Chapter Text
October 1986.
Hawkins, Indiana.
Hawkins was the last place Will Byers wanted to be.
Going from living a semi-normal life in Lenora, California, to a life full of anxiety, terror, and guilt in Hawkins, Indiana, was an unpleasant change. In Lenora, Will lived simply. He was driven to school, went through his classes without too many weird stares, and spent his free time drawing and doing homework instead of fighting fantasy monsters. It was the most normalcy he'd had in his life.
Then, he had to flee.
Going back was no longer an option. That house was useless, gunshots surrounding the place, maybe a few dead bodies scattered throughout. Neighbours had surely called the police by now, blocked the home off with caution tape, creating a story with little to no witnesses. It was too late to leave Hawkins now. Nobody could get in or come out; the military surrounded the borders. Metal plates covered large cracks from "The Quake." Only a few knew what was truly below them.
Now, instead of a life of serenity and creativity, Will was bound to years of torture. Shivers down his spine, horrific night terrors, and constant ridicule for his younger self.
☆
"BREAKFAST!"
Holly Wheeler's voice rang throughout the basement, echoing into the rest of the house. Will lifted himself out of bed, joints aching and vision blurry. Jonathan groaned beside him. "Shit, dude, we overslept." Will lazily rolled his eyes, turning to look at his older brother. "I thought you were setting an alarm," he uttered, rubbing his eyes. "I thought you were!"
They both rushed out of bed.
Previously, Will had been sleeping on a mattress on Mike's bedroom floor, but after about two weeks, they found that they'd grown sick of each other. For a few days, they didn't speak. Of course, they were close, but being together all of the time really got to the both of them.
Especially when Will was trying so hard to get over him.
Earlier in the year, Will had finally accepted that stupid crush of his. He accepted that Lonnie was right, that he did like boys. He accepted that he liked Mike Wheeler as more than a best friend, but of course, Mike had a girlfriend. His sister.
After the shooting, Will gave up.
Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard as he thought. At first, he cried a lot. Most of his showers were silent tears and wishes for things to get better, and as time went on, it did. Eventually, he could look Mike in the eye again. He could bump his shoulder without freaking out about the slight touch. While yes, it was still hard, and some late nights, he thought about what life would be like if he weren't so different, he found himself losing interest.
He and Jonathan made it to the dining table later than the rest, having to rush getting ready (yet again.) Their mother, Joyce Byers, sat at the table quietly as she picked at her food. Ted Wheeler read the newspaper while Holly shared the plot of the book she was reading with her mom. Mike and Nancy quietly bickered, but they were interrupted by the sound of Jonathan and Will's chairs scraping against the floor as they sat down.
One of the major differences between the Byers and the Wheelers at the table was their manners. The Byers were louder, yelling over each other and snapping as they ate, while the Wheelers saw meal times as nothing but a chance to refuel their bodies.
"Morning," Jonathan groaned, taking his seat next to Nancy. Will followed and sat down next to his mom, almost immediately receiving a sharp elbow to his shoulder. "What took you so long?" his mom asked, in a tone that reminded him too much of times when he was younger, when he'd get home a few minutes too late, and she'd freak out.
"Someone forgot to set the alarm." He retorted, glaring at Jonathan from across the table. He meant for just his mom to hear it, but it easily made its way around the table in the near silence of the morning. Jonathan only groaned in response, leaning across the table to grab a piece of bacon. "You said you were setting it last night," he argued back. On most mornings, Will would go back and forth with him, but today, he couldn't find the energy.
He muttered a simple "whatever," and went on to pick up some eggs from a plate. There wasn't much left, but he felt like a burden taking the last bit, so he only took a few bites to put on his plate. He looked across the table towards Mike, who had stopped talking to his sister and was beginning to finish his plate. Will glanced over at the clock on the stove. It read 8:27 AM
Shit, he was going to be late.
Will tapped on Mike's plate and made a head gesture towards the clock. Mike picked up on it quickly, tapping on his little sister's shoulder. All three of them stood up and made their way to the sink, placing their dishes down. When the Byers had first moved in, they had been handwashing their dishes themselves, but Karen insisted that they shouldn't worry about it.
They ran to the door, slinging their backpacks over their shoulders and shoving on their shoes. On their way out, Will shoved his zipper on his olive green backpack shut, cussing under his breath at the weight. He'd had an art project that he had to do overnight, so a lot of his supplies had begun to weigh down his bag.
They hopped on their bikes, quickly pedalling down the street. "The Squawk, Mike!" Holly demanded, to which Mike responded by smacking one of the buttons on the radio. Robin's voice cracked through, energetic compared to Will's current state. He could always appreciate that about Robin. She always burst with some sort of energy, had so much to say. In a way, she was a bit of a role model to him.
He listened intently to her voice, paying attention to any highlighted words, but they never came. Once again, she went over the military's rules. No sledding down the metal, stay home after curfew, be good. Then, "Always" by Bon Jovi began to play. Will smiled.
That was the song he recommended.
By the time they had arrived at school, Robin had already made it through a solid 6 songs. With the middle of the town cut off the map, it took even longer to get to school. Mike could leave near 9 AM last year, before Vecna struck. Even when they left at 8:30, they still had to rush Holly to class.
That's exactly what they did today, hugging her goodbye before giving her a push to the building and biking the rest of the way to Hawkins High School. They shoved their bikes in the rack, shutting off the radio and rushing inside.
They had about 10 minutes before the first morning bell rang, 15 minutes until their first class. By the time they made it to their lockers, 10 minutes turned into 8.
Will twisted the lock, shoving in the code. 33 right, 22 left, 41 right. It popped open. He shoved his backpack inside, grabbing his books from the top shelf of his locker. He had English first period, so he grabbed Lord of the Flies by William Golding, flipping through the pages to make sure he had all of his notes.
"Mike,"
He looked up, making eye contact with him. Something he wasn't super used to yet, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
"Do you have the seminar notes? I need to compare."
Mike shook his head, grabbing a thick textbook from the bottom of his locker. AP World History. Will couldn't help but feel bad. "I don't, I'm sorry. I don't have it until Thursday." Mike replied, slamming his locker shut. He kicked the bottom, and it squeaked, finally closing. "Ask Dustin, his was yesterday."
Will nodded, grabbing a pencil from his locker and shutting it. He waved goodbye to Mike as he left for his class, headed over to Dustin's locker across the hall.
At first, he couldn't find him in the sea of people. He lifted his sleeve and looked down at his watch. 4 minutes.
He saw a circle of green and white varsity jackets surrounding a locker, maybe four or five guys, all of them with varying years of graduation. He pursed his lips together, looks like he wasn't getting his notes today. As he walked around, he peered through the sea of green, spotting Dustin against his locker. He pushed one of the guys in front of him. Andy, he thought. He wasn't too sure; he never paid attention.
He was just about to turn his head back in the direction of his class when one of the jocks turned his head to look at him. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. He was not supposed to see him.
Diverting his eyes, Will sped down the hallway. He looked down, watching as his feet skipped through white and orange tile, until he made it to his English class. C102.
The desks were arranged in a circle, a singular one sat in the middle. On top was a thick grade book and a stack of class books, likely for those who forgot theirs.
He took a seat in what would normally be the back corner. That's where he usually sat, away from everyone else in the class. His classmates had seemed to form their own friend groups by now, and nobody wanted to sit with "Zombie Boy" anyway, which was alright. He was used to it by now.
A few seconds after the bell rang, students began to pour into the classroom one by one, each one laughing as they sat down by their friends.
Nobody sat next to Will.
A minute before the tardy bell rang, someone sat next to him. He didn't dare to look up and check, especially not when he saw a green sleeve slide over the desk, opening the small book.
He shook as he unfolded his question paper for the seminar. All he needed to do was say the bare minimum, maybe one or two sentences, and he'd pass.
A finger tapped his shoulder.
"Hey, you read, right?"
Will looked up to the boy next to him. Tan guy, dark black hair, and a cocky grin. Clearly a basketball guy, Lucas probably knew him.
He nodded.
"Okay, cool. I was at practice, got kinda busy. What happened in chapter nine?"
The paler boy hummed to himself, sitting up in his chair. He fidgeted with his fingers, picking at the tips of his skin.
"Simon, he found the beast. It's a dead parachutist. He goes to tell Jack and the others, and they all kill him." He paused, continuing when the other boy didn't speak up. "That's... kind of it. It symbolizes a loss of civilization and humanity."
The tan boy was about to speak up, but the bell pierced through the air, interrupting them.
Everyone went dead silent as the teacher walked into the room. Will shut his notebook, biting his tongue and gripping the spine.
"First question: What theme does the conch represent in the novel?"
☆
Getting out of English was freeing. Normally, that was a class he was okay with as his first period, but when it came to group activities, that opinion flew out the window. He rushed to his locker, opening it with his code once again and shoving his book back on the top shelf. This time, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, the paints at the bottom adding a couple of extra pounds. He slammed the door shut, just as Mike arrived. He offered him a quick smile as he walked past, heading for the art room.
Art was one of two periods that he had no issues being in, the only other one being lunch. In art, he could just be himself. Give him a Walkman, a canvas, and his favorite mixtape, and nothing could bring him down from his high.
He slipped a canvas out of his bag and got to work. Currently, they were working on grid method art, which was probably his least favorite of all, but it was relatively easy. Just... extremely tedious. He slipped on his Walkman and started his mixtape, "Every Breath You Take," starting the mix. Jonathan had made it when he first fell in love with Nancy, and Will loved it so much that he ended up stealing it from his bedroom. Since then, it became his dedicated art mix.
The piece was almost done, save for a few minimal details that would take him 30 minutes max. As he mixed his paints, his mind began to wander to earlier in the morning. The boy... he was definitely in the circle around Dustin, but he didn't seem very rude or ill-spirited. Ignoring the fact that he was certainly conventionally attractive, he didn't seem like a pain to be around. His jacket had his name, started with a C. Chris, Charles, maybe it was Chance.
Whatever, he'd probably never have to speak to him again, and that was fine. He had his friends.
☆
After surviving four rough classes, Will desperately needed a nap. He might be able to skip out on lunch and eat when he got back, but he knew the bike ride home would be living hell if he were to do that. He'd be tired, dizzy, annoyed, aggravated... so exhaustion it was.
He went to his locker to put his chemistry notebook away, but a small piece of paper flew to his feet. He set the book down in his locker before squatting down and picking it up. Sluggishly, he opened it, expecting the normal. An old missing poster, a threat from the jocks, but instead...
"Look up more, you have nice eyes."
Will felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he shoved the note in his jacket pocket.
Who in their right mind would give him a note like that?