Chapter Text
Now that it all was said and done, Will had no clue what to say to anybody. How to be, how to act. Everyone else had adjusted back to regular life, Nancy and Jonathan went off to college, Max began physical therapy, Hopper got reinstated as chief of police. Their little bubble had been thoroughly popped and suddenly all the outside noise had filtered back in. Lucas was stressed about basketball games and Dustin was trying to woo all the single ladies within a mile radius. Meanwhile Will was lying in bed every night, staring at the ceiling, mourning something there was no name for.
School was mundane to him. Will sat in math class and looked around at all the other kids his age and thought: I know a secret that you don’t. He pictured Jennifer Hayes in extremely random scenarios where she had been taken in his place and her three friends had to go hiking through the woods to find her. Imagined being at her funeral like she was at his. Then in science class, he glared at the back of Troy’s head and mentally dropped him in the Upside Down. Made him face Vecna over and over and over again. Made himself feel better by thinking about James running into Eleven, fresh from the lab, and turning tail and leaving his friend to die.
The only person who understood was Holly. There was an edge to her now, at only ten years old. Back when Will had regular check ups at the lab, Dr. Owens had explained something to his mom about neurological pathways and how trauma could shape and even change young minds. Sometimes when the world was too happy, he’d glance over his shoulder and see Holly peering at him, face drawn and tight. He watched as Karen circled around her, hands always hovering like she was resisting the urge to snatch her up and never let her go.
Holly Wheeler made his chest tight, so he avoided being alone with her. Afraid to see judgement, maybe even more afraid to see understanding. It was inconvenient for Will to go halfway into a panic attack whenever he saw her silhouette at the bottom of the stairs, so he turned down offers to go over to Mike’s house. And that was perfect too, because then he’d have an excuse to not be around Mike.
Mike, who was so tuned in to Will’s every need. Mike, who felt guilty for being perfect and nice and handsome and so good. Mike, who looked at Will with large eyes every time they crossed paths, as rare as it might be. Because Mike didn’t return Will’s feelings, had been shocked when Will had confessed about the painting, about it all. Never once had he even considered the possibility that Will could be flirting with him, and be interested in him romantically. Because Will was a boy and that meant that all the signals Mike Wheeler had been sending him were nothing more than friendly gestures, than latent protectiveness rearing its ugly head.
So Will averted his gaze when he was with the Party and made sure to never laugh too loudly at Mike’s jokes or smile at him too fondly. Thankfully Mike hadn’t told anyone, most likely due to embarrassment at the fact that Will had mistaken him for gay. Nonetheless, a secret was a secret was a secret. And Will knew now what he had always known. He was going to take this particular secret to the grave. As watery as it had once allegedly been.
Unfortunately, between keeping his head ducked and his heart locked up, Will was finding himself becoming lonely despite the warmth that the Party was showered with. For so long he had wished for his life back, prayed to a deaf God that he would make it out, find the light on the other end of the tunnel. More than anything, he’d wanted to be normal. To eat crappy cafeteria food and argue with the boys over a campaign. Now the genuine relief and excitement that shone on his friends' faces made his stomach churn relentlessly. Finally, they could return to their regularly scheduled programs.
It was universally acknowledged at this point that Will Byers had rotten luck. So, he never should’ve been surprised when the light at the end of the tunnel looked a lot less like happiness and a lot more like a train coming at him with his useless legs nailed to the tracks.
***
Oblivious to Will’s internal monologue, the party was thrown at the Wheeler’s house. Blue streamers were dangling from the ceiling and a large banner attached to the wall in the living room had Eleven’s loopy, childlike handwriting scrawled across it. Thanks to all the ample practice he’d had at decoding her writing, he was able to discern the message quickly. It read: Congratulations, Max! With Dustin’s blocky letters underneath, like he thought that none of the adults would be able to see it: You kicked therapy’s ass!
Holly’s drawings were stuck up around the house, as he entered the kitchen with a cake in hand, he saw one stuck to the fridge. Throat tightening, he set the plate down and walked over to it, running the pad of his index finger down the lines. She’d improved since the last time he’d seen one of her pictures. It was him and her, holding hands against the backdrop of the Creel House. Her addition to it appeared rushed, pigtails uneven, outfit slightly dulled. But he was in full color. Almost vibrant. His eyes were striking, dark green and surrounded by thick eyelashes. He was positioned in front of Holly, keeping her behind him. There was a red smudge around his nose, blood from using his powers.
Hands curling into fists, he stuffed them in his pockets. If Will ever had the chance to time travel, he’d go back to the night Holly was taken and drive her out of Hawkins for good. He could still remember being tucked against Mike at the hospital when she was born. He’d been so happy that he was positive his chest was going to burst with it when he finally got to see her. When Mike had transferred her from his arms to Will’s, like he had every right to be there, to take his turn to hold the baby. She’d been so tiny, her cheeks so round and pink.
The reality of Vecna having her had been paralyzing. He’d never been on the other side of that before and all he’d been able to think about was her little face, her chubby legs as she’d toddled around after him and Mike in the garden, the way she winked at him when she snuck him half of a cookie that had been meant for Nancy. It had made him regard Jonathan in a different light, realizing how hard it must’ve been to not know if his younger brother had been safe and if he would ever get to see him again.
Will rubbed at his eyes and turned away, following the rambunctious noises down the stairs and into the basement. The door was cracked, so he could see Dustin and Lucas playfully swatting at each other, while El sat on the carpet crisscross applesauce, munching on a blue popsicle, tongue purple. She was leaning back against one hand, gaze tracking Mike and Max, who were circling the couch, arguing.
His breath caught at the noticeable lack of a walker. Max was practically strutting around, chin raised proudly, like she was a model on a catwalk. Mike was in the midst of commenting snidely on her uneven gait when Will pushed the door open and drew everyone’s focus towards him.
Max smiled at him, ear to ear. She struck a pose. “Checking it out, Byers?”
Laughing, Will rushed over to her to lift her off her feet. She was warm with exertion and smelled like the hospital, but she was thumping him on the back and burrowing against him, legs locking around his torso as he spun her around. A weight upon his shoulders lifted and he breathed shakily against her neck as he set her back down, not stepping back until she regained her balance.
The two of them shared a quiet look. They’d never been extraordinarily close. Max had joined the Party at a dark time in Will’s life and he’d been out of the state during an even darker time in hers. Regardless, when he’d seen her in Vecna’s mindscape he’d felt like he was witnessing the sun come up for the very first time. Any apprehension he might’ve had around her had all but dissipated when she burst into tears upon seeing him poke his head in the cave with Derek and Holly.
Will had been trapped inside his own body and Max had been trapped inside her own mind. And she’d seen most of it through Vecna’s memories, had gained access to a private screening of Will Byers Best Moments with free tickets and unlimited viewing. If it had been anyone else, Will would’ve felt violated. But when Max had confessed to him that she’d sat in those memories just to see him, all the anger and suspicion and fear had faded away. It was nice to have a person know him so intimately, to have knowledge of what he looked like on his bad days, and what he said and did when he believed himself to be alone.
Along the same vein, it had been nothing short of miraculous to be the one that kept Max Mayfield sane during those very harrowing eighteen months. To know that it had been Will that was the source of her inspiration and her courage. She’d seen him at twelve, shooting a Demogorgon. She’d seen him at thirteen, standing in a black field, yelling at an incomprehensible monster. And she’d seen him crying over a boy and fighting for a boy, and the only thing she’d said about it was: “what is so great about Mike?” and: “Will, did you know that he wanted an orange mohawk?” and: “I mean I sort of get it, he does follow you around like a lost puppy. But I wasn’t going to mention it.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Will said sincerely.
Max blinked hard and shoved him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m amazing and all that gooey shit. Wrap it up.”
A long sigh came from the couch and the springs groaned as Lucas propped himself up on his knees to give Max a disapproving frown. His hair was askew from roughhousing with Dustin, who was rapidly inhaling his food now that he was unbothered.
“You know, I don’t think you’d go up in flames if someone complimented you,” Lucas informed her. His tone was joking but the words were serious.
Max stuck her tongue out at Mike. “I might if it’s coming from this guy.”
The two of them began squabbling again and Will made his escape, squeezing Max’s hand as he brushed past her and joining El on the carpet. Without being asked, she scooted closer, placing her knee on top of his. The rug they were sitting on was older than Will and had been through many tragedies, including but not limited to impromptu food fights, rainstorms, and the Great Pie Incident of 1977, which was better left unexplained. He hooked his fingers through a snag in the carpet and kept his eyes away from Mike’s side of the room.
El jabbed him in the cheek. “You have not written me letters.”
Will winced. After the Upside Down had been destroyed for good, El and Kali had taken their leave of Hawkins. Joyce had been adamant that Eleven finished her diploma, but Hopper had agreed that it would be best for her to get out of dodge while things were still settling. Without the threat of the military looming in the distance, El had been able to explore the world with her sister. She’d sent him a postcard from Iceland, an Eiffel tower keychain from Paris, and a stack of letters with a million different stamps and mailing addresses. Like clockwork, her correspondence arrived every Monday morning at noon on the dot.
Writing back was impossible. Her letters were filled with adventures and funny anecdotes and he knew his life couldn’t compare. While she was riding mopeds through Rome and strolling through the alps in Switzerland, Will was rotting away at home. With the same people and the same stores. The truth of the matter was that he had nothing interesting to say. Everything interesting about him had been due to the monster perched in his cerebrum.
“I’ve just been busy,” Will lied. He sat on his hands, self conscious of their fidgeting. “I promise I’ll try and write back to you the rest of the semester.” At her dejected look, his next sentences gained speed. “I really like your story about Kali and the beret. Your doodle in the corner was super detailed.”
El grinned at him. “I have pictures in my bag at home. I can show you.”
The celebration went on and people continued to arrive with gifts and well wishes. Steve lugged in a brand new skateboard that Mike immediately crashed into the wall and Robin came bearing a handful of cassette tapes. Nancy and Jonathan didn’t make it, but had talked to Max over the phone the day prior, and had made vague mentions of flying her out to New York with the rest of the Party. Nearing the halfway point, Erica had come crashing in with a long suffering Derek and a group of children that Max had rescued from Vecna’s mindscape.
Technically Will had also assisted in the dashing rescue, which he was reminded of as Derek’s eyes landed on him hiding in the corner with his cake and started up a chant of his name. Well, if Zombie Boy counted as a name. Mindy, one of the girls that had been stolen from Lucas’s group, snuck over to him and sat by his feet. He handed her the rest of his desert and felt his stomach swoop when she accepted it with a gummy smile, showcasing her lost baby teeth. She proudly explained to him the intricacies of removing a wiggly tooth. The story ranged from wild to implausible.
Eventually, Mindy was guided away by her friends, who each took turns goggling at him, as though they were expecting him to whip out a magician’s hat and perform a magic trick. Sorry, Will wanted to say, all the magic is gone.
Breaking off from the group, Will collected the dishes scattered around the dining table and ran them under the sink, enjoying the way the heat turned his fingers red. The noise was muted through the wall, but occasionally snippets of conversations reached his ears. Erica and Dustin fighting over a storyline in My Little Pony, Steve and Robin discussing their radio show, Eleven talking to Max about the Madonna concert she attended. He was so zoned out that he almost didn’t register the quiet presence entering the kitchen.
Mike lingered in the doorway, socked feet pausing before crossing the threshold. He met Will’s eyes and his expression shifted, softening in real time. He was rubbing at his arm, a not quite smile touching his lips. The grey sweater he was in made his hair appear almost black, curls spilling out over his ears, untamed. Will nudged the faucet off and curled his fingers around the last fork, wanting to smooth away the apprehension that showed in the lines around Mike’s mouth.
It’s just me, Will wanted to reassure him, you’re okay. But the words lodged in his esophagus, clogging his windpipe. Mike had never been so unsure around him, not even when they were strangers on a swing set. He missed the casual cruelness of their friendship, missed staying awake dreaming up fake scenarios where Mike realized what had been in front of him all along. Hope was a jealous mistress and had no intentions to share the stage with rejection. So like all things that involved Will Byers, hope had gone and died silently, blowing out like breath misting over a flame lit in a candle.
Bereft without it, rejection burned straight through the core of him. One day he would be rushed to the burn unit in the hospital and they’d have to break the news to his mother, that the fire was infernal and terminal. Because Mike Wheeler was the only one with a water bucket but he didn’t even know that Will was locked inside a burning house, soot coating his lungs.
Encouraged by Will’s lack of an outward reaction, Mike stepped into the kitchen. The action was quick and jerky, like he was at risk of changing his mind if he thought about it for any longer. Propelled forward, Mike edged the outskirts of Will’s personal space, clearly struggling with bumping into previously unknown barriers.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Mike nodded at the dishes. He had yet to fully look at Will, eyes somewhere around his sternum like the pattern on Will’s shirt was just that fascinating. “You can come out and join the party. Be with us.”
Will put the fork in the sink and wrapped his arms around himself. He adjusted his position and the countertop dug into his spine, grinding against individual vertebrae. When he swallowed, it clicked noisily in the open room. “Yeah, I know. I just didn’t want your mom to have to clean all this up later.”
Mike huffed a laugh, though it was self deprecating. He ran a careful hand through his hair, mussing up the curls and sending them springing out in random directions. “You can just say that you were tired of us, Will. It’s kind of obvious, what with you standing in the corner all night.”
The typical response in this type of situation would’ve ordinarily been for Will to agree with Mike and come clean about what was bothering him. But how could he do that now, how could he look at his childhood best friend and make him bear witness to the bloody unveiling of Will’s heart. It would be so easy to show Mike all the cancerous growths on his heart that had been built up over the years like calluses. And this one here, Will imagined saying, is named after you and so is this one, in fact all of them are. Scientists call it a modern miracle.
Despite it all, despite the deep rooted need to make Mike hurt the same way he was hurt, whenever Will looked at Mike, he wasn’t the guy who didn’t return his feelings. He was his paladin. His fiercely loyal best friend who had pulled him from hell. He didn’t see Mike as he was now. He saw him at five and at ten and at thirteen. Will imagined throwing his feelings in his face and the little Will Byers in his chest raged and sobbed.
Sniffling, Will offered him a single shrug. “I guess I’m just not the best company right now.”
Mike’s eyebrows creased. His eyes met Will’s and the love and concern that he’d been desperately outrunning practically jumped out and tackled him. “It hasn’t just been like this tonight. You’re distant. You practically become a track and field star whenever I approach you at school. You turn your walkie-talkie off so no one can contact you. And you… you don’t talk to me anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Will denied. “I’ve just been… handling things, okay?”
“Like what?” Mike asked. He folded his arms, glaring down at him. “Like the things that the rest of us are handling? Those things? Because we can help you with that, but you’ve gotta stop acting like you’re the only one going through something!”
A laugh tore out of his throat without his permission. “I am the only one going through something, Mike! The rest of you have moved on and that’s–that’s fine! I’m glad that it’s not tearing you up. It’s not like I want you to all be traumatized for forever. I just–I don’t move as fast as you, okay?”
Mike reared back. “As fast as me? Who said I even moved?”
“Come on,” Will said, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“Except it feels like it kind of is,” Mike shot back, his volume steadily increasing. “It’s not like I just woke up one day and had all my memories erased! I still think about what happened all the time. Just because I’m better at disguising it, doesn’t mean that I’m not in the same spot as you!”
Will scoffed. “The same spot? And which spot would that be, exactly?”
Mike’s features flickered with disbelief. “What are you trying to imply? That having my parents almost killed and my sister lost in the Upside Down didn’t affect me? Because it did! You of all people know that it did! So don’t act like… like some martyr!”
“Wow,” Will spat. “You sure have a funny way of being affected!”
Mike recoiled and then bounced back, crowding his space. “Why’s that? Because I’m not moping around and throwing myself a pity party like you are?” He flung his hands out, gesturing for emphasis. “And what’s your issue, anyways?”
It was like having a cavity being prodded at by the dentist. No matter how many times Will shifted and expressed discomfort, the metal stylus kept coming right back to that open wound. If it kept fishing around, it would hit exposed nerves, unearth something pulpy and dead.
“Whatever,” Will snarled. “Talking to you is impossible.”
He pushed away and made for the living room, tears pooling in the bottom of his eyes, threatening to overflow and cause a tsunami of emotion. He made it two steps before Mike’s fingers ensnared the fragile bones of his wrist and spun him back around. His eyes were bright red and livid.
“You don’t get to do that,” Mike said. “You don't always get to have the last word.”
Will yanked at his wrist uselessly. “When have I ever had the last word?”
Mike always won their arguments for the mere fact that even if he was in the wrong, Will would forgive him before he ever received an apology. Staying mad at Mike was a full time job and he didn’t have a clear enough schedule to take it on.
“Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” Mike asked, raw. He reeled Will in, keeping him so close that he could feel Mike’s breath fan out over his cheekbones. His body heat radiated out towards Will like a missile, luring him in like a personal siren song. “Why is it so much harder for you to let this go?”
Will heaved a sob. “Because I can’t! He was inside of my head, Mike! Don’t you get that? He touched everything!” There was an invisible handprint over his head, indents coming down to rest over his temples. Will wanted to peel his skin off layer by layer until it was gone. “The things he did–the things he said! I can’t just get over it. I have to live with this… with it. And I have to do it for the rest of my life. I have to pretend like I didn’t crawl into someone else’s mind. Like I wasn’t so connected to somebody that I felt like I had an extra pair of organs! Do you know how lonely it is to be without that? Because I can’t stand it!”
Mike’s pupils were blown with shock and a creeping horror. He released Will abruptly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. “Will… I didn’t–”
“Of course you didn’t,” Will said bitterly. “That’s the point. No one knows what it feels like. The only other person that did is dead. And I can’t be mad about it. So I have to be distant, Mike, okay? Because I’ll never be that intertwined with someone again and it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.”
And it’s wrong, Will thought, it’s so wrong.
He wiped under his eyes, though there was no wetness present. The outburst had been like a dam breaking in a dried out reservoir. Unsatisfying and ultimately not worth mentioning. He turned his back on Mike and marched out of the kitchen, swiping his keys on the coffee table in the living room. Robin startled when she looked at him, beginning to rise out of her seat. He didn’t stick around to see what she was going to do.
Pushing past the throngs of his closest friends, Will wrapped Max in a tight hug and gave her a small congratulations. Then he walked out the front door and out into the night.
***
When Will had been a kid, his mother used to tack lists to the walls. Grocery lists, things to do before school started, a list of Will’s friends addresses and phone numbers. He would hike himself up on his tippy toes to scan over the detailed cursive, thinking she was so adult, so organized. Soon after he had attended kindergarten, Will’s own lists were hung on the walls as well. Random, itemized lists of things that he deemed important. Written in yellow crayon was a ranking of his stuffed animals, a Christmas registry, and an inventory of Mike’s favorite things. Once he’d gotten a bit older, he’d kept the lists private inside his mind. Places he was going to go when everything was over, things he couldn’t tell people, and an exhaustive line up of the worst things that could happen. He thumbed through the last one so much that if it had been made of ink and paper, the pages would be worn.
There was an addendum to a specific number.
3) Vecna takes over again.
(See list attached below for steps on what to do.)
He’d made that one after the first Crawl. The following directions were so important that Will had posted them on a physical copy. Written in blue pen was a ranking of the most effective ways to kill himself.
All this was enough evidence to prove that Will Byers knew how to follow lists. So he was going to have no issues in having success with this next one.
Reasons to get over Mike Wheeler:
He doesn’t love me the way I love him.
I need someone who sees me the way I am now.
2A: See the painting for reference.
His life started the day I went missing.
If I don’t, I’ll ruin the Party.
Wanting him has made me like Henry.
5A: See the instances of Will killing to protect Mike.
***
There was an orange poster on the bulletin board just to the left of his locker. Are you ready for college applications? Here are five things to prepare you for acceptance! Will eyed it severely as he finished shoving his art folder into his backpack. His hand came away smeared with ink and he retrieved a purple sticky note from within, it had a cartoonish doodle on it of El and Kali waving at him from a boat. She must’ve done it earlier that morning before leaving for the airport. The part that he’d smudged was the flag on the cruise ship. Warmth flooded his chest as he saw the little message at the bottom. Missing our third member of the X-Men!
A smirk tugged at his lips. The X-Men comment had originated from Dustin, who liked to jokingly refer to Will as their Jean Grey. Will carefully taped the sticky note to the inside of his locker underneath all of his pictures of the Party. Chester was mid bark in one polaroid, Hopper and Joyce dancing by the Christmas tree in another. He wasn’t allowed to have any pictures of El or Kali, but he made sure to leave empty spaces to signify where they should’ve been.
Breath tickled his ear and then a pointy chin plopped down on his shoulder. A flash of red hair caught his eye and Max popped bubblegum right into his eardrum. “I’ll give you a million bucks if you put your skills to good use and shoot me in the head.”
He patted her on the head. Thankfully, her vision had come back almost completely. But if Max had to sit in fluorescent lights or focus on something for a long amount of time, it would make her eyes go blurry and cause a killer migraine. Without being asked, Will popped open his bottle of Ibuprofen and handed it to her.
“I don’t really think Hawkins High would go for that kind of violence,” Will responded dryly.
A loud sigh and her body pulled away from his back. Leaning against the row of lockers next to his, Max massaged her eyebrows, mouth tight with pain. “Who even cares. Your dad is literally the chief of police.”
Will bumped his locker shut. “Yeah, he’s not really my dad.”
She shrugged at him. “If it walks like a dad and talks like a dad…”
Fixing the strap digging into his arm, Will and Max headed down the hallway. She had headphones slung around her neck, though there was no music drifting out of them. It was a rare sight to see her without them and the few times that he had, she’d been tense and standoffish. She was a far cry from the girl she’d used to be, more cautious, more free with her affection. But she was the same in all the ways that really mattered. Brave and whip-smart and tenacious. Whenever Will felt like he was slowly sinking into quicksand, she was there with a hand out, feet firmly planted in the soil.
Breaking out of his reverie, he noticed that Max was appraising him.
“What?”
She knocked her hand against his. “Just looking at you.”
“After eighteen months of that, I would’ve figured you’d had enough,” Will joked.
Max tucked her hair behind her ears, pursing her lips. A few rowdy freshmen went shooting past them, hooting and hollering. “Can you believe that used to be us?”
“Freshmen?”
“No,” Max said. “Free.”
Will turned his head towards her. His palms ached. “Do you not feel free?”
“Do you?”
Neither of them answered the question.
Even without the influence of Vecna, Will was still tethered to Hawkins. He had bled so much blood into the dirt that he’d grown flowers. How could he ever leave when the very depth of his soul was melded into the town. He’d been born here, lived here, died here. Being in California had been a leisure strangulation that his arteries had never recovered from. There was no bone in his body that could fathom ever crossing the town line and never looking back.
“What are your plans for spring break?” Max asked. It tore out of her like she’d been waiting for an opening the whole conversation. “Got a hot date?”
Will skipped over that comment. “I’m probably just going to help my mom around the house.”
Biting at her nails, Max’s gaze darted around the hallway. Sticking on sneakers and the tan tiles on the floor. “If you aren’t doing anything… you could come with me. To, uh, Billy’s grave.”
The world around them came to a stop. It was like he’d just been punched in the solar plexus. “You want me to go with you?”
Fuck no, Will thought adamantly. The cemetery made him uneasy. His mom used to go for weeks after Bob’s death and he had dutifully tagged along while Jonathan ran around with Nancy, making out in the back of the car as visions of Bob’s demise haunted his head like a vengeful ghost.
“I just don’t wanna be alone,” Max answered hurriedly. “After… you know.”
Will frowned. “Why aren’t you bringing Lucas?”
She tensed. “If you don’t wanna go, that’s fine. I just thought… if you were there, you would sense it before something happened.” She forged ahead. “Not that anything is going to… I just think it would be good for me. For like, closure and stuff.”
A sourness spread over his taste buds. Bees were buzzing behind his sternum and he pressed a hand over his chest, tamping down on the visceral reaction that was bound to come spiraling out. “I… yeah. Yeah, Max, of course I’ll be there.”
Her nervous energy settled and when she smiled at him, it matched her eyes. Her speed decreased and she winced as she stretched out her legs. “Thanks, Byers. I’ll, um, stop by your house on Sunday.”
Will stood there in the crowded hallway as she walked away from him, her red locks disappearing from his line of sight. It was incredible to see her walking unaided. He could almost convince himself that none of the past five years had happened. Max was just a girl they met in class and they’d struck up a friendship over arcade games and scary movies. Monsters weren’t real. And the empty space inside Will’s head had never been filled to begin with.
***
Shoulders sun warmed, Will stood a few headstones down from Billy Hargrove’s. Dew was wet on the grass and the scent cast memories of summers long past. The field was grey despite the rain showers, Hawkins ecosystem still catching up after years of exposure to the Upside Down. Will loitered in front of an untouched grave, vision awash with black and white. Off white sneakers planted in the dirt, black lettering displayed on the memorial, a bleached sky overhead.
Max was the only color in the cemetery, but even she was drenched in a melancholy overcast. He’d picked a spot far enough away that he was unable to hear what she said to her deceased brother, but still close enough that he could see the way she kept scrubbing at her eyes.
The time on Will’s watch said that it was just after twelve when she uncrossed her legs and got to her feet, walking over to him with an unsteady gait. Her milky irises were especially haunting in the light, eclipsing the blue of her eyes. She was in a bright yellow shirt with a scooped neckline. When her sleeves rode up, he could see faint, silvery scars along her elbows and wrists. Because her skin was so pale, blue veins spiderwebbed out underneath her eyelashes like the blood that had spilled down her cheekbones.
He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak. Sliding her hand into his, the pair picked their way around tombstones, taking the long way back to the car. There was a startling lack of Kate Bush coming from her headphones. It was just the two of them, breathing in and out quietly. Marching up the hill, Will began to play a game with himself, mentally tallying the amount of names he recognized versus the ones he didn’t.
Chrissy Cunnigham.
Fred Benson.
Patrick McKinney.
The older corpses were far more spread out, unlike the newer ones that clogged one half of the field. Will’s fingers tightened over Max’s subconsciously.
Like muscle memory, Will knew exactly where to go to find Bob. Guiding Max off the gravel path, he weaved in and out, narrowly avoiding stepping on and crushing dried up flowers. Names flowed past him: Barbara Holland, Alice and Virginia Creel, Benny Hammond, and so on and so forth. Bob’s grave was under a large tree with pink buds blooming in the branches. He was in between a soldier and a physician, Will knew, he recalled hearing about it at the funeral. Side by side with heroes even in death. He put a gentle hand on the grave marker, sinuses burning.
Bob Newby, loving son and loving brother. Will wanted to tear the marble apart with his bare hands and rewrite it. Loving husband, loving father, loving friend. Monster hunter. Coolest guy he ever met. Comedian. Terrible dancer. Superhero.
A lone tear streamed down his face, collecting on his upper lip.
He tasted salt.
“I never knew he had siblings,” Max said.
Will’s grief stuck in his trachea like a pill forced down without water to chase it. He swallowed to dislodge it. “Yeah, he had a sister.”
A sister who Will saw everytime he shut his eyes. A sister who had been such a bright part of Henry’s life that she’d been protected behind armoured doors in his mind. A sister who had paid for his casket and wrote Joyce a long, bittersweet letter.
Whenever he thought about Bob, he thought about Patty. And call it a leftover piece of Henry’s soul, call it misplaced connection, call it inappropriate feelings, but Will loved Patty. He’d been with her inside Henry’s mindscape. Saw the man behind the monster just like she did. He saw Bob in her smile and Henry in the way she held herself. When he laid awake at night, he ached for the carefree girl she’d once been. Bit down into his pillow as he remembered spinning around with her at a school dance, slurping milkshakes with her at the diner, sharing his drawings with her.
None of that had been him, though. None of it had been his right to take. To invade.
Will pressed down on his abdomen.
Wordlessly, Will led Max past the tree, getting pink, unblossomed flowers in his hair. Her fingers twitched against his, flexing. Adjusting his grip, he let Max rotate her wrist, pursing his lips at the wince that flickered over her expression. Sometimes he let himself miss the connection so much it almost killed him. Other times he was so revolted at the deep harm Vecna had caused and wanted to purge all the gooey, grimy feelings from his chest. How could he relate to such a being? How could he have ever believed him to be anything other than what he was.
An abuser and a predator and a sick, twisted individual.
Max veered left, cheeks ripe with blood. She was panting, body coiled in towards her torso. Will’s eyes caught and lingered on an unwashed headstone. It had cracks in the expensive marble and had patches of torn up grass around it. Loving son, it declared, loving brother. The name was so faded that he couldn’t make it out.
A green hat popped into existence as a body shot up from behind a tomb and two more figures appeared soon after. One had a muscular build and a bandana tied around his arm, the other was lithe with messy black curls. Mike turned to glance behind him and his eyes widened when he saw them. His mouth moved and Lucas and Dustin spun around to gape at them as well.
“Idiots,” Max grumbled.
Regardless, she sped up, dragging Will along with her. Her steps were uneven against the rocky ground and it was sending flares of pain down Will’s back, settling in his tailbone. Eddie Munson’s grave was unmarked, just a plain old headstone with a fake name. The last one had been destroyed, shattered by hammers and decorated with graffiti. Dustin had gone everyday to wash off the devil horns that were spray painted across it until one day he went and came back home with puffy eyes and a violently angry look on his face.
There were flowers propped up against the headstone, a splash of color that made Will’s corneas burn. Poppies and dandelions and tulips. Max dropped his hand and bent down to twirl a stem around in her fingers, mouth bitten red. Lucas observed her from the side, intent on her small figure. He glanced at Will and he smiled at him, a wordless reassurance.
Dustin knocked his arm into Mike’s. “So we’re all spending spring break at the cemetery, huh?”
Mike huffed a laugh. “What a bunch of losers.”
“Twelve year old Lucas would never believe it,” Lucas added.
Biting the inside of his cheek, blood filled his mouth. Staining his teeth, slipping down his throat. Twelve year old Will would’ve just been ecstatic to hear that he still had friends. That none of them had ever pointed at him in disgust. Thirteen year old Will would’ve been wholly unsurprised at the turn of events. He spent enough time with corpses to warrant the nickname Zombie Boy.
Barking a laugh, Dustin shook his head. “Jesus, can you imagine what our old selves would think about all this? Mike was such a shit head.”
“And Lucas wasn’t?” Mike demanded, offended.
“I was a perfect angel at that age,” Lucas argued. “Unlike whatever the fuck you two had going on. Don’t get me started on fourteen year old Mike, cause I have a list of complaints.”
Max tipped her head back. “And what about Will at that age?”
“Are you kidding?” Dustin snorted. “That kid was so cute.”
Lucas cooed. “The cutest. So polite.”
“Had the fluffiest hair.”
“So short.”
“All the teachers adored him.”
Max nonchalantly rolled her wrists around and stood. Months after physical therapy and she was still so sore. “It’s so funny how you guys think he’s so innocent.”
Mike edged a little closer. “What, like you disagree?”
“Well I’ve got a lifetime of knowledge,” Max tapped her temple. “I’ve seen it all, Wheeler.”
Did she play the scenes of his life over and over, he wondered. Like an unbeatable arcade game. Never jumping high enough, never running fast enough. Did she hide with him in the Upside Down? Did she yell and scream at the Mind Flayer when it came for him? He pictured himself in a tiny little coffin with bold letters coming across the screen to announce that the game was over.
A branch snapped and Will’s eyes met Mike’s. He was staring at him oddly, mouth thin and eyes wounded. His cheeks were pale with a smattering of freckles. They hadn’t been this close since their fight at the party. Will wanted to capture the moment like lightning in a bottle. If he could, he’d steal all their moments and hold them in the lining of his heart. But that was the problem wasn’t it? Will was mistaking lingering looks for moments and loyalty for gestures. Meanwhile Mike was fighting a losing battle on the other side, advancing into enemy territory searching for his childhood best friend. Hoping to glimpse the person he used to be.
Mike’s version of him was gone.
If it had ever existed at all.
Dustin shifted uneasily. “Did you go to… see Billy?”
Max tucked her hair behind her ears and then pulled the strands back out to let them hang over. “Yeah, we did.”
Lucas exhaled roughly. “I would’ve come with you, you know.”
“I just needed it to be someone else,” Max said. She was so gentle with him, patient and calm. If he was her anchor in the swirling sea, she was the north star guiding him. What had started out as puppy love and childhood curiosity had matured into real love and appreciation. “Will understands it. All of it. He was alone in the Upside Down and I was alone in Henry’s mind.”
Sensing the undercurrent of emotion in her explanation, Lucas simply nodded. His eyes were round and imploring, flicking down to Max’s hands like he wanted to reach out and never let them go. “Did it help?”
She shrugged. “I… can’t tell.”
Mike’s eyebrows scrunched. Ted Wheeler had died in his coma the same day that the gates were sealed and Vecna was killed. No one had been there. Unreachable by the hospital. He’d been buried closest to the parking lot, Nancy had made a tearful joke about driving past and waving to him from out the window. It had set Karen off, allowing her to break down for the first time since she’d learned about the other life her children were leading. Since she walked out of the ICU with a horrid pink slash that crossed her jugular and bisected her chest.
Long gone were the days where Will could rely on the normalcy of the Wheeler household.
Whenever he biked past their house, he expected to see Mr. Wheeler swinging his golf club and scowling about the state of his sprinklers. Will had always been partial to Karen, but it was still strange to look back at his baby pictures and feel the stones settle in his stomach when he realized that someone who had known him all his life was dead. Another missing puzzle piece. Another topic to dodge.
Will imagined taking his kids to Hawkins one day, pointing out his old haunts and telling them theatrical stories about his friends. And that was my best friend’s house, he would declare, and they’d sprint around the yard and do cartwheels down the driveway. Then the new owners of the house would come out on the porch and force them off their property. What happened to Mike, they’d ask. And how could Will tell them that the boy who had saved him and shaped him was nothing but a faded scrapbook page. A blip.
It’s because I got his father killed, Will would have to say, it’s because I wanted things that no one should want. Because Lonnie Byers had been a godawful parent but a damn good fortune teller when he had spat at Joyce: “that kid is a curse, you hear me? A plague upon everyone who meets him and I won’t be part of it. You and Jonathan can stand in traffic with your eyes closed but don’t be surprised when you’re struck!”
He tuned back into the conversation when Dustin addressed him.
“Sorry?” Will asked.
“We’re going back to Mike’s,” Dustin announced. “I asked if you were coming.”
Will refused to look at Mike. Would he be upset if Will said no? Or would he be grateful when Will came up with a random chore he had to complete? He knew which option would be better.
“No,” Will declined. “I’ve gotta get back home.”
Max’s expression was unforgivably knowing when she reeled him in to kiss him on the forehead. Her breath smelled like mint toothpaste and vanilla, like the suckers she always had in her pockets. “Call me later, okay?”
“Of course.”
His friends left him in the midst of the graveyard, which was all well and good. He pivoted on his heel and marched back towards the stained tomb he’d passed earlier. It was a couple feet away from Alice and Virginia Creel. When he crumpled to his knees in front of it and wiped away the dust and the rain water with his sleeve, letters appeared one by one.
He crossed his legs and bowed his head, chest so hot and tight that he couldn’t pick apart a single emotion. Henry Creel’s grave mocked him, the word loving seared into his brain. What was the point of a tomb when there was no body inside it? When there were no family members to visit it?
Except him, apparently.
What did it say about him that Max had strolled past his grave, eyes hard and cheeks flushed. But Will had sat at it, had cleaned off the grime.
What did it say about him that he’d once had a matching coffin, with no body laid to rest inside it. And visitors that would eventually stop visiting.
Were they the same even in death? Had they been so connected that once Vecna had died, Will had as well? Is that why his friends and family could move on but he was still trapped?
Will rubbed his eyes.
***
A week of hangouts went by and Will attended none of them. Skipping the picnic at the lake (he said it was too cold out still), the arcade day (pretended his walkie-talkie cut out), Dustin’s sleepover (he wasn’t feeling well, probably the late spring flu), and was gearing up to cancel on the horror movie marathon when a sharp knock rattled the door.
The first thing that entered his mind when he opened the door and saw who was camped out on his porch was that he should’ve checked through the peephole. Mike Wheeler had his arms folded menacingly and was tapping his foot restlessly. He was wearing a mulish expression, letting the full force of it settle over Will. His car was parked crookedly in the driveway, still running like Mike was about to stage a kidnapping. Will, a professional at getting kidnapped, was in no mood.
“So are you sick or what?” Mike verified. He tapped his fingers on his chin as though he was pondering something. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. Will jumped. “Oh wait! Silly me, you already used that excuse on Thursday. So what’ll it be now? Flat tire? The weather isn’t to your liking?”
“Maybe I’ll go with an alien invasion,” Will deadpanned. Mike wrinkled his nose at him and Will did it right back. “Oh wait! Silly me, that would be too similar to what’s already happened. Can’t have things getting repetitive around here.”
Mike was not impressed. If anything, he folded his arms harder. “Wonderful. Well when you inevitably get beamed up into space, I’ll be sure to pencil in rescuing you from aliens on my busy schedule. Not as busy as yours, of course.”
Will manfully resisted the impulse to flip him off. It wasn’t often that Will got this side of Mike. It was usually directed at someone else more deserving of his ire. Lucas and Dustin or Hopper. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, as long as Mike was longsuffering and bitchy, Will would have every chance at falling out of love with him.
“I’m here to pick you up,” Mike clarified. “In case that wasn’t explicitly obvious.”
Unfortunately moving back to Hawkins meant that all their neighbors already had prior knowledge to how weird and off putting they could be. Or else Will might’ve been tempted to start screaming and faking a seizure on his freshly moved lawn. He was sure that the Rosenbaum’s next door would simply lock the doors and continue on. It’s just William, he pictured Mrs. Rosenbaum telling her children, he always does this.
Shifting his weight, Will glanced back inside. When he turned back, Mike was full on glowering at him now. His foot was sticking out, making the front door uncloseable. Sighing, Will ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I really won’t be the best company right now, okay?”
Mike blinked. “Well, it’s a good thing that the people you’re going to be around have already witnessed you being way worse company, then isn’t it?”
Will blinked back. “Are you being purposely obtuse? Or is this a Will Byers special?”
“That’s adorable,” Mike said dryly. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the car. “Look, I get that you’re going through something. And it’s obvious that you want space. But you’re still talking to Max at school and you’ve been to the radio station to hang out with Robin. So it feels like it’s less of a needing space from everyone and more of a needing space from me.”
Wincing, Will wrapped his arms around his torso. “It’s… not a you thing.”
“Except for the fact that it absolutely is,” Mike continued, undeterred. He threw his hands up. “And there’s only two reasons that I can think of. One, is that you’re really struggling with the stuff from the Upside Down and for whatever reason, enjoy marinating in misery. And you know that I, your best friend since kindergarten, know exactly how to pull you out of your head and you don’t want that. Or two,” Mike swallowed, losing traction but not speed. “You’re uncomfortable around me now that I… now that I know. About you. And your feelings. So you’re being avoidant and snarky to push me away.”
Will pulled an exaggeratedly annoyed face. “How have you considered that it might have nothing to do with you?”
Mike tilted his head. “We both know that’s a lie.”
“Real humble,” Will remarked. He looked skyward, praying for divine intervention. How come every time Will was happy and settled with life, hijinx ensued, typically in the form of evil shadow spiders and tentacles. But now that he was ready and willing for the Upside Down to return with a vengeance, it wasn’t happening. “Honestly, Mike. I’m just adjusting.”
“Adjusting,” Mike repeated. “And this new adjustment period involves distancing yourself from me?” He put a hand on the side of the house, blocking the way out like he thought Will was a flight risk. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not going to let that happen. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not, Byers.”
Will squinted at him.
Healthy Boundaries 101: when your previously closeted gay best friend comes out to you and confesses his unrequited love for you, you should:
A) allow for the relationship to change and for feelings to resolve.
B) understand that the way you’re acting is part of the reason your previously closeted gay best friend fell in love with you in the first place and change accordingly.
C) throw caution to the wind and become one hundred times worse.
Jesus Christ, Michael.
“Uh, I–”
Mike grabbed Will by the wrist and yanked him out of the house, slammed the door shut, and proceeded to drag him over to the car. Flinging the car open, Mike shoved Will into the seat and reached across him to grab the seatbelt. Frozen, half in fear and half in some ill fated arousal, Will didn’t dare breathe in case he got a nose full of Mike’s mint shampoo.
Once the seatbelt had clicked into place, Mike pulled back, a peculiar look on his face. Slamming the door shut, he rushed around the front of the car, before sliding behind the wheel. The two of them stared at each other for a second, Mike’s eyebrows doing some weird gymnastics, before he peeled out of the driveway like the house was about to explode. They passed six houses before Will spoke.
“Did you just–” Will sputtered. “What are you? Some sort of maniac? Take me back!”
Mike’s jaw clenched. “Nope, sorry. Your presence was specifically requested.”
The car was new. Courtesy of Ted Wheeler’s life insurance. Mike had watched from the Wheeler’s porch as Nancy and Steve had sped down the road, waving at him excitedly. The whole Party had been there, gathered for his birthday, so they all got to witness the way Mike’s expression blanked. He’d been talking about getting a car since he’d been eight years old, but when he’d finally had one in front of him, he’d just stuffed his hands in his pockets and mumbled a polite thank you. It mostly sat untouched. Collecting dust.
A part of Will wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake. He knew Mike wasn’t doing it to be entitled, but Will couldn’t even imagine his mother going out of her way to get him something and him not appreciating it.
Despite the fact that Mike typically stole rides from Lucas, he was perfectly content as the driver. Fingers tapping along to the music. The faint sounds of Michael Jackson’s The Way You Make Me Feel was playing behind the noise of the engine. Will, resigned to his fate, turned his gaze away from Mike and propped his elbow up on the door. Familiar street signs flew by his window and soon they were swinging into Steve’s driveway.
Before he could reach for the handle, Mike’s pale hand was coming to a rest on Will’s shoulder.
The dimming sunlight cast a shadow on one side of Mike’s profile, expanding his pupils. The soft curls were starting to deflate, falling in his eyes, catching in his lashes. His hand was warm through the fabric of Will’s shirt.
Shrug it off, Will told himself.
He stayed still.
Mike wet his lips. “Look–I’m sorry for… dragging you here, okay? I mean, I’m not really sorry. It’ll be good for you to have some socialization. And everyone misses you like crazy. But… I don’t want you to feel forced to be here.”
“It’s fine,” Will said, sighing. He could feel his pulse in his ankles. “I get it.”
“I just…,” Mike bit his lip, frustrated. His hand tightened around the steering wheel. “I miss when you used to live with me, you know? It was nice to have you sleeping in my basement and showing up to breakfast to fight over the bacon with Jonathan. And I know it was never meant to last forever, but I kinda liked it. It was like we were kids again, right? Biking to school together. Watching movies until three in the morning. Prank calling Steve and Mrs. Henderson. And obviously the circumstances around it weren’t ideal. But I sometimes wish we could go back.”
Sadness clogged his throat and Will blinked hard. “Yeah, it was nice.”
Mike nodded. “I know that you want your space and I’ve been trying to give it to you. But I just go home and see all the spots you used to be and it just hurts.” He adjusted his grip on Will’s shoulder. “And I don’t care about what you told me, Will. I really don’t. You’re always going to be my best friend. And all these things are changing and all I’ve wanted is to just sit and talk to you about it.”
Hearing the words: I don’t care about what you told me, Will. I really don’t. Should’ve been reassuring. Should’ve been a balm to his scratched up and wounded soul. But he wanted him to care. He wanted him to think about it. To wonder why Will had feelings for him. To seek out signs when they interacted. Was it so wrong for Will to want it to haunt Mike the way it had been haunting him?
He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about.”
Mike tilted his head, sun turning his irises a golden color. His mouth was a bright pink. “What’s there to talk about? Jesus, what isn’t there to talk about! We won, Will! We won and we watched our friends do amazing things! Max is back! Lucas tripped Andy in the locker room the other day, Dustin and Suzie broke up, my mom is purposely flooding our neighbors flowers!"
Will choked out a laugh. Okay then, Mrs. Wheeler.
“Wait, not Mrs. Sinclair’s garden, right?”
Miming zipping his lips, Mike shrugged at him. “I think she’s bitter.”
“About?”
“After everyone found out about the Upside Down, Mrs. Sinclair told my mom that if she hadn’t been drunk, Holly never would’ve been taken.”
Will cringed. “Yikes.”
Mike laughed. A bright, airy sound. His teeth shone. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
They grinned at each other.
Hand falling off his shoulder, as though he’d just realized it had been there, Mike shifted. He was serious again. “See, that was easy, wasn’t it?”
“Still technically about the Upside Down,” Will pointed out.
“Is that going to be our version of the Bechdel Test?” Mike asked.
Will rolled his eyes.
We can be best friends again, he wanted to say, we can be WillandMike like we used to. But what did they really know about being best friends? Jonathan had said that he and Nancy started dating due to shared trauma. Was shared trauma the only thing keeping Will relevant in his life? Maybe he should find someone else. A new friend. A girlfriend. Someone he could talk to without worrying about putting his foot in his mouth and stepping on a patch of grass with all minefields.
“Thanks for the ride,” Will said, half sincere.
He opened the door and headed across the lawn, keeping his head down to avoid seeing Mike’s shattered expression behind him. Unlike him, Will had a poker face. So the only thing that was ever going to be shattered was the inside of his body.
***
Will’s life was defined by a series of Before’s and After’s. Before his dad ever laid a hand on him and after he left. Before he was taken and after he returned. Before his body was invaded and used like a puppet and after he got it back. Before Mike and after, if there ever could be such a thing as an after. This was going to be another one of those things, he thought, staring down at his bloody knuckles.
Andy stared at him from the ground, nose dripping with blood. His mouth was smeared red. Embarrassment splashed over him, though anger was quick to overpower it. Distantly, Will realized that people were beginning to surround them, but it was as if the world had slowed. Blood on his hands. The feeling of a bone crunching under his fist, sound so distinct that he’d know it anywhere. Human bones were so easy to break compared to a Demogorgon’s. So much softer. He curled his fingers.
“--got your shit rocked by Will fucking Byers!” Someone crowed.
Getting back on his feet, Andy cracked his knuckles. Standing behind him, Chance wore a bewildered expression. He reached out to touch Andy’s shoulder and was brushed off. It was clear that Will had surprised him. By fighting back. By knocking him down.
“It’s not worth it, dude,” Chance said, raising his voice over the commotion. He seemed shellshocked, whipping his head around to watch as the students milled around. “Come on man, seriously. Let it go.”
Andy ran a hand over his jaw. “You’re probably right. But I’ll be damned if everyone here sees me run away from a fight with the town queer.”
Jennifer Hayes’s wide blue eyes popped over Chance’s shoulder. Bodies circled him, clogging the hallway, pushing him closer to Andy. Head foggy, Will took a step backwards. There was blood on his hands. Seeping into his nail beds. He knew people were shouting at him, egging it on, but the noise was overshadowed by the sickening sound of bones breaking,
Will swallowed. Throat dry. Parched.
“Because that’s what he fucking is,” Andy continued. His eyes bored into Will. “Nothing but a nasty little queer.” He spat the words, spittle landing on Will’s cheek.
There was a chorus of cheers.
He wiped it off with his sleeve and thought, the last person who stood against me like this is dead. The last person he had fought had known all of his secrets and had been so deep inside his head that their brain matter had started to combine. If they were to do a DNA test, would his fingerprints register as Henry’s or his own? Even now Will was changed. He looked at Andy and an ice cold voice sprung up: he doesn’t know who you are. So show him. SHOW HIM.
Andy tipped his head. “Isn’t that right, Byers?”
Will ground his teeth together. He could smell the blood. The rot underneath. People were advocating for him. Placating with Andy to let his pass. None of it was going to make a difference. It was a matter of pride. Ego.
You’re hilarious, Will imagined saying, I’ve met men with ego’s a thousand times bigger and more dangerous than yours. He wanted to get in his face, let his eyes roll back, and scream. I’ve been a mouthpiece for a God, you fucking idiot highschooler.
Will huffed, dropping his backpack and rolling up his sleeves.
It was too late to hope for Andy to turn back.
Andy made a show of looking around, scanning the perimeter. “Should we wait? See if Lucas Sinclair and the freak squad show up to pitch in?” Laughter bounced off the metal lockers. “Wouldn’t that be a good time? Getting to put that bitch where he belongs. I’ll start with beating the fairy out of this one and then I’ll take care of Sinclair. Maybe take his disabled girlfriend for a spin–”
Will hit him again.
Andy’s head snapped back.
Blood thundering, Will threw another punch. Blood flew through the air. Some landed on his face. Andy’s nose was gushing blood so dark it appeared black. The sight of it shocked some clarity back into him. He backed away, legs weightless underneath him.
Reeled back in, Andy’s fist smashed into the side of his head and pain exploded in Will’s body. Staggering to the right, he collided with another body, just to be shoved back in. He was punched again, so hard that tears formed in his eyes. All at once, the world returned to normal speed, only to ramp up. Like a boxer in a ring, Will ducked the next one. Only to receive a knee to the stomach.
He gagged, dropping to the floor.
Andy followed him down, leaning over him to kick him in the ribs. Fire licked at his spine, nerve endings tingling with agony. Will tried to roll away and was shoved back flat on his back. Andy kneeled over him and hit him again, causing his head to thud against the tiles. Hands wrapped around one of his wrists, his dominant hand. Panic flared to life in his chest. Something about being restrained whilst being hurt. The world flickered. Fluorescent lights turning into a dark cavernous ceiling. The calloused palms pinning him down curled up into vines. Andy’s face was overlaid by a more monstrous one.
We are going to do such beautiful things together, William.
The next time Andy leaned down, Will reared up to meet him, knocking their skulls together. Thrashing wildly, he tore his right hand free from its grasp. A moment of silence and Will raised himself up on his elbows.
“What,” Andy panted. “You only like someone on top of you when it’s Wheeler?”
Will got up, ignoring him. His vision was tunneling, red and vivid.
“You should stay away from him,” Andy taunted. Will wiped his nose and his fingers came away coated in red. His chest tightened, recalling the last nose bleed he’d had. “It’s so obvious, how you look at him. I bet he knows, I bet they all do. They probably think about how disgusting you are. How unnatural.”
Some unnamed emotion swelled up inside him.
“If they aren’t careful, they’re going to catch it from you,” Andy snarled. His sneakers squeaked over the blood on the floor. “That’s what happened to you, right? When that queer took you all those years ago. We all know what he did to you. And the worst part is that you liked it, liked everything he did. Asked for it. Begged even.”
Raising his eyes, Will turned around to look at Andy. His voice was soft. “What?”
“Did he touch you?” Andy asked. “Take all that innocence and make you just like him?”
Nausea swirled around Will’s stomach.
“Stop.”
A vine down his throat. Choking him.
A large hand caressing his face.
Andy shook his head. “You should do us all a favor and kill yourself. Stop the spread.”
Will’s hands were trembling.
“Stop.”
God everyone was watching.
He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. How could he? Still, he searched the crowd desperately. Needing a reprieve. A friendly face. A hesitant smile. No one answered his pleas.
It only got worse when he heard the voice split the hall.
“Hey,” Mike hollered. He was shoving his way through throngs of students. “What the fuck is going on here?” He came to a stop when he saw Will.
He could only wonder at what he looked like. Covered in blood. Standing slightly hunched over, ribs bruised and smarting. Tear tracks mingled with the open wounds on his face. Nothing compared to Eleven. No badass nose bleed from using powers, just from being stupid enough to pick a fight he couldn’t win. No determined, self sufficient look in his eyes. Just fear and sadness and self loathing.
“Oh shit,” Andy hooted. “It’s the boyfriend!”
Will’s jaw clenched.
Mike’s expression morphed into one of disbelief. Stepping forward, Mike came out from the audience, standing just off to the side. His eyes tracked over Will’s fallen backpack, the bruises on both of their faces. A frown tipped his mouth. Behind him, Lucas, Max, and Dustin walked into Will’s line of sight. Upon seeing him, Max’s nostrils flared.
“Just in time,” Andy announced. He directed his attention towards Lucas. His hand came to a heavy rest on Will’s shoulder. “You might as well join in, Sinclair. Give your buddy a shot.”
Lucas sauntered past Mike, shoving Andy bodily away. His eyes were hard and flinty. Even when he had gone up against monsters, he’d never looked that fierce. “What the fuck is your problem, man? Jason’s dead. Eddie’s dead. Get over it.”
Andy laughed. “It’ll never be over. Not until every last one of you is held responsible for Chrissy and Patrick’s deaths.” His eyes slid back to Will. “Not until you’ve paid for every ounce of suffering you’ve caused. For Barbara Holland. For the cops that died in the mall fire. For Billy Hargrove.”
Dustin shook his head. “That had nothing to do with us!”
“Didn’t it?” Chance said. He peeled Lucas away from Andy by the back of his shirt. His eyes kept snagging on Will, half intrigued, half wild. “All of this started the day Byers went missing. And it’s only gotten worse since he came back.”
He tipped his chin. At him. At all of them.
“You want to know when I’ll get over it?” Andy asked. He pointed at Will. “I’ll get over it when he’s finally dead at the bottom of the quarry. Where he belongs. With whatever queer it was that took him.”
Max jolted.
Paling at the mention of the quarry, Mike burst forward. His shoulder bumped against Lucas’s. “Go to hell.”
“Sure, alright,” Andy joked. Flakes of blood were coming off his top lip whenever he spoke. He glowered at Mike. “When I get there, I’ll make sure to save Byers a seat. That’s where faggots go after all.”
Dustin opened his mouth to retort.
Mike’s face went slack. His eyes flicked over to Will, dark and haunted. The reaction itself was damning enough. Laughter threatened to shake Will’s frame. He’d already been to Hell. Had been pulled away from his home at the tender age of twelve and left in a barren wasteland. Will knew Hell intimately.
“Matter of fact,” Andy continued. He spread his arms wide. “I’ll save all of you a seat. Henderson can reunite with his favorite murderer.” He twisted his features, shoving Lucas backwards and into Max, who buckled under his weight and crashed to the floor. “It’s where you belong. You devil worshipping, pieces of shit.”
Will’s gaze was caught on the awkward way Max had fallen. The wince that had overtaken her as Lucas landed on her leg. Something dark crawled up out of his chest.
“The devil,” Will said softly. He caught the collar of Andy’s shirt and slammed him into the lockers. “You think you know anything about the devil? Who do you think took me? You want to know what happened to me so badly, if you ever touch my friends again, I will fucking show you what he did to me.”
Andy’s pupils were blown wide with terror. He could feel the heavy weight of everyone’s stares, but Will didn’t turn his head to meet them. After years and years of taking what he was given from bullies and interdimensional monsters, there was a vindictive part of him that wanted to bear his teeth and bite back. Good, he wanted to shout, look at me with fear. Be fucking afraid. He could feel it more and more after each day, after each failed homework assignment, after each pitying glance from his friends, Will had become something Other. Not just a lost son or a helpless kid. But someone who had walked between worlds, who had hosted a God, who had given the final killing blow to the man that lived alongside him in his head. He was a killer. One third of a Godhead.
A hand landed on his shoulder and Chance wedged his way in between him and Andy. His face was long and drawn as he separated them, hands raised, open palmed. Reluctantly, Will stepped away and his back hit someone’s warm chest. Andy spit blood onto the ground and stumbled into Chance’s side, hands shaking with adrenaline. The two of them gazed at each other for a moment, predator recognizing predator, before Chance whistled at the crowd, breaking the moment.
“Get to class!” Chance ordered, steadily guiding Andy down the hall.
Students parted, some following the pair, whilst others gave the Party a few apprehensive looks before wandering off. Jennifer Hayes helped Max off the floor, jaw clenched as she patted invisible dust off her jeans. Lucas numbly thanked her and then she too, with one lingering frown sent Will’s way, went willingly across the hall and into her next period.
The person behind Will exhaled roughly and he registered the faint smell of licorice and mint toothpaste.
It was Mike.
Dustin adjusted his hat, clearing his throat. His voice was bright. “And here I was thinking that knowing how to shoot a gun and having superpowers was as badass as it got. You’ve got a mean swing, Byers!”
Lucas’s eye twitched. “Man, shut the hell up.”
Dustin spread his hands. “Am I wrong? You can’t deny that was cool as fuck!”
“Yeah,” Mike said suddenly. His voice rumbled against Will’s back. “I’m not sure if that’s how I’d describe it, dude.” He grabbed Will by the wrist, spinning him around to face him. His eyes searched his. “What was that?”
Will’s voice was scratchy and hoarse. “What?”
Max rubbed at her elbow, features tightening. She was wearing a weird expression, eyes not quite landing on Will, but pointed in his direction. “You just beat the shit out of Andy, Will. Publicly, in front of like, a gazillion people. What were you thinking?”
What was he thinking? Will snorted.
“I guess I was thinking that he was asking for it,” Will responded quietly. He curled and uncurled his fingers, testing his throbbing hand. His knuckles were a shadowed purple over the peaks of them, an awful yellow spreading out down the back of his hand. Mike still had a grip around his wrist, two fingers encircling it.
Mike’s fingers spasmed. “Asking for it.”
Will shrugged. His body was on fire. Flames licked at his spine and branched off into his tailbone, his knees, the balls of his feet. With his free hand, he prodded at his swollen cheekbone.
Lucas’s mouth thinned and suddenly he was all in Will’s space, brushing a thumb over his bloody eyebrow. Will leaned backward, avoiding the prying touch. Lucas’s eyes were sad as he smiled at him. “You okay, man? The last black eye I got hurt like a bitch.”
Picturing his mother’s face hurt him more than the black eye did.
After being practically burned alive, pain didn’t bother him all that much anymore. Physical or otherwise. The person who had hurt him most after Vecna wasn’t Andy or Chance or fucking Troy or James. It was the person who was standing next to him, peering at him like he knew how to brush away the curtains to see into Will’s soul. Always there. Except for when it really mattered. Except for when Will wanted him to be.
“It’s fine,” Will said, brushing it off.
It had to be.
He sighed, shifting his weight. “Max, if you still have all that concealer in your bag, I’d really like to use some before I go home.”
She bit her lip, nodding. “Yeah, I can put some on you.”
Mike made a noise in the back of his throat. “So we’re just gonna ignore what happened?”
Dustin ran a hand over his eyes. “Jesus, here we go.”
Ignoring him, Mike continued. “I’m sorry, is this a regular thing for you, Dustin? Just our good old friend William Byers hitting people on a regular Tuesday?” He dropped Will’s wrist and it collided into his side. “Obviously he said something or did something to get a reaction like that. I mean, Andy’s a dick, but he’s never instigated a fight like that with Will.”
“What are you suggesting?” Max drawled. “Will stepped in front of his locker and Andy went postal? Stole his prom date? Nothing Will did would’ve warranted that.”
“Andy’s a notorious psychopath,” Dustin nodded.
Mike folded his arms. “You never should’ve hit him back. You should’ve come to get me.”
Fed up, Will threw his hands in the air. “For the record, I was the one who hit him first. So erase whatever narrative you have forming in your head.” He shook his head, amazed. “And what exactly were you going to do about it, Michael? In case you haven’t noticed, you stepping in for all of my fights is what’s gotten me in this situation!”
Mike scoffed. “So me protecting you is an issue now?”
“Okay, let’s all calm down–” Lucas started to say.
Mike’s cheeks were heating with color. “Funny how you never seemed to have a problem with it when we were kids!”
“Oh right,” Will spat back. “You’re going to talk to me about things being like when we were kids? That’s interesting coming from the King of Repression! What ever happened to growing up?”
“King of–” Mike switched tracks, eyes flinty. “Growing up doesn’t mean doing whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing! I might be the King of Repression but if there was an award for running away from your problems, you’d sure be the title holder! Someone should sign you up for the goddamn Olympics!”
“Do we know what this is about?” Dustin asked Max.
Lucas coughed.
“When have I ever run away from my problems?” Will asked.
Mike laughed and mimed pulling something out of his pocket and then thumbing through it. “Would you like a list? How about we start with what you’ve been up to lately!”
“We already talked about this!”
“Was that before or after you practically flung yourself out of a car to get away from me?”
Will rolled his eyes. “That’s an overstatement.”
Dustin dipped his head. “Is he referring to the time the two of them sat in Steve’s driveway for an indecent amount of time? Just last week? While I sat there and starved?”
“Not now, Dustin,” Max mumbled. “I’ve never seen a real live action fight between them before.”
Gasping, Dustin clutched his chest. “You mean to tell me that you watched all their fights in Will’s memories? And you never told me what they were about?”
Will tuned them out.
“I was trying to have a meaningful conversation with you and you just up and left!” Mike shouted. He raked his hands through his hair, distressed. “Every time I get close, you shut me out!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Will denied. “Since you’re so fond of childhood, why don’t we talk about what the hell your problem was that summer! When I was trying to hangout with my best friend and you acted like I was some random acquaintance you’d met on the street! If we’re going to talk about anybody shutting someone out, we better start from the source!”
“What do you want from me?” Mike demanded. “You’re mad at me when I’m distant but you clearly don’t like it when I’m too invested! So I’m sorry for giving a damn about you!”
“It’s not about you giving a damn about me or not,” Will argued. “It’s about how you only seem to do it when it's convenient for you!”
Mike’s lips pinched. “Convenient for me? Everything about you is inconvenient for me!”
Somehow Will knew he wasn’t talking about monsters or missing posters. This was about him. About them. About Will’s botched confession. His ugly feelings.
Tears threatened to spill over and dribble down his cheeks. “You know what, I’m sorry your little best friend isn’t here anymore. That the kid who practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the kid who hid behind you at recess, the kid who fucking cried for you in the Upside Down, is gone. So I’m sorry that I hit Andy, okay? I’m sorry I finally did what you wanted and grew up and grew apart from you. Mostly, I’m sorry that your girlfriend dumped you and now you need someone to make you feel needed.”
Mike closed his eyes. “Fuck. Will–come on. That’s not what I meant. I just…”
“You just?”
Mike blew out a breath. “I… I don’t know. I just don’t want things to change. And it’s not about El or anything else, alright? I miss you. I like having you around. I like being with you. Maybe it’s selfish but I like being the one you stand behind.” He clenched his jaw. “I like being needed. But I like being needed by you.”
Will blinked and a tear rolled down from his lower lashes. God, all he’d wanted when he was younger was to hear that from Mike. To know that he wasn’t an annoyance or a burden. Now it just fell flat.
“But I don’t like needing you,” Will whispered. At some point Max, Lucas, and Dustin had given them some space, loitering over by the doors to the football field. He was glad for it. Could’ve never said what he was going to say if they were still here. “It sucks, Mike. I wish I could go back in time and be that kid again. I wish… I wish I never had these feelings for you. But I do.”
Mike’s lips parted. “Will, wait–”
Will forged ahead. He was sure he looked a mess. Beat black and blue by a high school bully, standing in a deserted hallway and crying over unrequited love. “And it’s about you, Mike. If it seems like I’m running from something… maybe I am. But I need you to let me run and not chase. If we’re ever going to get back to what we had, I need space. I need to be able to move on.”
“Move on,” Mike echoed. “From me.”
Will nodded, wiping at his face as he sniffled pathetically.
A strange sort of panic flickered to life in Mike’s eyes. He took a step closer, then another. “Will, I don’t need that. I’m fine. It doesn’t matter to me.” He froze, as if realizing what he’d just said. He rubbed at his neck. “Well, okay, it does matter. How you feel matters to me. I… I love you, dude. You’re my person.”
I love you, dude.
Will was so tired.
“I know,” Will said. He wanted to grab Mike’s anxious hands and press kisses to them. “You’re my person too. And I… love you too. But I want to mean it in the same way you mean it. So please let me.”
Mike shook his head. “Will, I don’t think I can.”
“You have to.”
Mike grabbed him by the wrist again and cupped his hand in between his, bringing it up to his face. Will tugged at it, trying to pull away. His stupid, broken heart was fluttering in his chest, an unnerving sensation. Trying to lift off like it hadn’t been split in half. Wingless.
His mouth grazed Will’s knuckles, dark eyes gentle and imploring.
God, don’t.
Mike kissed his bruised knuckles one by one, leaving Will a squirming mess as he tried to twist his hand out of Mike’s. Flecks of blood got on Mike’s mouth, smearing when he wet his lips, staining them a dark red. Jesus Christ.
“Okay, Mike–”
“It’s not okay,” Mike said back. He straightened his shoulders. “None of this is okay. But it’s going to be, yeah.” Will didn’t think that was a legit question. There was a manic determination to him now. He reeled Will in closer, eyebrows set in a firm line. “Because that’s our thing, Will. That’s what we do. You run and I chase.”
With that, he dropped Will’s hands and strutted away, slinging his backpack over his shoulders merrily. Max turned to him as Mike passed and whatever she saw on his face, caused her to stick her hands out to the sides and mouth: “what the fuck just happened?”
If only he knew.
One thing was certain.
He’d made a mistake in telling Mike he was going to move on.
***