought of her becoming like him made him sick to the stomach, made that lump jump higher, clawing at the back of his mouth.
“HOLLY!” Will bellowed, his voice so loud it cracked, “WHERE ARE YOU— PLEASE!”
“Holly!” he tried again, but the trees caught the word too easily and swallowed it whole. Nothing drifted back to him. No laugh, no rustle of sneakers, not even a startled bird. It was too still.
“Holly, please!” He choked out, voice becoming thinner. “Come on! This isn’t– you can’t– Holly!”
He stumbled forward, nearly tripping on a root he hadn’t seen. His hands shook so badly he kept grabbing at the air first, then the nearest trunk, then nothing at all. His breath hitched in sharp, stumbling gasps that didn’t make sense, didn’t fill his chest, didn’t help.
“Holly!” The name broke apart in the middle this time, strangled in his throat. “Answer me! Please answer me!”
He spun in a frantic circle, eyes darting between shadows that all looked too still. The woods pressed in closer, cruelly quiet, as if waiting to see what he would do next. The silence felt deliberate. Mean.
“Holly, you win! You win, okay?” His voice was fully trembling now, “Please, just— come out! Just tell me where you are!”
Wil's heartbeat slammed against his ribs hard enough that every inhale came with a taste of old dirt and rising dread. His palms stung where he’d scraped them on bark, the sting too close to the memory of cold, dead vines.
“HOLLY!” he screamed again, “HOLLY, PLEASE!”
He lurched forward, half-running, half-stumbling as he shoved branches aside. “Don’t do this– don’t– Holly, please don’t do this to me, not you, God, not her, please, please–”
A twig snapped somewhere to his left.
Will’s whole body jerked toward the sound, breath catching in his chest.
And then–
“Will?”
Will spun so fast he nearly slipped. She was standing there, brushing dirt off her skirt, cheeks flushed from running, eyes bright like this was all a game. Perfectly fine. Perfectly whole. Something inside him cracked open.
He didn’t think. He just grabbed her, arms around her shoulders, crushing her to his chest, his breath coming out in a wrecked, shuddering gasp.
“Holly,” he choked, his voice breaking hard enough to sting. “Oh my god– Holly! What the hell were you thinking?!”
“Hey–Will? I can’t– can’t breathe–”
“You disappeared,” he snapped, harsher than he ever meant to sound, the anger spilling out because the terror had nowhere else to go. “You didn’t answer me! I was screaming for you– I thought– ” His voice collapsed, guttering as he squeezed the back of her head, fingers still trembling, the corners of his eyes stinging “I thought something took you. I thought I lost you.”
“I didn’t hear you,” Her small hands tugged at his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Will” she said, her face crumpling. “I didn’t mean to, I-I swear– I was chasing a rabbit. It was white and super fast and I just wanted to see where it went.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Guilt splattered all over her face. “You can’t do that,” he said, voice tight, ragged. “You can’t just run off into woods like– like nothing can happen to you. I can’t–” His throat closed. “You need to tell me if you’re going somewhere, you hear me?”
Holly nodded jerkily, “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “The rabbit was super fast and I forgot to tell you–”
“A rabbit?” Will frowned, finally catching her reasoning. “You ran all the way here for a rabbit? Holly, we’re not even supposed to be out here- ”
“I know,” she murmured, shoes scuffing the dirt. “I didn’t mean to go far. I just… I saw it when I was hiding, and I followed it, and then it hopped again, and then again and–” she shrugged helplessly, tears welled up in her eyes, “I’m sorry.”
Will dragged a hand down his face. A rabbit. She’d chased a rabbit. He pressed his lips together so tightly they hurt.
“And then,” Holly continued, voice brightening for half a second, “I met Mr Henry.”
Will’s head snapped up.
“Mr… who?”
“Henry,” she repeated. “He found me playing with the rabbit while he was checking on the soil with his kit, and then he started telling me some fun animal facts. Like, did you know some frogs can freeze themselves and wake up again? Isn’t that cool? Do you think that’s the inspiration behind The Princess and the Frog? Do you want to draw it with me–”
“Holly,” Will said firmly, “What man? Who’re you talking to?”
She gave him a pointed look as if he’d just asked a stupid question, then pointed behind Will. “Him!”
Will turned around in an instant and saw a tall blond man in a dark jacket, standing with one hand lifted in a small, casual wave. Panic surged up within him, and he immediately clutched Holly’s arm, putting himself between her and the stranger.
The man chuckled softly, tucking a clipboard between his hand and torso. There was even a lanyard around his neck with a laminated badge, a little square with a seal and tiny print that might have said Indiana-something if Will had been close enough to read it.
For a second, his brain simply refused to line any of it up. Woods. Holly. Grown man. Smiling. His body did the rest.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man’s expression didn’t shift at Will’s tone. He lowered his hand from the wave with a slow, almost elegant shake of his wrist. “I think your little friend has introduced me already.”
Will pulled Holly closer. She bumped into his hip with a soft oof. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “Who are you?”
The man lifted his eyebrows.
“Just Henry,” he answered. “State environmental office.” He raised his clipboard just enough for Will to catch the letterhead before letting it fall back to his side. “Tree health, soil surveys. Checking for infections. Sometimes that means stepping onto private land.”
Will’s eyes flicked to the badge, and it was shiny, clean, and nothing weird. Mostly. Henry’s thumb covered part of the emblem.
Henry shifted his stance, aligning himself so he faced Will directly. “Found her alone petting a rabbit," he said. “I was walking her back. Didn’t intend to alarm you.”
“You didn’t alarm me,” Will shot back, a little too fast.
“If you say so.”
Will’s jaw tightened on its own. Holly’s ponytail swayed against his arm.
Henry stepped a fraction closer, just enough that Will noticed the faint scent of cold pine. He instinctively took a step back, and Holly yelped when he almost tripped on her feet.
“You must keep a close eye on her,” he observed, smiling at Holly, who let out a giggle. “Good habit.”
Will stiffened. “I do.”
“Mmm.” Henry’s gaze dragged from Will’s hand on Holly to Will’s throat. He blinked lazily.
“I can see that.”
Will’s stomach did something odd– a flip– maybe from unaddressed hunger, he just remembered he’d forgotten to eat the sandwich he’d made.
Holly suddenly tugged free of Will’s arm and bounced a half-step forward, almost on her toes, her voice bursting out in a quick rush as if she’d been holding it in the whole time.
“Mr Henry told me frogs can freeze, like actually freeze– and then wake up again like they just hit pause. Do you think Mr Clarke’s gonna let us experiment with it at school?”
Henry’s gaze remained on Will.
“Curious little mind,” he said. “You remind me of my little sister once, though I wasn’t nearly as gentle as your brother.”
“Will’s not my actual brother,” Holly chirped. “But he’s Mike’s person. Like those twin popsicles when you snap one off and it becomes two. I guess he’s like my brother.”
“Oh?” Henry said, raising a brow, “Mike?”
Holly opened her mouth again.
“Holly,” Will warned quietly.
Henry glanced between them, the corners of his mouth tilting.
He let a beat pass, then smiled at Holly,”And where is this other half of the popsicle?”
“I don’t know, he just left us alone.”
“Holly,” Will squeezed her hand as a warning. She really needed to stop telling this stranger anything. “Let’s just go.”
Henry straightened, brushing a pine needle from his sleeve. “You’re very protective of her,” he said, letting word hang. Will glared at him, what was that supposed to be? An insult?
“She’s ten,” he turned back to her, walking to the side so Henry wasn’t completely behind them. “She’s not supposed to be in the woods alone.”
“I’m almost eleven,” Holly objected.
“You’re still not supposed to be in the woods alone,” Will shot back, though the bite in his voice came out shaky instead of sharp.
Henry crouched slightly beside Holly to listen to something she said, another fact about the soil or the animals, but Will couldn’t listen to it properly, not when his thoughts were back at Mike by the bike rack at school, Mike looking so angry and disgusted, Mike punching that jock, Mike’s hand bleeding, Mike leaving Will alone with Holly so he could go to Dustin’s, Mike–
Will didn’t want to stand here any longer.
“Okay,” Will cleared his throat, “We should go back. Mrs Wheeler’s gonna freak.”
Holly whined loudly, dragging the sound out.
“Come on, Holly,” Will said. “Seriously.”
She rolled her eyes, “You’re so like her these days” she groaned, but she slipped her hand into his anyway.
Henry adjusted his grip on the clipboard, falling into step a pace behind them as they turned toward the path back.
The way back to the Wheeler yard felt longer than the way out.
Holly skipped ahead every few steps, humming something tuneless, then circling back like a yo-yo on an invisible string. Henry walked beside Will, just a little off to the side, close enough that if Will turned his head, they’d be at eye level.
Well. Not exactly eye level.
The man was taller than most guys Will knew in town, close to Hopper’s height. He moved in that steady, unhurried way grown men did on TV cop shows. “So,” Henry said after a stretch of silence broken only by Holly’s humming. “Why’d she say you and her brother are like popsicle pairs?”
Will’s ears burned, heat crawled up his neck.
“We, um–” He swallowed.“Our old house got sold when we left, and when we came back it was too late to get a new one. So my family’s been staying at his. ”
Henry’s head tilted, “And why come back when so many are leaving Hawkins?”
Will slowed without meaning to. The leaves under his shoes crackled. “I–”
What should he tell this stranger that wouldn’t reveal the fact that his sister had superpowers and might actually be the only key to save this entire town from a monstrous maniac?
“Well, everyone I know is here,” he murmured. “I couldn’t… just leave them.”
Henry hummed softly, then he lifted his head to scan over the woods, a faint whistle came from his lips.
“Maybe something here wanted you back,” he stared at Will.
Will took a step further to the side.“Yeah,” he murmured, “Maybe, I don’t know.” he added, distracted now by Holly skipping too fast ahead, widening the space between them.
Henry made a noncommittal note once The Wheelers’ yard came into view. “Nice neighborhood,” he said. “Quiet.” His eyes ticked over the trees as they walked. “I’ve been around Hawkins a lot this month. Checking soil samples, water runoff… all that exciting stuff, couldn't help but notice the disparity from one area to another.”
Will ignored him.
Holly hopped over a log and spun around until she’s back right in front of them. “He has this thing he sticks in the dirt,” she told Will. “It’s like a metal straw! And he pulls it out and it’s full of mud. Gross.”
“That’s a soil core,” Henry said, his smile hitching wider for a second. “It tells us what’s going on under the surface.”
Will glanced up, “You do that… everywhere?”
“Pretty much.” Henry shrugged. “Roadside ditches. Cornfields. Woods like these. Anywhere people forget to look until something goes wrong.” He glanced down at Will briefly. “I like the woods best. They’re honest.”
Holly snorted. “Trees can’t talk.”
“That’s the point,” Henry said. “People talk all the time and don’t say what they mean. Trees don’t bother. You just have to pay attention.”
Will’s throat tightened. He didn’t know why that made him uncomfortable, but it did.
Henry must’ve noticed something shift in his face, because his next words came out lighter.
“Anyway,” he said, “sorry if I scared you back there.”
“You didn’t,” Will said automatically again, even though they both knew it wasn’t true.
Henry’s smile stayed.
A breeze passed them, catching the ends of his hair– too long for a teacher, too tidy for a dad who didn’t try. His hands around the clipboard looked strong but not rough, veins faintly rising. The quiet lines around his eyes when he smiled, like catalogue lines, Will thought, like the men leaning on cars in those magazines Mrs. Wheeler left on the coffee table.
The thicker trees thinned, and the edge of the Wheeler backyard appeared– the fence, the shed, Will sagged in relief.
And Henry stopped there.
“I’ll leave you here,” he said, “Don’t want your folks thinking some government guy’s spying on them”
Holly waved up at him. “Can I see the mud thing again sometime? You said there’s bugs in it!”
“If your mom says it’s okay,” Henry replied. “And if we need to check the soil again.” His gaze slid back to Will,“You keep an eye on her, alright? Not everybody out here means well.”
Will frowned, he didn’t like what Henry was trying to imply. “Yeah, I know.”
Henry dipped his head. “Good meeting you, Will. I’ll be around town a while. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
Will hoped they wouldn’t, but apparently Holly had the complete opposite wish. “Do you want to come inside?” She asked brightly, “Will can show you his drawings!”
Will’s heart jumped. “Holly, no,” he hissed to her ears, “We’re not supposed to let strangers in when it’s just us.”
Holly paused, then rerouted instantly. “Well, then Henry can come tomorrow! We’re having a birthday dinner for Will. Everyone will be here, so it’s okay!”
Will froze.
“That’s very kind of you, Holly,” Henry said softly, eyes gentle on Will. “I’ll… think about it.”
Holly darted up the porch steps, already chattering about snacks.
Henry took a few steps away, then paused.
Will lingered on the porch.
The man walked along the treeline, sunlight catching his hair, his figure clean and composed, he’s just a man, just a man.
Will waited, waited until Henry was out of his sight, out of the Wheelers’ house area, out from the neighborhood, out–
Henry stopped a couple feet away from the road, turning his head just enough to look back at Will.
Suddenly a rush of heat and chill twisted up his spine, crawling and clawing at his nape. His breath’s caught in his lungs.
Will broke eye contact too fast, nearly stumbling as he rushed inside. The door clattered in its frame, he locked it once, twice and heaved against it. God, how’d he become this pathetic? He couldn’t even interact with a stranger without wanting to run and hide.
Holly stood in the kitchen doorway, completely unfazed by what they’d just expereinced. “Will, can you make me a snack?”
His mouth felt too dry to speak, so Will just nodded, stepping past her, falling into familiar motions, opening cabinets, grabbing bread, spreading peanut butter.
When she finally settled in front of the TV, Will stopped at the kitchen counter.
Hands on the surface. Head down. Still breathing too fast.
So, so useless and pathetic. How did even manage to let himself think that he could take care of Holly like Jonathan did to him when he almost lost her to woods over a fucking game of hide and seek? How could he even protect her when he’s out of his mind paranoid and scared over some random man who’d actually help him from losing Holly at all?
The sandwich he made for himself sat on the counter, abandoned, and despite the apparent hunger sitting expectantly in his stomach, Will couldn’t find the strength to eat.
He could still feel it lodging inside his throat.