Chapter Text
1987
That day had fallen on Will with an unusual weight, as if every minute had demanded extra effort from him. Since early morning he had been moving from one place to another, completing tasks, investigating and testing theories, solving pending issues. Now, as he finally walked down the hallway leading to the rooms, the exhaustion seemed to have settled onto his shoulders.
With the help of his sister’s powers, his own, and plenty of help from family and friends, they had managed to build a small extension onto Hopper’s cabin to make two small but cozy rooms for Jonathan and him. Mike and Nancy had told them they didn’t mind them staying at the house, and Mrs. Wheeler had even offered to let them stay longer, but none of the Byers wanted to impose more than they already had.
Jane was waiting for him in front of her bedroom door, arms crossed, her expression a mix of concern and affection. She was tired too, but she knew him far too well not to notice that he was even more exhausted.
“See you tomorrow morning at training,” Will said with a weak but sincere smile.
“Of course. And you’d better sleep well this time,” Jane replied, trying to sound strict, though the softness in her voice betrayed her.
They exchanged a simple, almost automatic goodbye, but one filled with the quiet understanding of people who had shared too many battles together. Then each retreated to their rooms, nearly dragging their feet without realizing it.
When Will closed the door behind him, silence wrapped around him like a blanket. He let himself fall onto the bed without even turning on the light, taking a deep breath as the exhaustion finally took over completely. But despite it all, his mind quickly drifted toward a much warmer thought.
In two days, he and Mike would reach their one-year anniversary. A whole year. Part of him still couldn’t believe how quickly time had passed, how natural that love had become in his life. Amid all the routine, training, and issues with the Upside Down, that thought brought a small smile to his lips, barely visible in the dark.
Two days, he repeated mentally, and his heart gave a small, light, fluttering jump.
With that thought circling in his mind, blending with the fatigue he could no longer ignore, Will let his eyes close. Sleep came quickly, almost instantly, enveloping him completely. And there he remained, asleep, with the last image in his mind being Mike’s smile earlier that day as he handed him a bottle of water after training.
198?
William Byers opened his eyes with an almost lazy slowness, as if his mind still hesitated between sleep and wakefulness. For a moment, his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling… until suddenly his eyes flew open. He recognized that ceiling instantly: his room, his old room, the one he hadn’t been in for two years.
His body reacted before his consciousness fully caught up; he sat up in bed with urgent clumsiness, instinctively careful not to lose his balance. Standing, he looked around, distrustful of what he was seeing, as if the room might disappear with a blink.
He walked slowly toward the wall, drawn to the calendar hanging there—identical to the one that had once marked his teenage routines. “June • 1985.” The date hit him with the force of a forgotten memory.
“…oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, the only reaction possible to the impossibility unfolding before him.
He quickly left his room and headed to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Once inside, he closed the door with a soft slam and locked it before letting out a sigh and slowly approaching the mirror. And there he was—shorter, hair longer, and…
“Oh God…”
the damn bowl cut was back.
He let out a long groan, turned on the faucet, and washed his face slowly. The cold water slid down his skin like a desperate attempt to anchor him to reality. Willis was leaning over the small bathroom sink, breathing heavily, arms tense, hands pressed firmly against the ceramic. The exhaustion showed in his slumped shoulders, heavy eyelids, and the way his chest rose and fell, searching for control. He exhaled a long, almost trembling sigh, as if the air could carry away the confusion clouding his thoughts.
He straightened slowly and splashed his face again. The icy water wasn’t enough to clear the strange sensation tearing through him. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And as he stared at his reflection in the mirror—a younger version of himself, more rested than he should be—his mind began to rewind.
What had happened the day before? What had brought him here? Who had brought him here?
He searched for answers in memories that disintegrated the moment he tried to grasp them. Training sessions. Conversations. His life… his life from before. Or after. Everything was mixed together. Too much.
This is a joke, he thought. It had to be. An illusion, a trap, a bad dream. Something impossible. Because nothing he was seeing matched the timeline he remembered.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.
But the bathroom was real. The cold was real. His quickened breathing too. And little by little, as he held his gaze in the mirror, Willis began to pull himself together. He forced his muscles to relax, one by one, until he managed to straighten his back. He needed calm. He needed to think. To understand.
Finally, he left the bathroom. The familiar—too familiar—hallway greeted him with an unsettling silence. He walked back to his room, opened the door, and went inside. His room. His old room. He got dressed with mechanical movements, trying to ignore the knot tightening in his stomach.
Then the walkie-talkie crackled softly.
“Will?” The voice was higher than he remembered—youthful, impatient. “Hey, Will. What size do you need the banner to be for Dustin’s welcome? I need to get it. He arrives tomorrow, remember?”
Lucas. It was Lucas. But not the Lucas from now. Not the one he’d watched grow and harden over the past two years. This version was younger. Much younger.
Willis swallowed.
“Yeah… sorry,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I forgot. I’ll tell you in a sec.”
And as he said those words, the realization he’d been avoiding hit him squarely in the chest.
This was happening.
He was here.
In the past.
Two years back.
A wave of vertigo passed through him. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know what to do or what to say or who to turn to. Everything he had lived through in those two years—his decisions, his losses, his achievements, his loves—had it all been just a dream?
No. He wouldn’t accept that. It couldn’t be.
Amid the mental chaos, a single name emerged strong and clear, inevitable.
Jane.
She. She could hear him. She could believe him. She could see beyond logic, beyond what anyone else would dismiss as delirium. And if she didn’t… he had proof. He could show her.
But he needed her.
He needed her help.
He needed to awaken the powers.
And he needed to end this.
Whatever this was, he refused to stay trapped here.
Not this time.