A Glimmer of Light

A Glimmer of Light Refusing to Fade
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49303804.
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con,
Underage
Categories: M/M, Other
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Relationships: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair,
Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Will
Byers & Mike Wheeler
Characters: Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin
Henderson, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Jonathan Byers, Argyle (Stranger
Things), Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Eddie
Munson, Erica Sinclair, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Murray
Bauman, Sam Owens (Stranger Things), Martin Brenner, Karen
Wheeler, Ted Wheeler (Stranger Things), Holly Wheeler, Henry Creel |
One | Vecna, Vecna (Stranger Things), Original Characters
Additional Tags: Will Byers Loves Mike Wheeler, Mike Wheeler Loves Will Byers, Will
Byers Needs a Hug, Mike Wheeler Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved Will
Byers, Touch-Starved Mike Wheeler, Will Byers Has PTSD, Mike
Wheeler Has PTSD, Will Byers Has Issues, Mike Wheeler Has Issues,
Will Byers Has Powers, Possessed Will Byers, Torture, Underage
Rape/Non-con, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Eating Disorders, Post-
Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Separation
Anxiety, Insomnia, Nightmares, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst,
Sharing a Bed, Will Byers & Mike Wheeler Fight, Internalized
Homophobia, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gay Will Byers, Asexual Will
Byers, Gay Mike Wheeler, Gay Disaster Mike Wheeler, Everyone Is
Gay, Abusive Lonnie Byers, Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane
Hopper, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts,
Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, BAMF Will Byers
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-08-16 Updated: 2024-04-09 Words: 267,992 Chapters:
79/?
A Glimmer of Light Refusing to Fade
by MagicSchoolbusDropout08
Summary
When the Byers move to California, Will is lonely, bullied, and struggling with his mental
health. When Mike comes to visit, he notices that something is off, but doesn’t know what’s
wrong or how to help while his best friend feels so far away even though he's physically
there. However, maybe Mike finds the answer after they are brought closer than ever after El
is abducted by the government and they end up facing capture, interdimensional monsters,
torture, the past, their own feelings, and attempting to prevent the apocalypse. (Post-s3,
rewriting s4, and predicting s5).
Welcome to California
Chapter Notes
Hello! I've been writing this in my head for years, and as it's my 15th birthday today,
I've decided to post it as a present to myself. I like it, and I hope you do too.
Real quick, I just wanted to share some things before we get to the actual chapter.
1. I do have a schedule, and I'll post a new chapter every other weekend (please let me
know in the comments if you would prefer Saturday or Sunday). If I miss a day, please
don't come after me, as I am
A. a fifteen-year-old student who is in college and under a lot of stress (yes, I'm a
fifteen-year-old college student, it's hell).
B. neurodivergent and experience burnout frequently (thank you, AuDHD).
C. actually becoming a published author so I may have to skip a week to deal with that
whole debacle.
2. Please, PLEASE be nice in the comments. This fic may get a bit dark at times, but it
does get better, and I really don't need a bunch of negativity on a work that I'm trying
my best on. Constructive criticism is welcomed, as are praise and kudos, but just plain
mean comments are unnecessary and upsetting. If you don't like it, nobody is making
you read it, but I really do hope that you like it.
3. There are some triggering things in here (seriously, please read the tags). I will put
trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter and mark where the scene begins and
ends so that you can skip ahead as well as a non-graphic summary of the scene you skip.
I want all my readers to be comfortable, so if you think there's even a chance that you
can't handle a scene (whether that means a panic attack/relapse or even just discomfort),
please pass it, because being triggered sucks and I don't want anyone to be upset. I rated
the fic 'Teen' overall, because I don't think it's too bad, but I might be a bit jaded, so
please tell me if I should change the rating.
4. I may ask questions about feedback (what you want to see in the fic, tags and
warnings that I should add, getting it noticed, what you like and dislike, etc) so please
let me know.
Anyways, I've worked really hard on it and hope you love it as much as I do. Cheers!
Here are the Spotify playlists for Mike and Will that I made for them in this fic:
Will: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mixAWE7PxUrZHCR3lhOlV
Mike: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/30Zw7qAQ4S9nJDtKIKRYO1
Overall rating: PG. TW:

- Anxiety/panic attack
- Light blood (nosebleed)
- Light swearing
- Mentioned body horror
- Mentioned child abuse/neglect
- Mentioned death
- Mentioned violence
- Nightmares
- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and its symptoms
- Skipping meals
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Well, kids, what do you think?" Joyce Byers neé Maldonado asks, holding tightly onto a
moving box.
Her youngest son, William Jacob Byers, climbs down from the moving truck that his older
brother Jonathan Byers was driving slowly, as if he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. To
be fair, Will Byers did have a heavy weight on his shoulders - one that grew to be heavier and
heavier with each traumatic event, of which there were plenty in the young man's life. Ever
since he was a young child, fortune had not smiled on the boy, instead giving him a life full
of hardships and sorrows. He always kept a brave face and pretended that he was fine, but, to
Will’s shame, that mask had slipped as the Byers were leaving the only home that they had
ever known and the place that held all of the people Will loved within its borders, leaving
him silently crying in the passenger’s seat as they drove across the country. His tears had
dried around Colorado, and he had reinstated the mask that kept everyone from worrying
about him.
“It looks really nice, Mom.” Will responds with a smile, going over to help his new sister out
of the car. However, Eleven, AKA El, AKA Jane Hopper, superhero (though she doesn't like
to be called that), teenage girl, and former lab experiment had already opened the door and
grabbed the box that had been riding with her in the backseat of the car, walking over to stand
next to Joyce silently. Though Will had been through his own share of hardships (more than
anyone should have to endure), he felt that El had gone through more and was determined to
help his new sister adjust to normal life. She had never had time to get used to people, going
straight from a lab to living in a cabin in the woods with her adopted father Jim Hopper, and
then only leaving said cabin to be with the Party, whom she feels sorrowful about leaving
behind, as does Will. "Do you need any help, El?"
"No, I am good." El says disjointedly. Will winces to himself; the Byers family will have to
teach El how to make her words flow more easily. That's going to get her teased. He may not
know much, but he knows that kids are mean and are going to be looking for anything - any
flaw, any oddity, anything - to use against the Byers siblings, and God knows there are plenty.
To be perfectly honest, Will was scared - he was starting a new school without his friends for
the first time. Ever since kindergarten, he had always had Mike right by his side on the first
day, and as they got older, they gained more Party members, meaning that if Will needed
someone, all he had to do was look around, as his friends were always there if he needed
them (even if he never took that offer up - his issues weren’t - no, he wasn’t - important
enough to bother his friends with). But now? He had moved across the country with only his
mom, Jonathan, and El. No Mike. No Dustin. No Lucas. No Max. Nobody who had the
capacity to help him if he asked. His mom was starting a new job, and was too busy juggling
work and three kids to be with him all the time. Jonathan was working through his own stuff,
which meant that he was lost in his own head more than he was with Will, and El needed
someone more than he did, meaning that he needed to be the supporter, not be supported. He
was separated from most of the people he loved, having to step up and be a big brother to a
girl that he honestly didn’t know how to help care for, and being thrown into a school with
what felt like a target on his back.
Of course he would be picked on at this new school, he had no doubt. They were moving in
the middle of the fall semester. He’s gay (he thinks - he’s only ever been attracted to, AKA
deeply in love with, one person, who happened to be a boy, and he doesn’t know what that
makes him. Is he gay? Or does he like girls too and just happens to have fallen for a boy and
that makes him think that he only likes boys? Will has no idea) and it feels like it’s pretty
obvious that he’s queer, even though he tries to hide it. Not to mention, he’s a quiet artsy nerd
who is associating with someone who is very… Developmentally behind? Will questions the
terminology. He doesn’t know what to call her mental state and lack of knowledge about the
world. All he knows is that it’s hard on her (even if it’s not her fault that she was treated more
as a lab rat than a human child, including the lack of social interaction and education, she still
beats herself up over missing social rules and not having the right words to express herself.
Will knows how hard it is to be so angry at yourself, and he’s decided that he’s going to make
her life good for her no matter what it takes, including destroying his own chances of having
friends), and that it’s going to get even harder when the kids in this town, who are surely
horrible, see that El is vulnerable and swoop in like a pack of vultures. Will shudders at the
thought of what could happen.
Will doesn’t have many strengths, but he sure is good at imagining the worst things that can
happen. Forget about being an artist - what job requires you to think of every single negative
outcome and have a panic attack over it? Because that would be a job that Will would excel
at.
He snorts at the mental imagery of an office that is entirely made of people hyperventilating
into paper bags in their cubicles, which earns him a strange look from his mother. “Will,
honey, are you okay?”
Will can feel his cheeks flush. He didn’t mean to laugh out loud at something so stupid.
Besides, his mom probably thinks that he’s insane now for laughing at things in his own
head. “Yeah! Yeah, just thought of something funny.”
She smiles at him and nods towards the moving truck. “Alright. Do you want to help unload
the boxes from the truck or unpack them inside?”
Will thinks for a moment. He doesn’t really want to leave Jonathan out here to take out the
boxes himself, but if he were to work on the inside, he could familiarize himself with the
house, and if he could convince El to stay inside with him, he could teach her some English
while they organized. Besides, organizing sounds kind of fun. He knows that he’s weird for
him to like to clean, but he finds the repetition calming.
But, deep down, Will knows the real reason that he wants to clean and organize this new
house. It’s so stupid, but the reason that he wants to look in every corner is to make sure that
there aren’t any monsters. At 14, he should have outgrown his fears of monsters and the dark
ages ago, but he knows that monsters are real, whether malignant beings from another
dimension that are trying to kidnap, possess, and/or hurt and kill him, or mean, drunken
fathers that shake the house with their rage. And when you know that such horrible, evil
things like the Upside Down exist, it’s hard not to be afraid.
“I’ll clean and unpack inside of the house. El, do you want to work with me or help unload
the boxes?”
“You.” El says quietly, still gripping the box tightly. Will knows that she’s sticking to him
because he’s the one that she knows the best out of the Byers. They have a bond that nobody
else could ever understand. She saved him from the Upside Down - not once, but three times
- and he’s been trying to save her right back, both from the Upside Down (during the
Starcourt fight with the Mind Flayer) and from other people. He knows he can never truly
repay her, but he can damn well try.
“Alright, cool. Are you both going to be okay?” Will says, turning from El to shout over at
the truck, where his mom and Jonathan have started unloading the truck. His mom flashes a
thumbs-up at them, and he thumbs-ups back before turning back to El. "Ready to go inside?"
El nods, and he nabs the box from her and they go towards the steps up to the house. He
counts one, two, three as he goes up the steps, memorizing the number of steps up the path,
amount of steps there are up to the door, loose bricks and how many there are, and how big
each step is. If he needs to escape in the middle of the night from a threat inside the house, he
won't have time to waste on tripping.
And for his family to escape from a threat, too, Will adds as an afterthought. He's
embarrassed about how easy it is for him to only think about saving himself when he has his
family to protect. Honestly, he knows that if it came down to it he would die to protect them,
but in the scenarios that he creates, he usually is alone (just like he was when the
Demogorgons - and later the Mind Flayer(s) - were hunting him), so he only has to worry
about himself. But, like he said, if it came down to it, his priorities are his family first, him
second.
Will remembers years ago, when he was his own top priority. He was… four? He thinks? But
even if he was young, he's still so ashamed of that. He knows that other people are far more
important than him; it's been drilled into him over the years, and he didn't used to believe it,
but now he knows it for sure. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, grass is green, and Will Byers
is worth nothing unless he is serving other people in some way. Water is wet, and he is
everyone's last priority, including his own. Sometimes it makes him sad, but everyone gets
sad about things they can't change, like the death of a loved one. it's your fault Bob died. he's
dead because of you. your fault your fault YOUR FAULT-
Will shakes his head as they go through the front doorway, as if to get rid of the thoughts.
They’re always there, in the back of his mind, but sometimes they get so much louder. Will
knows they're just thoughts, but he also knows that they're true, which makes it sting.
"Are you okay?" El asks earnestly, looking at him in concern. Great, Will thinks, another
person worried about me because they see how crazy I am, reacting to things in my head.
"Of course, El. I'm fine." Will says quietly, smiling softly at her. "Are you?"
She looks down to fiddle with the bottom of her flannel. "I miss Hopper and Mike."
Will's heart twinges at the mention of the boy he's been in love with for years - his best
friend. And his sister's boyfriend.
Another way he feels ashamed. It's not bad enough that he's gay (probably), he has to be in
love with a boy who is not only straight but dating his sister? God, if Mike knew how Will
feels about him - if anybody knew how Will feels about Mike - he would hate Will even more
than he probably already does. If anyone knew the secrets Will kept, they would see how
disgusting and wrong he is. Will used to think that maybe his friends would accept him. Hell,
Will's even fantasized about how his confession would go before - Will tells Mike that he's
gay and in love with him, Mike says he feels the same way, and they kiss and live happily
ever after.
But after last summer?
'It's not my fault you don't like girls!' Mike spits. Will stares at him in wide-eyed shock. Wasn't
Mike supposed to be the one person that would never hate him, even if he was gay? Mike
sighs and starts talking again, and Will expects an apology, even if Mike isn't wrong, but he
instead says 'Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk. But what did you think, really? That we were
never going to get girlfriends? That we were going to sit in my basement and play games
forever?'
Will feels the sadness, disgust, and self-loathing curl inside him, rearing its ugly head, but
above all there's anger and pain. ‘Yeah. I guess I did. I guess I really did.’
The part of him that he’s buried down deep - the part of him that’s angry and vengeful and
hurt, the part that he’s scared will turn him into someone like Lonnie - feels a grim, sick sense
of satisfaction at the hurt written across Mike’s face. Good. Let Mike hurt for what he’s done,
for ignoring, belittling, insulting him.
But more than anything, he’s just so, so hurt. He knows that this will be one of the emotional
scars that runs deep, right next to those that Lonnie left years ago. His emotions are in such a
scramble that he doesn’t know how to put them into words or even feel and process them, but
he's realized that if he told Mike that he was right, that Will really was a queer, he couldn’t be
sure that Mike’s reaction would be positive anymore.
That Mike was safe anymore.
Never. He can never tell Mike unless he’s ready to lose him forever.
“Alright, let’s take a look around. Want to call bedrooms?” he asks El, going over to the
kitchen area and setting the box down on the counter.
“Okay." El agrees.
"I can have the smallest one, I don’t mind less space. Do you want to go find the bedrooms
and assign them?"
"Assign?" El says quizzically.
"Um, assign means to pass something out and decide who gets what." Will tries to explain.
He’s not great at teaching El things, but he’s trying his best to help his sister.
While he isn’t too pleased at the circumstances, Will is thrilled to have a little sister to take
care of. (Well, not so little. They think that she’s only a few months younger than him). When
he was little, he had always wanted another sibling to be an older brother to. He had always
loved little kids. He had started begging for a little brother or sister when he was little, but he
stopped after he realized that a new Byers would be subjected to a life of not-enough (another
reason that a third sibling wouldn’t have been plausible - they just plain couldn’t afford it)
and Lonnie. It wouldn’t be fair to have another little kid put through that. Jonathan and Will
having Lonnie as a father was bad enough.
But now, when El being taken in by the Byers was feasible and she wouldn’t be in any danger
from Lonnie? He bets that younger Will would be overjoyed at having El in his life, even if
they were too old for Will to share toys and play games with her like he had imagined when
he was a little kid. But instead of sharing toys, he can share knowledge about the world and
look out for her, so that’s what he’s going to do.
“Okay. I will… assign… bedrooms.” El says slowly, rolling the new word around in her
mouth like she was memorizing everything about it. She probably is, Will thinks to himself.
“Can you remember what I’m going to tell you?” Will asks carefully.
El nods earnestly, a serious expression on her face.
“I would like the smallest bedroom. You can choose which bedroom you would like, and
Jonathan can get the last one.” Will says slowly, watching El to make sure that she soaks up
the information.. She does, spinning away to go up the stairs. He watches her cautiously; he
can be a little paranoid about stairs. Ever since he fell down a set when he was six and ended
up in the hospital, he's been worried about people falling and getting hurt. Well, he’s always
worried about everyone else getting hurt, but especially in certain scenarios. Like stairs.
After El is safely upstairs, he turns back to the kitchen. He did not think this through. There
literally aren't any boxes to unpack yet.
He decides to go through and familiarize himself with the kitchen in the meantime. He counts
ten double-door bottom cabinets (eight empty, two with shelves), sixteen drawers, and ten
double-door upper cabinets. Will does a quick runthrough, looking carefully in each one for
issues. He finds none, but he does find a lot of storage space. He's already mentally placing
where each cooking tool will go when he's startled by a loud 'thunk'.
He jumps, whipping around only to see Jonathan dropping a box on the floor. He relaxes, but
the adrenaline rush that comes with loud, unexpected noises doesn't fade, leaving him short
of breath and with a racing heartbeat. "Jonathan! You scared me!
"Sorry!" Jonathan throws over his shoulder as he goes back out to bring more boxes in from
the driveway.
Will exhales heavily as he tries to catch his breath from the jumpscare-that-shouldn't-have-
been-a-jumpscare before going out and helping his family bring in some of the boxes. After
his heart stops pounding quite as hard, he jogs out, only slowing to go the one, two, three
down the steps before picking back up again. He grabs the box closest to him, and sees that
it's labeled as 'Jonathan's Bedroom'. He goes back into the house and slowly goes up the
stairs, balancing the box on his hip as one hand grips the railing. Once he's up, he braces
himself before loudly saying "El! Where are you?"
She emerges from the second bedroom to the right. "This is my bedroom." she says
confidently.
"Alright, awesome! Which ones are Jonathan's and mine?" he asks.
"Yours-" she points to the bedroom farthest from the stairs. "Joyce-" she points to the
bedroom closest to the stairs. "Jonathan." she gestures downstairs. Will internally groans at
the fact that he went upstairs for nothing, but he smiles at El instead.
"Thank you, El. I'm going to put this in Jonathan's room and then I'll come upstairs and you
can show me around?"
"Yes." she says, disappearing back into her room. Will shrugs to himself. Sisters are weird, he
supposes.
He goes back down the stairs (ugh) and looks around through the different doors. It takes a
minute, because he accidentally opens the door to the basement instead of the door to the
bedroom. Finally, he finds what he thinks is Jonathan's room, and places the box on the floor
before looking around it. It's nice, he thinks to himself. Not Jonathan's style, but they can
change that. Maybe Jon and Will can hang out and redo their bedrooms to their tastes? He
hasn't been hanging out with Jonathan as much, and he misses his big brother, so he'll take
any chance to be around Jonathan one-on-one again like they used to.
He makes a mental note to ask later. In the meantime, he can just bring in more boxes. Well,
after El shows him around.
He goes back upstairs to find El, and she's sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for him.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting, El. I got lost." he says.
She nods. Will offers his hand to help her up, and she looks at it confusedly. "So, when you're
sitting down and someone offers their hand, it means they want you to take it so that they can
help you up." he explains. A look of understanding dawns on her features, and she reaches
out and grasps his hand, which he uses to pull her up. "See?"
Eleven nods sagely, as though the secrets of the universe have been revealed to her. "It also
means that they like you. If you don’t like someone, you don’t offer them a hand, and if you
offer one and the person doesn't take it, it means they don't like you."
"Why wouldn’t someone like me? Why wouldn’t I like someone?" she asks puzzledly.
"Well…" Will tries to think of how to explain that people suck. "Sometimes that's just how it
is."
"But why?" El asks as they get off of the staircase and stand in the hallway instead.
Damn, why does she have to ask the hard questions?
"Because some people are bad people. And even if you try to be nice to them they can still be
mean."
"Like the Bad Men?" she asks, looking very concerned.
"No! No, no, no!" Will hurriedly says. He doesn't think that it would be good for El to think
that there are a bunch of people out there that are just like her… abusers? Captors? He'll just
use the name Bad Men. "Like…" He tries to think of terminology that she might know. "Like
mouthbreathers!" He says, remembering that Mike told him that he had told El that before
Will and El had ever met in-person. "They aren't really dangerous, they're just mean and
annoying."
"Oh, okay." she says. El pauses. "Are there a lot of mouthbreathers?"
"Well…" Will stalls. "I don't know. There were a lot in Hawkins, and a lot of the people that
weren't plain mean weren't nice, either. But it might be different here. We'll figure that out
soon, okay?" he says.
She nods and starts walking. El turns to the door closest to the stairs and opens it, walking
inside as Will follows. It's a good-sized room, with light brown walls and beige carpet, an
ensuite bathroom and closet, and a large window. "So this one's Mom's room?" Will asks. El
nods. He'll have to teach her some other forms of non-verbal communication. "I think she'll
like it. Can I see your room?"
El leaves and goes into the next room over, and Will follows. It's smaller than his mom's, but
still a good size, and with the same brown walls and beige carpet. "Do you want me to paint
your room later, El? We can make it more like you want it." Will offers. She lights up and
nods. Will may not know much, but he knows that making or customizing something for
someone is a surefire way to say 'I love and care about you, and I'm here for you', which is
the message that he wants to send his new sister. Plus, it's a good way to help her with her…
autonomy? He can't quite place the word he's looking for. A good way to help her learn what
she likes and show her that she can make decisions for herself. There we go.
She opens the closet, and Will can see that it's pretty large, almost a walk-in but not quite.
"Nice! Is that why you picked this one?" He asks.
"Yes. But I like this too." She says, pointing to the slight alcove under the window. Will
blinks; he didn't notice that when he walked in. His observation skills must be dropping. He
needs to refine that.
"That little space would be perfect for a desk or a dresser." Will muses, trying not to show his
dismay at his lack of awareness. "You and I can make this perfect for you, El, I promise."
She smiles, seemingly put into a good mood for the first time since leaving Hawkins by
Will's offer. "Let's go to your room." El says, grabbing his hand and going to pull him out the
door.
He wasn’t expecting her to touch him, let alone move quickly and grab his hand, and much to
Will's chagrin, he flinches. His first instinct is to yank his hand away and step away from her,
be ready to run if need be, but he reminds himself that it's just El and she's not going to hurt
him.
As she pulls him out into the hallway and to the room that's going to be his, he chastises
himself. Get a freaking grip, Byers. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You're being stupid.
Besides, you could have hurt her feelings by doing that, you idiot. Calm down and be a good
brother, for once in your life.
"This one is your room." El says. He opens the door to the smallest one. It's a bit larger than
his room in the Byers old house, and Will finds himself missing the smallness. It has a
window on the exterior wall, and a double-door closet. It's the first bedroom color variation
that he’s seen so far, with yellow walls and the beige carpet. It has plenty of room for a bed,
desk, and dresser (to be honest, that's all of the bedroom furniture that he can think of), and
he can decorate it later.
"I love it, El," he says half-truthfully. He's sure that he will after he fixes it up a bit, but right
now, it just feels so foreign. He feels bad about lying for a moment (friends don’t lie, after
all), but the look of pride and joy on her face is worth it.
"I picked it because of the yellow. You like yellow." El says seriously.
Will nods. "I do. Good choice! Plus, it's a great size and right next door to your room."
She beams at him, proud of making a good choice, before leaving and going back to her
room. He looks around 'his' room again and feels his emotions turn into a knot in his
stomach. He can't really tell what a lot of them are, but he knows that they aren't good, even
if judging by nothing else but the fact that he wants to throw up. This place isn't home.
He's sure it'll be fine once he changes some things around. Brings in his stuff, redecorates,
just makes it his room instead of a blank, yellow canvas.
Yeah, he likes yellow, but not this much. There’s a lot of it on the walls. It looks like the
inside of a mustard bottle, and so much bright color is almost distressing.
As he leaves to go downstairs to help unload the boxes, he questions what to do. If he paints
it, he might hurt El's feelings, but if he doesn't, he might lose his mind.
Maybe he can paint part of it (like, one wall) a very light yellow? It shouldn't hurt El's
feelings as long as it's still yellow, and it wouldn't be quite as bright and stressful.
He'll ask Jonathan and El if they can all redo their rooms together - as the Byers siblings -
this weekend. He'll ask tomorrow before school, maybe at breakfast.
Ugh. The thought of food makes the knot in his stomach tighten. He grabs a few boxes, this
time from a pile that says 'Will's Room', and takes them up to the yellow bedroom. He makes
several more trips alongside his mom and Jonathan (the original Byers gang) until the
driveway is empty, the boxes and furniture are in the house, and he's soaked in sweat (eugh).
El's still in her room, and has been occasionally creeping out to take some boxes in from the
stair landing. She's acting odd, but it’s probably because she misses her dad and their friends
as well as the anxiety about starting school. Will's been going to school since he was five, and
he’s still terrified of tomorrow, so he can't imagine how going to school for the first time ever
must feel.
He decides to check in on her after his mom decides that they’re having pizza for dinner.
She’s quietly sitting on the floor, back to the door, rereading Hopper’s letter for the millionth
time. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t like to change the volume of a room
(if it’s loud, he’ll be louder than normal, and if it’s quiet, he’ll be quieter), so he’s going to
speak quietly unless she starts being loud.
“I miss Hop.” she says, turning around to reveal tear-stained cheeks and a watery voice.
“Oh, El, I know. I get it.” he says, walking over and sitting on the ground to hug her. “I lost
someone who was basically my dad, too.”
She wipes her eyes and looks up at him from his embrace. “Who?” she asks softly.
His throat tightens. “His name was Bob. He died because of the Upside Down, when I was
possessed."
“Do you miss him?” El asks.
“Yeah. Every day.” Will says. He goes to tell El about Bob, but before he can open his mouth,
there’s a call of ‘PIZZA! COME ON, KIDS!’ from his mom in the kitchen. He gets up and
offers El his hand, and she takes it quickly. At least he’s taught her something today.
They both go down the stairs (Will first, so that he can catch El if she falls) and into the
kitchen, where his family is sitting at a folding table with four chairs, a box of pepperoni
pizza open on the table. Jonathan has three pieces on his paper plate that he’s staring down at,
and his mom has two on hers. El takes another two, and Will hesitantly takes the last piece.
“Honey, do you want one of mine? You’re a growing kid, you need more food.” his mom
says, worriedly looking at his single piece.
“No, I’m okay. I’m not very hungry.” Will says. It’s true; just looking at his plate makes him
feel sick.
It’s always hard for Will to eat. Sometimes, he puts some pasta or something slightly slippery
into his mouth and all of a sudden all he can think of is a slimy tentacle forcing itself down
his throat as he gags and struggles to breathe, and he has to spit it out and can’t eat for a
while. But this is different. When he looks at the piece of pizza, all he can think of is how
disgusting it would feel on his tongue and sliding down his esophagus to sit in his stomach. If
he tried to eat it, he’s sure that he would start gagging, and that would be gross and
embarrassing and overall unpleasant.
“Actually, I think that I’m going to go upstairs and unpack my room. I like cold pizza better
anyways. Could we leave it out until I’m done and get hungry?” Will asks. He feels bad
about lying about liking cold pizza, but he just doesn’t want to eat it, and he just wants to get
out of it.
His mom stares at him, and he worries that she saw through the lie, but she nods. “Okay.
Make sure that you eat it later, though, okay?” she says, taking a bite of one of her own
slices.
“Okay. I’ll be back down in a bit.” Will says, pushing back his folding chair and leaving his
family to eat in silence. He goes up the stairs slowly, and goes into the yellow room before
sitting down on a box and putting his head in his hands. He's so tired, and he just wants to go
home, but he guesses that he doesn't really have one to go back to anymore.
He wishes Mike were here. He'd make Will smile - he almost always does.
Will picks himself up and dusts himself off, wiping his cheeks in case any tears fell. He
unpacks some art supplies and sets them up in a corner of the yellow room as well as putting
the mattress and bedding on his bed. He sees that it's 10:18 on his watch, and decides that
he's done enough unpacking for a night and to just go to bed.
He brushes his teeth harshly and quickly before changing into a pair of pajamas. He frowns at
his reflection. He can't quite place it, but there’s something wrong with his appearance.
Will shrugs it off and goes to bed. He lies in the dark, underneath six blankets (he likes it
cold, after all, and Will wants him to be as miserable as possible in Will's body - maybe that
way he'll be safe) and wishing that he had unpacked his nightlight. Will knows he's too old to
have something as babyish as a nightlight, but he's still scared of the dark after the Upside
Down, and sleeping in new surroundings isn't exactly helping him feel comfortable.
After a few minutes of lying curled on his side, he slips into the depths of sleep, and after a
few peaceful minutes of rest, he’s pulled into a dreaming state.
He’s watching Bob die over and over again in different, horrible ways. The first way is that
he’s ripped apart by the Demodogs, just like he was in real life, but this time the dog has a
grisly mixture of the dog's and Will’s own features. The next way he dies is being hit by a
moving truck. He watches it happen six more times before it's the other people he loves being
killed. His mom, Jonathan, El, Dustin, Max, Lucas, but worst of all, Mike. He watches Mike
die four times before he runs out of oxygen. The Upside Down-poisoned air has filled his
lungs and he's not able to breathe anymore.
He sits up with a panicked gasp. He can't breathe. Oh God, why can't he breathe, what's
wrong with the air, is it poisoned, why is he shaking, help help help!
He slides off the bed and leans against its side, forehead against his knees that are drawn
close to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He takes as deep of breaths as he can until he
stops feeling like he's dying, with only the shaking in his hands, tear tracks on his face, and
tremor in his voice to prove that there was anything wrong. He rubs his hands down his face,
trying to finish calming down, but when he pulls them away, they're damp and sticky.
He looks at the blood on his fingers and almost breaks down again. He realizes that it's from
his face. Will rushes to the bathroom, at which point he turns on the light and sees tracks of
red coming from his right nostril and dripping down his face, all the way down onto the
neckline of his shirt. He hastily grabs some toilet paper and wads it up before using it to wipe
up the blood and press on his nose until the bleeding stops.
Once it does, he looks at the watch that matches Mike’s. It's 3:06 AM on the dot. He sighs
and decides that he'll just draw until it's time to get up in the morning.
He turns on the light, sits on his bed, and starts sketching, trying to take his mind off of the
nightmare and panic attack. He'll be fine. He just has to make it to the morning and then he'll
be fine.
Right?
---
Meanwhile, in Hawkins
Mike puts down the pen after writing several letters. He rubs his eyes, wiping the tears. He
had watched his best friend, his girlfriend, and his best friend's family drive away a few hours
earlier, and after he had looked back at their house, gone home, and hugged his mother as
tightly as he could, he had holed himself up in the basement. Mike pushes his chair back
from the table where he and his friends had played D&D for years (he should've played with
Will last summer. Why was he such a dick? Why did he say what he said?) and stretches
before getting up and going over to the phone. He immediately puts in the number that the
Byers' left and lets it rings through.
Nobody picks up.
He frowns, rings it again, and it does the same thing.
He does it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
On the sixth try, he slams the phone back into its hook with a strangled shout. Is it too much
to ask that he gets to talk to Will? Even if it's only been eight hours, he still misses Will. The
sound of his voice, the gentleness of his personality, the way that he would hug Mike, the
way that he would be so focused on his drawing that he wouldn't be monitoring his facial
expressions and would have more genuine emotion on it than faux cheerfulness, which was
rare in Will. He needs his best friend.
That's it!
It's only been eight hours. They probably only got there a few hours ago, if they're there at
all. Besides, he didn't account for the time difference. It's probably later, and it's better if
they're asleep. He knows that Will doesn't sleep well, and he doubts that El does either. He
hopes that they're okay.
He should probably get some sleep himself. Mike goes over to the couch where he and Will
would sleep over all the time and lays out all of the blankets, putting together a sleep-nest of
blankets and pillows.
He goes to get in it before he realizes that he's still wearing his polo and shorts and isn't ready
for bed.
Mike runs upstairs, puts on pajamas, brushes his teeth, and goes back down, grabbing Will's
stuffed bear (Will started keeping it at Mike's when they were six and he kept sleeping over -
and when Lonnie tried to get rid of it along with the rest of Will's stuffed animals, saying that
it was making him weak) and the binder of Will's art before climbing into the blanket-nest on
the couch, tucking the bear under his chin and burying his nose in it, inhaling what's left of
Will's smell from it as he cracks open the binder and gazes with reverence at all of the
drawings that he's both been given and stolen when Will went to throw them away. As he
drifts off to sleep, he wonders if Will's asleep too, and he hopes that if he is, he's having good
dreams.
Chapter End Notes
Well, what did you think? This is my first published fanfiction and I really hope that
y'all liked it. Feel free to comment, kudos, or bookmark. (Sorry if it seems disjointed,
wordy, or out-of-character, I'm trying to find the groove that I work in. Still don't quite
know what this POV was, but it'll get better and more even, I promise. Also, I'm sorry
that El may have seemed a bit unintelligent in this. I think that she’s highly intelligent,
but has trouble with 'common knowledge' such as her English and social interaction. I
mean, she's never gone to a school before (hell, she lived in a lab her whole life) and
really only interacted with Mike, Hopper, and the TV on a regular basis, with very
limited Party interaction in seasons 1 and 3, along with her friendship with Max. I didn't
mean to make her seem dumb, I just didn't know how to portray her lack of knowledge
otherwise. Her intelligence and personality will be shown more in later chapters as she
learns more, I swear. Sorry about that). Also, Mike's having a gay depression over his
boyfriend leaving, if you couldn't tell by him crying, obsessively calling, and trying to
hold on to Will's smell. Bit *cough cough very* gay, Michael. Have a great day!
School
Chapter Notes
Hello! Happy Labor Day Weekend. Sorry I missed last week. First week of school and a
ton of homework got the better of me. But anyways, I finished this, and am all ready to
post consistently again. Hope you enjoy!
Here are the Spotify playlists I made them:
Overall rating: PG-13. TW:

- Body dysmorphia
- Fighting among siblings
- Light blood (mentioned nosebleed)
- Mentioned child abuse/neglect
- Mentioned death
- Mentioned nightmares
- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and its symptoms
- Self-harm (taking too hot of showers, starving self)
- Slurs (retard)
- Skipping meals
- Swearing (damn, shit, etc)
He draws for three hours and fills up almost eight pages in his sketchbook before he decides
that it's an acceptable time to 'get up'. Even though it’s 6:15 in the morning, everyone is still
asleep, which Will is especially grateful for when he sees the pizza still on the table. He
hurriedly grabs it and shoves it into one of the trash bags lying around that are mostly being
used for bubble wrap. Will's so glad that his mom didn't see that he didn't eat - she would get
upset, and he hates when he makes his mom upset.
He remembers that his mom makes everyone breakfast on the first day of school, so he goes
back upstairs to get dressed.
Will debates on what to wear for his first day at school anxiously. If he wears something too
colorful, they might think he's gay and make fun of him. If he wears something too dark, he
could be seen as goth and a freak. No matter what he chooses, it could be a trap.
In the end, he rifles through the boxes and decides on a green hoodie over a plain blue T-shirt,
jeans, and black Converse. (Well, they're technically brandless high-top canvas sneakers, they
can't afford to get him Converse that he'll grow out of). He folds them neatly and brings them
to the bathroom, where he sets them on the top of the toilet before running the water for a
shower. He turns it to the hottest it can go before grabbing his supplies and shedding his
clothes. He pauses when he takes off his shirt, looking at the dried blood on the collar before
dropping it on the floor.
Will looks in the mirror and touches his stomach, tracing the scar on his hip from the
Mindflayer with his fingertips. He looks at his reflection and sees all of his flaws. He sees his
scars and blemishes, but more than anything, all he can see is the way that his stomach looks.
He’s never been fit, exactly, but he looks pretty pudgy. His stomach is protruding.
What happened to him? He used to have a flat stomach. He's never been attractive, but… he's
definitely looking a lot worse than he used to. A lot thicker than he used to.
Will tries (and fails) to brush it off, getting into the hot shower instead. He hisses as the
boiling water hits his skin, flinching away before forcing himself to stand in the water.
Ever since his possession, he can't stand cold and lukewarm water. So, he takes as hot of
showers as possible. Sure, it hurts, but it’s fine, just like how he scrubs until his skin is raw
and hot to the touch, trying to destroy the layers of grime under his skin and purge his
connection to the Upside Down, which is what he does again today.
After about fifteen minutes, he gets out, drying off and brushing his hair before putting on his
outfit. He looks in the mirror again, and sees that he doesn’t look too bad. He'll look even
better when the bright red color fades from his skin.
He leaves the steam-filled bathroom and goes back downstairs, where the rest of his family
has apparently gotten up. “Good morning, Will!” his mom says from where she’s making
something in the kitchen. He greets her back. “I figured that we could all have Eggos for
breakfast. They are Jane’s favorite.”
“Eggos!” El beams. Will can’t help but smile at this. No matter how down she is, Eggos
always bring out the joy in her.
“Cool, cool.” Will says, sliding into the seat he was in last night. Jonathan is staring at the
table ahead of him, and El is practically vibrating with excitement over their breakfast. “Oh, I
was meaning to ask you. Jon, did you want to decorate our rooms together?”
Jon looks up, his bloodshot brown eyes looking into Will’s hazel. “No, I’m okay with my
room as it is, and I’m too busy right now finding a job to help with yours. Maybe in a few
weeks?”
“Oh. Yeah, sounds great!” Will says, feigning cheerfulness. He gets it, but the rejection still
stings. It kind of feels like Jonathan isn’t just rejecting Will’s offer, but choosing to avoid
him.
“Here you go!” his mom says, placing down a plate of waffles in front of each of them before
sitting down too. "What are you kids talking about?"
"Painting rooms." Will says. "Do you want to paint yours, Mom?"
"That would be great, Will, thank you. But you take care of yours first." she says. His mom
nods towards his plate. "Eat up. You have school."
Each plate has three waffles on it, and while his siblings dig in, Will looks down at his with a
strange feeling in his gut. He really doesn’t want to eat it. Like, if he eats it, he might throw
up.
But he sees the mask that his mom’s wearing: faux cheerfulness hiding how worried she is
about her kids.
So, he responds in turn by doubling up his own mask, slapping on a smile and putting some
syrup-soaked dough into his mouth.
He chews it slowly, but it’s less savoring-it slow and more he-doesn’t-want-it-to-go-down-
his-throat slow. He tries not to think about the Upside Down’s vines, or coughing up slugs, or
the calories and extra fat around his stomach as he finally coaxes himself into letting himself
swallow.
He feels equal measures sick and accomplished, until he realizes that he’s only taken one bite
and that there are at least twenty left to take, at which point the sickness beats out the pride.
Luckily, though, his mom and Jonathan already finished and are both leaving the table,
leaving just Will and El.
“Hey, El.” he whispers over to her once Mom and Jonathan are out of sight. She looks up,
mouth smeared with syrup and chipmunk cheeks from waffles. “Do you want some more?”
he asks.
She nods delightedly, and he looks around to make sure that the coast is clear before sliding
his waffles onto El’s cleaned plate. She immediately digs in, and he smiles before grabbing
his own dish and going to the sink to wash it up. It takes two tries to find the dishwasher in
the new kitchen, but he eventually gets it, and puts his plate and fork in. When El finishes, he
goes over and retrieves her dish to wash, too, and he gives it the same treatment.
“Alright. Let’s brush our teeth, and then you can get dressed and take a shower if you want
and we can go to school.” Will says, thinking out loud about what he and El need to do to get
ready and directing at her.
He goes up the stairs, slow as ever, and El follows. They both go into the bathroom and grab
their toothbrushes, and they both use the same tube of toothpaste as they stand side-by-side in
front of the sink.
Will starts brushing his teeth gently, but as he gets lost in his thoughts that are a mix of how
bad today is going to be and the past, he starts brushing harder and harder until his gums
sting. He hears El make a noise, which pulls him out of his thoughts. Will looks over and sees
her brushing her own teeth way too hard, and it must be hurting her, because she’s wincing.
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re doing it too hard!” Will says hurriedly, putting down his own
toothbrush and pulling El’s away from her mouth.
She looks at him in confusion. “But that is how you were doing it.”
“No, I know, I just-” he rubs his forehead, trying to think of what to say. “You’re going to
hurt yourself if you do that.”
“But that is how you were doing it.” El repeats.
“Yeah. But you deserve better than I do, El, and that means that you don’t deserve to get
hurt.”
“You do not either.” El says, staring at him.
He resists the urge to explain to her how he does deserve it, how it’s a good thing if he hurts,
but he doesn’t, because she might tell someone what he said (and then that person will get
upset or worry about him) or model that behavior, and he doesn’t want either of those things
to happen. Instead, he grabs his own toothbrush again. “Okay, sure. Here, let me show you.”
He raises it to his mouth again, watching her to make sure that she’s copying him, and
models the way that the dentist shows him how to brush as closely as he can remember. She
does the same, and once they’re done, he smiles at her. “Better?”
She nods and smiles back before leaving the bathroom. Will spends a second looking in the
mirror (which he’s seemingly done a lot of lately) picking out everything wrong with him
before following after his sister. She’s in her room, presumably getting dressed, and Will goes
into his own. He grimaces at the yellow, but still grabs his backpack. He looks at the green,
and is reminded of when he bought it when he and Mike went back-to-school shopping with
Mrs. Wheeler when they were ten.
He misses those days.
He misses Mike.
More than anything.
Not for the first time, he wishes that he were back with the Party. He doesn’t care if they
don’t like D&D anymore, or if they’d rather hang out with their girlfriends than with the rest
of the party. He just wants to be around them, even if they ignore him.
And he’s probably so stupid for this, but he would sacrifice anything - his favorite
sketchbook, his tiger stuffed animal that he just hasn’t been able to let go of, hell, even
whatever semblance of normalcy that he has left - for just a hug from Mike. Just for Mike to
hold him like he used to and tell Will that it’s going to be okay. Doesn’t even have to be
romantic - he just misses Mike so much. He wishes that he had known better than to take
Mike’s affection and attention for granted before this summer.
He wipes the tears that gathered in the bottom of his eyes with the back of his hand and, after
checking that he has his trapper-keeper, sketchbook, pencils, and other supplies, slips his
backpack on.
He leaves the yellow room, and sees El in the hallway. She’s wearing a pair of black-and-
white striped shorts, a red checkered flannel over an oversized T-shirt, neon green knee
socks, and white sneakers.
“Um, El?” Will asks. She turns to him. “Can- Can I offer some advice?” She nods.
“There are a lot of patterns in your outfit. Which is good, just… it could look nicer. Can I
help?”
She looks crestfallen as she nods, and Will is so angry with himself for saying anything, but it
needed to be done. If it wasn’t him, it would have been a bully pointing it out, and they
would be really mean about it. He needs to protect his sister, and she’s going to be teased if
she wears such an odd outfit. They can’t make themselves stand out any more than they
already do unless they want to become specific targets.
“Alright. Come on.” he says, gently tugging her by the sleeve back into her room. Once
inside, he starts rifling through some of the boxes, deciding on a black short-sleeve… blouse?
Is it a blouse? - with triangles on it, black denim overalls from one of the outfits she bought
with Max, and the white sneakers that she’s wearing. “This should be perfect.” he says,
handing over the stack to El. She nods, and looks a bit glum. “Hey, I know. You want to do
what you want - dress how you want - but… El, mouthbreathers are going to pick on you for
everything that they can find that’s different. I know that I’m being a jerk, but I’m really
trying to protect you, I promise. It’s what a good brother would do.”
“But Mike says that we cannot let the mouthbreathers get to us.” El says. Will tries to ignore
the pang in his heart at Mike’s name and the fact that he said to El what he used to say to
Will.
“You’re right. We can’t. But it’s harder to block out the mouthbreathers when there are a lot
of them. Besides…” Will thinks of Troy and his gang in Hawkins. When he helped a boy
down the bus steps because he was struggling to carry his stuff in fourth grade and Troy and
his friends beat Will up and spit on him, saying how much of a filthy fairy he was. He knows
that they would have hurt him worse if Mike and Lucas hadn’t found him. “Well, some
mouthbreathers are a lot meaner than others. Some want to hurt you. By keeping the ones that
notice you as small a number as possible, you stay safer. Okay? I’m sorry about the outfit.”
She looks at him with fear in her eyes. God, why did he say that? He’s trying to shelter her,
not instill a fear of bullies. “Those bad ones are few and far between, though. Most are just
annoying. Look, I’m sorry about picking this. Do you want to pick one together this time?”
She nods and, though she still looks a bit sad and afraid (and Will hates himself for making
her feel that way. God, he’s the worst), she looks a lot less upset. They dig through the boxes
together, and they find a pair of black jeans, gray T-shirt, and the flannel that El is wearing to
pair with her white sneakers for the day. She wears her green knee socks hidden underneath
her jeans, too. He waits outside while she changes.
“Better?” Will asks when she comes out. She nods, grabbing her blue backpack and carefully
putting it onto her back.
“I am ready to go.” she says, gripping the backpack straps.
“You might want to brush your hair first.” Will says, pointing to the (slightly messy)
shoulder-length bob.
“Okay.” she says, ducking into the bathroom (Will waits outside again) and brushing her hair
before going downstairs, Will following close behind.
Jonathan’s waiting near the front door, ready for school in a white T-shirt and jeans. “Ready
to go, guys?” he asks. El nods, and so does Will, though both seem miserable. They leave the
house and get into the backseat of his 1976 Ford Pinto. Will and El both stare out of their
respective windows in silence, almost ignoring the other’s existence, though when El’s hand
finds Will’s on the backseat, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes lightly, which she
reciprocates.
They pull up to a huge brown building, and Will and El exchange nervous looks. Jonathan
drops them off on the curb, telling them that he’s going to find parking before going in, and
they are left to fend for themselves. Will walks in through the front door first, El close
behind, and as they walk into the crowded front hallway, Will chooses to stare at his shoes
and not look up, using the positioning of people's feet to avoid bumping into them.
He's probably imagining things, but it feels like all eyes are on him. He keeps his head down,
using his Upside Down- and trauma-induced Spidey-Sense to tell that El is still behind him
as they go to their homeroom (he memorized the schedule on the drive to California). They
go in before the bell rings, and the only two seats that haven't been claimed by a backpack are
one towards the front and one towards the back. He watches El to see what she does, and she
takes the one in the back. This leaves him to sit in the front one, which he does, putting his
backpack on the back of the chair.
Both Will and El sit facing the front in silence, waiting for the bell to ring and the teacher to
arrive. After a minute, the students pour in, taking seats around the Byers-Hopper 'twins'.
About a minute after the crowd of laughing, chattering students comes in, the teacher comes
in hurriedly. She’s a short, brunette woman, looking like she’s in her early thirties, wearing a
black blouse and pencil skirt. “Good morning, class.” she says. The teenagers all chorus it
back, including El. Will stays silent.
“So, we have some new students today. Say hi to Will Byers and Jane Ives-Hopper-Byers -
whew, that’s a long one.” The class says hi.
El smiles and waves. Will stays still. “Will, Jane, would you like to introduce yourselves?”
El raises her hand. “What should I say?”
The teacher pauses. “Well, you can tell us things like your name, how old you are, where you
moved from, things you like, that kind of thing.”
El and Will look at each other, and El stands up first. “My name is Jane Hopper-Byers. I am
fourteen years old and my family moved to California yesterday. I like Eggos, my friends,
and TV.” She nods to herself before sitting back down.
The teacher smiles at her. “Welcome to Lenora, Jane, and thank you. How about you, Will?”
He grimaces a little bit before standing up. “Um… hi. My name is Will Byers. I’m fourteen -
Jane’s my twin sister - and we moved here yesterday, like she said. Um…” he pauses as he
tries to think of what to say that he likes. Comic books will make them see him as babyish.
D&D will make them see him as a satanist. Art- Art! He can say he likes art! “I like art and
music.” he says, sitting down quickly.
The teacher looks a little bit confused at how miserable he looked to be on the spot. “Alright.
Nice to meet you, Will. Welcome to my class. I’m Mrs. Lewis.”
“Nice to meet you too.” he mumbles, looking at the scratched-up wood on the desktop.
“Well, this is homeroom, so if you want to read or something to pass the time, feel free.” she
says, sitting down. Will continues staring at the desktop as his new classmates talk or work
on homework until the announcer buzzes. “Mrs. Lewis, could you please send Will and Jane
Byers to the front office?”
“Yes, they’ll be down in a minute!” Mrs. Lewis shouts to the speaker. Much to Will’s
embarrassment, he’s been flinching the entire time that the loud exchange has been going on.
He hates loud noise. Mrs. Lewis turns to the class. “Will, Jane, why don’t you grab your stuff
and head down?”
Will nods, grabs his bag, and waits for El at the door. When they meet up, they walk down
the hallway together side-by-side until they go into the front office. A friendly-looking
blonde woman with an extremely large silver cross around her neck looks up from her
computer and smiles at the duo. “Hi there. How can I help you?”
“I’m Will Byers, and this is Jane. You called us down?” Will says. She nods and smiles.
“Welcome to Lenora High School, you two! The school therapist wanted to have a quick chat
with each of you real quick before we send you back off to class.”
“Okay.” El says.
“I’ll go let her know that you’re here. Do you want to take a seat?” she asks, pointing with an
open hand over to the uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs padded with navy fabric.
“Sure. Come on, El- Jane.” Will says, correcting himself quickly as he grabs her sleeve and
gently tugs her over to the chairs. They sit facing each other as the receptionist lady goes
down a hallway to the left of the desk-thing.
“Look, El, you have to promise me that you won’t tell anything to this person.” Will says as
soon as the receptionist is out of sight.
“Why?” she asks, looking puzzled.

“We can’t trust this person. She’s going to try and learn about all of our secrets, and we can't
tell her about the lab. Or the Upside Down. Remember the backstory that Mom and I made
you?" El nods. "That's what happened if anyone asks. We went to school together our whole
lives. We're twins. We're just like everyone else." El nods, maintaining eye contact. He hates
to make her a liar, but it’s better than the both of them being shipped off to an asylum.
"Alright, we're all set." the receptionist says with a smile. "Jane, she wants to talk to you
first."
She looks at him and nods solemnly before following the receptionist back. Will waits for
about twenty minutes before El comes out with tear tracks on her face. He feels anger pool in
his gut at the thought of whoever this therapist is making El cry, which he quickly suppresses.
He can’t be like Lonnie. He can’t get angry. Ever. El grabs her backpack silently and leaves
the office without so much as a word to Will, most likely to go back to class.
The receptionist smiles at Will and waves him over. “Ready to talk to Dr. Brown?”
He gives a noncommittal shrug, gets up, and follows her down the hallway to a door with
‘Ava Brown, PhD, School Counselor’ on the plate next to the door. As the receptionist walks
away, he takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.
“Come in!” a voice calls.
He does, and when he enters the room, he sees a blonde woman in a white blouse and black
cigarette pants sitting at a desk. “You must be Will Byers. I’m Ava Brown. It’s nice to meet
you. Please, take a seat.” He sits in the seat across the desk silently, feeling like he’s on trial.
Will knows that he can’t trust therapists. He’s been to two (Dr. Garcia when he was nine and
Dr. Owens when he was twelve), and neither believed him when he tried to tell them that
something was wrong with him. Both times, he got hurt because of them. They are not to be
trusted.
“So how are you liking Lenora?” she asks with a smile.
“Fine.” he says quietly. For some reason, he’s always had a hard time talking around people
he doesn’t know. It’s like there’s a safety lock on his vocal cords that only comes off once he
hangs out with someone more.
“It must have been hard to move across the country mid-school year. How are you doing with
that?”
“Fine.” he says again, just as quietly. Dr. Brown gives him a pitying smile.
“Will, it’s perfectly normal to have a lot of feelings about moving. It can be devastating to
someone your age to uproot their entire life and move to a new place.”
“Yeah, but I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” he says.
She smiles again. (She sure smiles a lot. She’s probably trying to put him at ease. It’s not
going to work.) “I called Hawkins Middle School and had them transfer over your records. I
saw that you were diagnosed with severe complex post-traumatic stress disorder, depression,
and anxiety. Is there any way that I can help you manage these issues? Mental illness can be
hard to manage, especially with the added pressures of school and moving.”
“No. Those are old diagnosis… diagnoses. I’m fine now.” he lies.
She looks at him skeptically, and he shrinks back into his chair a little bit. Can she tell that he
isn’t telling the truth?
After a second, she nods. “Okay, I understand that this is our first time meeting and that you
don’t want to share right now. That’s okay. But I would like to ask you why you told your
sister to not talk to me.”
Will gulps. Why did El tell this therapist that he told her not to talk? Dammit!
“Um…” he stammers. What does he do? What does he say to get out of this? “I don’t know.”
She sighs. “Look, Will, I’m sure you have your reasons, but I don’t think it’s fair of you to
deny Jane help as well as denying it for yourself.”
“We don’t need help. We’re okay.” he says quickly.
“You both have disorders that are indicative of severe childhood trauma and need treatment.
That doesn’t seem like ‘okay’ to me. I want to help both of you, Will, but I can’t help you
without you opening up to me. You’re a smart kid, and I think that you know that you need
support. I just don’t understand why you aren’t letting yourself receive it.”
“I don’t need it.” he repeats. He probably does, but he’s not going to receive it from this
person.
“After reading your file, I would disagree. So, even if you don’t feel like you need, want, or
deserve it, please just try to stick with therapy, even if just to say you tried.”
Will gulps. He would rather be literally anywhere else right now. “Okay, sure.” he says after a
minute.
She smiles at him, and he gives a (fake) half-smile back. “Well, we’re almost out of time
before the class period ends, so I wanted to give you some things.” she says, grabbing a
notebook and handing it to him.
He looks at it carefully. It’s a thick, blank lined notebook with a plain black cover and a
pencil in a slot on the spine. “This is a journal. I give one to all of my patients. It has 365
pages, so you can write one a day - or more, if you feel like it. If you don’t want to or feel
like you can’t talk about something that’s weighing on you, you can write it in here. It’s yours
now, and you can do what you like with it. And if you finish all of the pages, I can give you
another one. Just let me know.”
Will holds it in his hands for a second before putting it into his lap. “I also wanted to give you
this.” Dr. Brown says, handing him a piece of paper. He takes it just like he took the book,
and he looks closer at it. It’s a laminated yellow piece of cardstock, about the size of a
notecard. “It’s a yellow card. If your PTSD or anxiety is giving you a hard time, you can
show this to a teacher and they’ll let you leave class, no questions asked or repercussions.
You can use it and come talk to me about what’s bothering you, or take a short walk, get a
snack, or even just go to the bathroom and wash your face. It’s part of your accommodations
as a student with a disability.”
He drops it in his lap on top of the notebook like it’s burned him, and as he stares down at it,
he can feel bile rise in the back of his throat. Will knows he’s being ridiculous, but he feels
like it’s taunting him. Like the card is saying ‘Look at me! I’m proof that you’ll never be
normal! That you’re a retarded freak! That something’s wrong with you!’
The color doesn’t help, either. He used to like yellow, but as he’s looking at this cursed piece
of paper, all he can see in the color is ‘coward’. Like he’s worthless and weak if he uses it.
Like he’s a coward by using it and taking the easy way out.
Plus, he’s sure that people would start talking if they saw him leaving class with this card.
They’d know that he’s messed up in the head. That he’s not normal.
In that moment, Will swears to himself that he will never use it, no matter how bad of a day
he’s having.
“Will? Are you okay?” Dr. Brown asks. His head shoots up as he remembers that he’s not
alone, and he stares at her and nods. She gives him a frown. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” he says. “Thank you.”
She smiles again and nods, standing up from her chair and walking over to the door. “Of
course. Unfortunately, our time is almost up, but you’re welcome to come down and talk to
me anytime. You’ll be called down again every Tuesday and Thursday during homeroom, so
I’ll see you tomorrow. Next time, I’ll probably have you do some paperwork and evaluations
to help me see how you’re doing and how I can help.”
He puts the notebook and card into his backpack before standing up and going out the door.
“See you tomorrow.” he says so quietly that he can barely hear himself as he walks away.
He comes out of the hallway, and the receptionist smiles at him. “How’d it go?”
Will shrugs and leaves the office, somehow finding his way back to class. He goes into the
room and tries to make eye contact with El, but she keeps her eyes trained on the desk in
front of her.
Well, therapy sucks for everyone, and this was probably her first experience with it, so she’s
probably just having a hard time afterwards. Will just takes his seat and looks at the desk,
unconsciously mirroring his sister, and waits for the bell to ring. It does, and he and his sister
both get up and walk together in silence to their next period.
This time, there are two seats next to each other, which is nice, because he and El get to sit
together. Will takes the left and El takes the right, and they continue not speaking to each
other as the next bell rings and the students pour in. Will hopes that El isn’t mad at him - he
doesn’t know why she would be upset with him, but he’s still worried that she is. To be fair,
he’s always worried that people are upset with him, but still. Maybe it’s because he told her
not to talk to the therapist? Maybe it’s because she’s wearing different clothes than what she
wanted to because he wouldn’t let her? Man, even if he is trying to keep her safe, he’s being a
piece of shit by not letting her express herself. He really is the worst.
The teacher comes in and sits down at the desk at the front of the room for a few minutes
before standing up. She’s a soft-looking woman with glasses on a chain, puffy black hair, and
a floral dress. “Good morning! Today, before we start talking about the Civil War, we have
some announcements to make.”
Will braces himself. If he has to introduce himself every single class, he swears to God-
“First of all, we have two new students, Jane and Will Byers. Would you like to introduce
yourselves?”
Will shakes his head no, while El stands up. She repeats the same thing that she said last class
as Will stares at her in shock. Why would anyone voluntarily introduce themselves?
“Alright, thank you, Jane. Will?” He shakes his head again, and she smiles half-heartedly.
“Alright, that’s okay. We also have a birthday in the class. Henry!”
As the class starts talking about the birthday kid, Henry, Will leans over to El. “Why did you
introduce yourself? You didn’t have to.” he whispers.
She turns her head to face him and whispers back, “I want to make friends. I need to…
introduce… myself to make friends.”
He frowns as he tries to process his mixed feelings. He’s proud of her for deciding to branch
out - that she’s even making decisions for herself in the first place - and hopes that she
succeeds, but he’s also upset that it feels like she’s abandoning the Party in favor of new
people (who have no idea of what happened with the Upside Down and could never
understand her - or them - like the Party does).
In the end, he decides to be happy for her. Just because she’s branching out doesn’t mean that
he has to, and even if they are close, they’re allowed to be different people.
“I’m happy for you, El. Good job.” he says quietly.
She smiles before turning her attention to the board, where the teacher (oh crap, he doesn’t
know her name) is starting to discuss the Civil War. He zones out as he takes notes, thinking
about how he’d rather be in his Hawkins history class. At least he had Dustin with him during
that period.
Honestly, though, Dustin’s probably having a great time in Hawkins right now. Will bets they
all are. They don’t have to deal with him and his annoying issues and personality anymore -
they’re probably all so much happier.
Wait, no, they wouldn’t be. El isn’t there. They wouldn’t be happy without their Mage.
Or without their cleric, a hopeful little voice in the back of his mind suggests. He tells it to
shut up. They can’t miss him; even he can see how annoying he is just by how many D&D
references he makes. They’re probably glad he’s gone; now there’s nobody to bug them about
playing a game that they don’t even like anymore.
The bell rings after God knows how long, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabs his
backpack and quickly puts it on, looking over to check that El’s with him before going to
their next class. They do the same thing in English and Math: sit in whatever desks are open
(across the room from each other in English, and separated by one in Math), teachers (Ms.
Johnson in English and Mr. Walker in Math) offer to have them introduce themselves, which
El does and Will doesn’t, and Will takes notes as the teacher lectures until the bell rings.
After Math, taught by Mr. Walker, who is super boring, it’s lunchtime, and Will and El start
going downstairs to head to lunch. The halls get more crowded (and more stressful) the closer
they get, and Will’s stomach starts churning again. As they go into the cafeteria, he’s greeted
by too many things to count. There’s a line for lunch stretching across the room, and so many
people talking and laughing that it sounds like a beehive with all of the overlapping voices
becoming like a buzzing.
Will’s breath stops coming quite so easy as everything seems to get louder and more
overwhelming. Much to his embarrassment, he starts gasping for air, and his thoughts start
going in circles.
He panics, and all he can do is run.
He turns from the cafeteria, where El has gone deep into the belly of the beast, and starts
walking as fast as his legs can take him. Once he’s out of the crowd and can move even faster
without worrying about running into people, he breaks out into a sprint, and runs out of the
building into the concrete yard. Will collapses, panting for air and curled on his side on the
concrete.
It’s about ten minutes until he’s stable enough to sit up and not break down, so that’s what he
does, choosing to just sit and draw instead of go in and brave the crowd to get food that he
doesn’t want.
El!
He gasps and drops his pen onto his sketchbook as he realizes that his sister is alone in the
cafeteria. He puts it with still-shaky hands (he shakes for about an hour after each episode,
which is annoying) into his backpack before going inside, resisting the urge to cover his ears
as he goes back through the crowd. He looks around desperately, trying to find his sister and
protect her if she needs, but his fears are unfounded, as she’s sitting calmly with her school
lunch at an empty table, which she waves him over to. He quickly walks over and sits down
next to her.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
He realizes that she must see how panicky he looks, and he smiles at her, trying to hide his
anxiety being in the cafeteria. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m good! Do you want to eat outside?”
She looks at him in confusion. “No. I need to make friends. To make friends, I need to eat
with them.”
He nods quickly. “Yep, yep, that makes sense. Do you want me to stay here?”
She thinks for a moment. “I do not know.”
“Okay. I’m just going to stay here with you to make sure that you stay safe, okay?” Will says,
deciding to ignore how bad he feels in this cafeteria.
He takes the seat next to her, looking around anxiously at all of the people. It's too loud. He
wants to leave. He can't leave his sister alone in unfamiliar territory. He has to stay.
Will stares at the tabletop in front of him trying not to freak out while El eats her lunch. After
a few minutes, a blond girl comes up to the table, a gang of teenage boys and girls grouped
behind her, giggling. She has a high ponytail, jeans, and a pink T-shirt, and an expression that
can be read as friendly if you were naive.
“Hi, Jane and Will.”
“Hello!” El says cheerfully, clearly thrilled that someone appears to be trying to be her friend.
Will winces internally. This girl may appear nice, but Will can see the cruelness poorly
concealed behind a sugary smile.
“I’m Angela. These are Jake, Stacy, Chad, Kathleen, Lucy, Cindy, Spencer, and Eric.” she
says, pointing out each person.
Will doesn’t mean to be rude, but they all look the same: white and mean-looking with either
blonde (some bleached-looking) or brunette hair and rich prep vibes. It honestly looks like
they went to the mall and each bought a popular kid starter kit.
“It is nice to meet you.” El says, clearly trying to remember each person’s name.
“Jake - my boyfriend - and I sit with you in Ms. Gracey’s history.” At least now Will knows
the teacher’s name. “I loved how many questions you asked. You made me feel so smart.”
Will clenches his jaw as the bully welcome wagon laughs among themselves. El looks like
she’s feeling puzzled at why they’re laughing for a second before giving a genuine smile.
“Thank you.”
“I love your outfit, too. I don’t think anyone could pull that off. Except for you, of course.”
she says. The gang laughs behind her again and Will decides that’s enough backhanded
compliments.
“Hey, E- Jane! We have to get going so that we have some time to… stop by the library on
the way to class. Are you done?”
She looks at the empty lunch tray and back up at him. “Yes, I am done. Do we have to leave
now?”
“Yeah, we really do.” he says, picking up her backpack from where she had apparently taken
it off and placed it on the floor and handing it to her. She puts it on and stands up, starting to
walk away from her tray. Will quickly grabs it and starts following her, almost running into
her when she stops and turns back to the table.
“Bye, Angela!”
Angela gives a mocking wave (well, it sure seems mocking to Will) back and El turns back
towards the doors and keeps walking.
Once out of the lunchroom, she turns to him. “Why do we have to go to the li-bra-ry? Where
is it?” she says, butchering the word slightly.
“Library.” he says quietly.
“Library.” she repeats back, this time correct.
“We don’t have to go to the library. I was just getting you out of there.” Will says.
“Why do you need to get me out?” she says, clearly confused.
“Because they were being mean.” he says. He hates to tell El the truth about this, but she
needs to know to not try to befriend them like she was trying to do.
“No, they were not. Angela said she liked my questions and outfit.” she says.
“El, they were backhanded compliments. That means that they’re insulting you and
pretending that they’re being nice.”
“But why?” she asks, starting to look upset.
“Because they’re mouthbreathers.” Will says.
“You are lying!” she accuses, anger scrunching her features. “You say they are all
mouthbreathers! You are trying to keep me from making friends! You are like papa!”
“El- El, I’m not!” he stammers. He has no idea what to do. He- He was trying to protect her!
He’s trying to be a good brother! Why can’t she see that? “I want you to make friends! I just
want them to be good friends and not ones that aren’t nice!”
“Stop lying!” she says in the same angry tone. “You want us to be with Mike and Dustin and
Lucas! You think that if we do not make friends that we will get them back!”
“I don’t think that.” he says, trying not to cry, throw up, have the third panic attack of the day,
or all three. He really hates when people yell at him. “Of course I want us to be with them,
but I know that that’s not going to happen, and I really do want you to make friends. I- El, I
need to be a good brother, and that means I need to keep you safe. And to keep you safe, I
need to keep you away from people that are going to hurt you or make you sad. Those people
were going to make you hurt.”
“What is our next class?” El says, still mad.

“Um… you have science in Room 204, I have art in Room 133.” he says, confused on why
she’s asking.
“Good. I will go to class. I do not want to be around you.” she says, spinning on her heel and
marching away.
Will stands there in shock, trying to process what just happened, before going to Room 133
for art class. As he sits at a desk, of which there are about 50 arranged into a circle, he puts
his head down in his arms and thinks about his fight with El.
He concludes that she’s right.
Will shouldn’t be interfering in her social life. He really is a bad person and bad brother. El
knows it, and Jonathan knows it, and now Will knows it. He doesn’t blame her for not
wanting to be around him - he wouldn’t be if he had the choice, either. He’s the worst. He
should have given her a choice. That’s what he’s been trying to do all along, and he’s been
failing. William Byers is useless, unappreciative, and a hypocrite.
He’s startled out of his spiral by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shoots up, whipping
around to face a woman with long, curly dark hair in a ponytail, medium-brown skin, brown
eyes, and a kindly, concerned expression. “Whoa! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you
okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” he says quietly.
“I’m Gabriela Martinez. I’m the art teacher here. You’re in my class, right?”
“Yes, I am. Intro to Art.” he says just as quietly.
“Mmm. What’s your name?” she asks, matching his volume. He appreciates her quietness.
“Will Byers.” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Will. The office actually talked to me about you.”
He blinks twice at her, as if asking what she’s heard. She understands somehow. “They said
that you were moving a few weeks late and had some accommodations that needed to be
met.”
“Oh. Yeah.” he says, looking down at his feet.
“Do you like art, Will?” she asks suddenly.
He looks back up to her. “I love art.”
“What’s your medium?” she asks.
“I draw, mostly.” he says with a bit more confidence. Other kids might tease him for drawing,
but he’s with an art teacher. She likes art. She’s not going to make fun of him for it.
“Do you have any on you that you’d be comfortable sharing?”
“I have my sketchbook.” he says, pulling his backpack so that he can access its contents. Will
pulls out his sketchbook and, after a moment’s hesitation, hands it to Ms. Martinez.
She opens it up and flips through, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Will, you have a
gift.”
“Thank you.” he says, smiling to himself. People complimenting his art is the one surefire
way that they can get him to smile, no matter how much he hates himself that day.
“I hope we can refine it in this class.” she says, smiling at him before turning away to sit at
her desk as other kids start coming in. He sits back down quickly, keeping his eyes trained on
the desk until class officially starts. He pays close attention, listening as Ms. Martinez talks
about how to properly shade in a drawing, and practices on some of his older drawings in his
book. After that class, he goes to Spanish (he just has to remember what his grandma, his
mom's mom, taught him and he’s okay), PE (he keeps his head down during the class and
changes in the bathroom so that nobody can accuse him of looking at the other boys), and
biology, in which the teacher talks about dissection procedure while Will nods along.
After school, he goes to find El. She’s waiting in the car with Jonathan. He climbs in, and
when he looks over at her and tries to take her hand, she pulls away.
After they get home, she immediately goes upstairs to her room. Jonathan leaves the house to
go God- knows-where, and his mom’s on the phone with her new job, so he goes upstairs. As
soon as he walks in, he sees the yellow paint and thinks of the card weighing heavy in his
backpack. It feels like the walls are calling him a coward and loser as much as the card. He
ignores the knot in his stomach at the thought and works on homework instead. He gets it
done in two hours, trying to do it despite the fogginess in his head from how tired he is.
Afterwards, he just draws some more, putting the new shading techniques into practice.
“Dinner!” his mom calls around seven, three and three-quarter hours after they got home. He
goes downstairs and sits at the folding table next to his brother and sister and across from his
mother. His mom places four plates of spaghetti on the table in front of them, and while the
rest of them dig in, he just stares at it.
He’s hungry - of course he is, the last time he ate was… breakfast (eggs and toast) yesterday,
so almost 36 hours without food - but he still doesn’t want to eat it. The hunger feels better
than having a rock in his stomach. At least then he doesn’t feel so sick and self-disgusted.
“I’m actually not very hungry. I… had a big lunch and snack. I’ll eat something later, okay?
Thank you, though.” he lies, getting up from his chair, kissing his mother on her furrowed
forehead, and moving to go upstairs. He can see that El knows that he’s lying, but she’s still
pissed at him, so she’s not going to say a word about or to him.
“Will, honey, make sure you do. It’s important that you get enough to eat.” she says, concern
in her voice.
“I know. I will.” he lies again. God, he’s the worst, lying to his mother.
“Okay. Are you done with your homework?”
“Yeah, I am.” he says. At least that’s true.
“Want to come back downstairs and watch TV later?” she asks.
“Sure. Sounds great.” he says (probably) flatly, going upstairs. Once he is safely away from
his family in his room, he falls onto the mattress and curls on his side. He wants to cry, but
he’s just too tired to force anything out of his eyes, so he just closes them and listens to his
breathing. Instead, he just lets his self-hating thoughts run wild. El hates him for trying to
protect her.
He grabs a T-shirt and pajama pants and starts changing, avoiding looking down at his body
and instead staring at the light fixture as he changes as quickly as possible. Once he does, he
goes back downstairs, where his family’s watching TV. He questions when they unpacked the
couch and television before he sits down on the end next to Jonathan. His mom’s snuggled up
to El, and Jonathan is leaning on her shoulder. Will just leans on the back of the couch
instead.
He watches an episode of Cheers with the rest of the Byers before his mom turns off the TV.
"You have school in the morning, and I have work. We should all get to bed."
The kids all mumble their agreement, and Will's mom hugs Jonathan and El before smiling at
them. "Goodnight. I love you."
"Love you too." they all say. It’s only after Will's brushed his teeth and laid in bed that he
realizes that he didn't get a goodnight hug from his mom.
That's okay, he reasons to himself. El needs hugs more than he does. El needs his mom more
than he does.
---
Mike throws his math book across the room. It hits the wall, and it might've left a dent, but
Mike honestly doesn't give a shit. It was his first day of school with Will across the country,
and he hated it. He hates school without Will there to brighten it.
At lunch, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin sat together in silence, and Mike could tell that they were
all missing the presence of their Cleric. Class was miserable, and he didn't understand most
of it, and they assigned a shit ton of homework, so now he's been reading the same sentence
over and over in the math book.
He needs to be doing homework, but he's done. He'll do it in homeroom tomorrow.
Mike goes over to the phone and calls the Byers again. Once again, nobody picks up.
He calls nine more times before giving up. He wants to cry. He wants to get on a bus and go
to the Byers'. He wants to talk to Will.
Mike knows that if he could just get through, he could vent to Will, who would laugh and tell
him about his own day. As shitty as it is of him, Mike hopes Will's day was as bad as his was.
If the Byers kids are miserable, then maybe Mrs. Byers will move them back.
He decides that he's too tired to be productive. After all, he's written more letters and tried to
do homework for the past few hours, so he can just go to bed.
He curls up on the couch (he's not going to sleep in his room. It's too empty - and too blue.
He's so sick of blue. Maybe he'll paint it another color later. Maybe yellow.) and watches old
movies with Will’s bear and drawings while crying (he'll deny it if anyone asks, though)
before finally drifting off to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
1. Hi guys! So I'm not sure if you noticed the symbolism that I put in but I'm super
excited about it so I'm going to talk about it. (There are two wolves inside me: one wants
people to pick up on it by themselves and the other one is an excited creative writing
nerd who knows that y'all probably aren't going to (no offense) and if you did it would
take too long for my impatient ass.) So, I made it so that there are several ways that the
color metaphor can be interpreted. One way is that paint represents help. Will wants the
three Byers siblings to be a team and repaint (help each other with their mental health).
But when he asks Jonathan about it, Jonathan is unavailable (too busy to paint and too
checked out to worry about himself, let alone his siblings). Jonathan is offered help with
painting his room (help out of his funk), but he declines it. However, this also means
that, in order to not be a burden, Will doesn’t ask Jonathan for help when he doesn't
have anything to give in return, causing a divide between the brothers and both of them
to need assistance while unable to ask for it. Meanwhile, when Will asks El about it, she
happily accepts help but doesn’t know how to do the same for Will. He's going to
repaint her room (he's going to improve her mental health), but she doesn't know how to
paint (help him in return), so she doesn't even try, leaving Will without his siblings, who
are most of his support system in California. Will almost goes and asks his mom for help
repainting his room, but he sees that she's busy, so he doesn't ask and instead is going to
fix hers up (he's going to help her with her mental health, but she doesn't even know that
Will needs help in the first place. If she knew he needed her, she would make time for
him, but he doesn't want to be a burden, so he doesn't mention it). Meanwhile, in
Hawkins, Mike’s room is blue, and though he wants to repaint it, he doesn't ask for help
because he's stubborn (he needs and wants to improve, but isn't going to ask for help).
Another way is Byler color theory. Blue and yellow meet in the west, but what if it
represented their relationship? In this chapter, it's shown that Will secretly hates yellow
because he sees all of its bad connotations. He sees it as a overly bright, sickly, anxious,
and above all cowardly, color. Who does he also 'see' these traits in? Himself. He
secretly hates yellow because he secretly hates himself. Meanwhile, Mike really likes
yellow. He sees its good connotations and is able to get past the bad. He sees it as
cheerful, warm, sunny, comforting, energetic, and positive, which is also how he sees
Will. He secretly really likes the color yellow because he secretly loves Will. However,
Mike hates blue. He sees as much bad in it as Will does in yellow. Mike sees blue as a
depressing, cold, unfriendly color, which are all traits that he dislikes in himself. Just
like Will, he hates blue (his color) because he hates himself. And, just like Mike, Will
likes the color blue because he sees all of its good qualities. He sees its safety,
imagination, sensitivity, depth, trustworthiness, sincerity, and loyalty, which are all
qualities that he adores in Mike. He loves blue because he loves Mike. They hate their
own color and love the opposite, but when they are combined, they make green. Both of
them see good in green. They dislike themselves when they're separated, but when
they're together, their combination makes them love the other person more than they
hate themselves, and in turn, the other person helps them see the good in themselves.
However, during each Byler fight, they are wearing the other person's color, which
contributes to their fighting: during their fight, they see their own qualities that they hate
and project it on each other. I may be going too deep into my own writing, but I just
thought that was cool and wanted to share. (Any other color theories? Please share with
the rest of the class).
2. In this fic, the Byers are mixed-race. Joyce's side is Hispanic (Maldonado is a Spanish
or Portuguese name) and Jewish (my fic, my rules, and I like them being Jewish so they
are), and Lonnie's side is white (Byers is a British or Scottish name) and Catholic.
3. I know that El and Will don't get along right now, but there will be lots of WillEl later,
I promise. But right now, Will's overcompensating and trying to be the perfect brother
and El isn't ready to accept his protection.
4. I hope you enjoyed! It's been crazy lately, but I should be a bit more consistent now
that I'm getting into the groove. :)
First Week
Chapter Notes
Sorry I haven't posted recently. I have nothing to say other than 'I'm sorry' and 'here's
Chapter 3'.
TW:
- Bullying
- Lying to a therapist
- Disordered eating (skipping meals)
- Mentioned child abuse
- Language
Unfortunately, the world isn’t kind to Will Byers, and that means that he gets into a bad
pattern.
Go to sleep around 11:30. Wake up screaming at 3, and have a panic attack and nosebleed
immediately after. Take a boiling shower. Draw for the next three hours. Get ready for school.
Skip breakfast. Go to school. If there’s therapy that day, sit silently and give 1-word answers
when they’re expected and pretend that he doesn’t notice the therapist’s frustration. He's
managed to get out of every conversation and evaluation so far. Go to all the classes, taking
notes and only speaking when spoken to, which is pretty rare. Spend lunch outside drawing
and skipping lunch, since El still doesn’t want to talk to him. Go to art, the one class that he
actually enjoys, along with more classes where he just goes through the motions. Go home.
Do homework. Draw. Try to skip dinner, and only succeed around half of the time - and when
he is forced to eat, he eats less than half of the food on his plate before excusing himself and
laying on his bed hating himself for failing. Take another boiling shower. Watch TV. Draw
some more. Go to bed at nine-thirty to ten, and stare at the ceiling for about two hours before
drifting off, at which point he has nightmares and starts the whole long process again.
This is the pattern that he follows for his first week, but it’s thrown off around four in the
morning on the seventh day - a Monday in the third week of October.
He’s drawing in his room as usual, hair still dripping hot water from his shower, when a
knock comes on the door.
Will practically leaps out of his skin, his mind running through all of the bad things that could
be awaiting him outside, but he gets up and opens the door. On the other side is El, cheeks
tear-stained and chin wobbling.
“El! What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly, ushering her into the yellow room. They’ve
unpacked almost fully, and he’s covered the walls with posters to hide the yellow as best he
can.
Holding her left hand with his right and the other around her shoulders, he brings her over to
sit on the bed. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? How do I help?”
She closes her eyes, hunches down, and emits a sob as her chin touches her chest.
“Oh, El.” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her hunched form and pulling her closer,
rocking them slightly. They stay like that for a few minutes until her crying has ceased, at
which point he pulls back and looks her in the eyes despite how hard it is for him at the
moment. (Sometimes he can’t look people in the eyes at all without discomfort, sometimes he
can’t look away without the same bad feeling. Lately, the no eye-contact days are more than
ever, even in the middle of the night, like right now.) “El? Are you ready to talk about what’s
wrong, or do you want me to just hold you for a bit more?”
“I am ready.” she says, wiping her tears clumsily with the palm of her hand. “I am very sorry,
Will.”
“No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to-”
“I was being mean by…” she looks at him with a look in her eyes that’s requesting help.
“Ignoring?” he supplies.
“Ignoring you. You were trying to keep me safe. I was wrong. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand where you were coming from. Is that why you were upset?"
"I had a bad dream."
“Oh.” he says, pausing while he thinks of what to do. “I get it. I have them a lot too. Do you
want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head no, but looks up to meet his eyes. “Can you hug me?”
“Of course.” he says, pulling her close as she rests her head on his chest and wraps her arms
around his waist. He cringes to himself. Can she feel how his stomach sticks out? Can she
feel how his proportions are wrong?
She sniffles into his shirt and tightens her grip, and he realizes that there are bigger issues
than his stupid body thing.
“Want me to hold you until you’re ready to talk about it?” he asks.
She nods.
“Okay.” he says, resuming the rocking. They stay in that position for about ten minutes
before she breaks the silence.
“I have bad dreams about Papa and the Bad Men.” she whispers.
He goes to say something comforting, but he realizes that he has zero idea what to say here.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks instead. He realizes he already asked that. He’s such a
dumbass.
She pauses before nodding. “I am back with Papa. I am Eleven, not El. The Bad Men hurt me
again.”
Will tightens his grip. “El, I promise that you’re safe and will stay safe. They won’t get you
again.”
“What if they do?” she asks quietly.
“Then…” he thinks. “Then we’ll get you back. I’ll find you and save you from the Bad Men.
I’m your brother, and I swear that I’m gonna keep you safe no matter what.”
She tightens her grip even more. “Thank you for being my big brother. I love you.”
He squeezes back. “I love you too, El.”
They sit in silence for a second, before El squeezes again and extracts herself from the
embrace. “What are your bad dreams?”
Will feels stuck, the warped versions of his traumatic memories that he’s forced to see every
night flitting through his mind. “Um…” he tries to think. “Just some of my worse memories.
It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay. Did you have one now?”
He deciphers it in his mind. “Do you mean did I have one earlier?”
She nods. “You were awake when I came.”
“Um… yeah. It’s not a big deal, though.” he says.
“You do not want to talk about it?” she asks.
“I don’t really need to. I’m used to it.” he quietly says.
“Why?”
“Why am I used to it?” he asks. Maybe he’s tired, but he’s having some trouble
understanding her as quickly as normal. She nods.
“I’ve been having them for years, El. They aren’t gonna stop whether I talk about them or
not, so why bother?”
“But… Joyce says we should talk about our problems.”
“Don’t tell Mom I said this, but her advice doesn’t always apply to everyone. In this specific
case, she’s wrong. Some problems don’t need to be talked about, because they aren’t really
problems.”
“Like your food?” she asks. His heart stops for a second. She knows?
“Um…” he stalls. “I eat plenty, El. More than enough for my size. I just… don’t like to eat
around other people, you know?”
She nods, seemingly believing him. “Okay.”
He sighs in relief. “But El, you need and deserve help with your problems, and I’ll help you
however I can, I promise. Nightmares or other problems.”
She nods.
“Have… have you been getting them a lot?” he asks.
“Twice. I do not dream much.” she says. “You?”
“Same. Just twice since we moved.” he lies.
Her eyebrows furrow. “But you said you get them a lot.”
Damn. He forgot he said that. “Being away from Hawkins helps. They’re… they’re less
common.”
She nods and they sit in silence again, which allows him time to have his thoughts run.
He’s told several lies to El in just the few minutes they’ve been talking, and he feels bad
about it. It’s quite ironic, actually: Will hates lying, but has been lying his whole life.
Of course, it’s not like he’s ever really had a choice. What would he do, tell everyone the
truth about where the bruises on his little-kid body came from in elementary school? Say
‘Oh, yeah, I was abducted by a monster with a flower for a head and taken into an alternate
dimension for a week’ when asked where he went while he was ‘dead’? No. He’s always had
to lie. Sure, he doesn’t have to lie in theory to his family because they think they know all his
secrets, but he still has to. If he did tell his family the truth, they would never look at him the
same after they knew everything that he doesn’t tell them. And now, apparently, his eating
habits are one of those things under that umbrella.
“Hey, El. Do you want me to make you hot chocolate?” he asks quietly.
“Hot chocolate. Hop made hot chocolate for me.”

“Mm. Well, I’m not Hop, and it’s not winter, but I can make you some hot cocoa. It’s what
Mom used to do when I would have a nightmare.” he says.
It’s not entirely a lie; his mom did make him cocoa after nightmares, but only the ones she
knew about. With Lonnie in bed next to her, the usual main feature of the nightmares and
someone who would kick Will’s ass if he either knew that his mom was giving Will special
treatment or if he knew that Will told anyone, it wasn’t really an option. But when it was,
Lonnie gone off to a bar or strip club and the nightmares unrelated to his father, he would
come get his mom for comfort. Most of the time, he was able to handle it by himself, but
when he couldn’t, he would curl up in Jonathan’s bed. Jonathan, the person who had always
been there for him. Will asks himself a question: If he came and got Jonathan now, would he
still be afforded the same comfort? Probably not. He’s too big to need comfort and hugs. It’s
his own fault if he can’t handle the pressures and stresses of his life, and they’re his own
issues to handle, anyway.
He gets up and helps El up as well, and he walks quietly down the stairs with his sister
creeping down behind him. She sits at the dining table, and he silently heats up some milk,
walking on the outer sides of his feet to stay quiet (a habit picked up after years of the unfair
choice of being quiet or being targeted, whether walking or just existing) and moving things
as softly as possible. After the milk is heated, Will pours it into a mug and puts chocolate
syrup in, mixing it before putting four marshmallows in from the pantry.
She takes it and holds the mug carefully, wrapping her fingers around the warmth. He sits at
the table across from her, watching as she raises it to her lips.
She puts it down on the tabletop, looks at it, before nodding. "It is good. I like it."
He smiles. "I'm glad."
"You have none?" she asks, cocking her head.
"No, I'm okay. I'll wait for breakfast. Glad you like it, though."
She squints at him. "You are sure you are okay?"
"Of course. How are you doing? Doing better after the nightmare?"
She continues looking at him scrutinizingly for a moment before nodding and looking back to
her mug. "Yes, I am better."
"Good." he says before they sit in silence again. She finishes her mug, and he places his hand
over hers when she puts it on the table.
They sit like that for a while, just taking comfort in the other, until their mom comes
downstairs. “You two are up early. What are you doing?”
“Just hanging out after a bad dream.” Will says, wincing at the crackling sound his voice gets
after a while not speaking.
“Oh! Jane, you could’ve come and gotten me.” she says. Will notices that she knows that it
was El who had the nightmare that instigated the conversation. Does she know about his? Is
he really that good at hiding it? Whenever he looks in the mirror, it feels like his misery is
obvious, no matter how hard he tries to mask it. Has he been doing better at it than he
thought?
“I wanted Will.” she says, voice just as off as Will’s is. “My brother.”
He smiles at her in relief. Even if she’s been mad at him and they’re still trying to get used to
living together, at least she sees him as her brother.
“I’m glad you’re getting so close.” his mom says. “I know it’s been hard for both of you.
Losing Hopper, moving… I’m happy that you’re bouncing back and settling in.”
Will puts on his usual fake smile and nods as his mom starts on a breakfast he’ll excuse
himself from before he has to eat. For a fleeting second, he gets the urge to tell her that he
doesn’t like it in California. That he can’t eat or sleep without feeling hollow or having that
heaviness settle on his chest as his self-loathing intensifies. That he just wants to go home. It
may not be perfect, and he still may be known as the queer zombie boy and picked on for it,
but at least he’d be around his friends. But that urge drops as soon as he realizes that his mom
would get upset and make him eat and sleep again. He just can’t.
As his mom starts getting out plates to put the sausage and eggs on, he removes his hand
from over El’s and scoots his chair back, clearing his throat as he gets up. “Actually, you’ll
only need four. I’m not really hungry.”
His mom turns around and frowns at him with concern. “Will, you need to eat breakfast.”
“I’ll just grab something from one of the vending machines at school when I get an appetite.”
he says before starting up the stairs.
Will’s lying again. When did he become a boy for whom the truth refused to come out his
lips? He’s hungry. He’s absolutely starving. Over the last three days, he’s had a third of a
chicken breast, four pieces of broccoli, and half a sandwich, which still feels like too much.
He may not have as much of an urge to eat as some people, but his wretched body still has
the innate desire to survive, and that means he still gets the effects of his body constantly
begging more, more, please just give me something to fill this void you’ve created. In the
end, though, he would rather have the lightheaded dizziness that threatened to make him
collapse, the painful hunger pangs feeling like a knife in his gut, the tiredness and cold sunk
deep into his bones than having the hole ripping through his heart, that feeling of failure and
self-hatred that’s becoming synonymous with food.
Will goes into his room and grabs a gray T-shirt, black-and-white flannel shirt, black jeans,
and Converse before heading into the bathroom to get dressed. Once he walks in, turns on the
light, and closes the door, though, he’s stuck frozen as he looks into the mirror.
He hardly recognizes himself. His cheeks are becoming thinner, and though it’s barely
noticeable, it pairs with the sleepless purple circles under his eyes that make his hazel eyes
seem larger, causing him to look exhausted. His eyes have a look in them that Will can’t
place, nor place why it creeps him out.
He takes off his sleep shirt and tosses it on the floor, making a mental note to wash it again to
get the marks out. His pajama shirts are all starting to get blood stains on the collar from his
nightly nosebleeds, and this one is no exception. Will looks back in the mirror, analyzing
every inch of skin critically. He traces the scars with his fingertips again. However, looking at
his torso gives him a grim satisfaction as he sees how his stomach has grown flatter and how
some of the small rolls of fat that he’s carried since he was a little kid have become
minimized. His body may hate starving, but Will? Will doesn’t mind.
After his critical self-evaluation, Will dresses quickly and brushes his hair just as fast. A
quick brush of his teeth later, and he’s good to go. He rushes down the stairs (and by rushing,
Will means taking the steps with one foot per step instead of the usual two) and sits down on
the couch, waiting for Jonathan to shout into the house that it’s time to go.
He checks his friendship watch and sees that it’s time to go, so he leaves the house and hops
into the backseat of the car, pulling his sketchbook out of his backpack. It only has a few
pages left. He’s going to need a new one if he keeps up his art habit. On the plus side, his
skills have been improving.
Right as he’s finished up a landscape with mountains and trees and is about to do a drawing
of a bell pepper that he saw the other day, El and Jonathan get into the car. Jonathan starts it
up, but unlike how it’s been for the last week, El sits in the middle seat and rests her head on
his shoulder. He presses his cheek against her scalp and closes his eyes as he rests his hands
on the book, letting himself get lost in thought as he sits still and rests.
His thoughts drift along from his art to his relationship with El and its improvements to food.
He hates how much he thinks about food. Sometimes he thinks about how much he wants a
specific food, like soup or ice cream, before he realizes that he’s betraying himself by
listening to the aching chasm in his stomach and wanting to eat, causing him to feel guilty for
being so weak-willed. Other times, he thinks of food and feels nauseous, has eating remind
him of things being forced down his throat in the past, making him want to be sick. But most
of the time, he just looks at food and feels the ache of both hunger and disgust. Either way,
food occupies at least part of his brain at all times, and he hates it. Normal boys don’t think
about food all the time. Normal boys can eat whatever and be happy and never get fat or gag
because the texture is just too close to a tentacle.
Will wishes he could be a normal boy. One who gets crushes on girls and only girls, one who
eats whatever he wants without disgust or fear, one who can sleep through the night and be
happy and not have panic attacks, one who isn’t constantly living in fear of the past and its
dangers. But he knows he’ll never get to be.
He’s startled out of his thoughts by the Pinto coming to a screeching halt in front of the
school. “Alright, guys. See you after school.” Jonathan says, looking back at them. Will nods
jerkily as El says goodbye, still half-stuck in his train of thought. They get out and walk into
the school, going into homeroom. Will and El sit down as the bell rings, and Will grimaces
when the teacher motions for them to go to therapy.
He draws as El does her time, doing the drawing of the pepper he was thinking about earlier,
and when she passes by him and gives him a solemn nod as she starts off to class, he sighs as
he puts the sketchbook away. The days here in Lenora are monotonous and long and numb,
with no strong emotions at any point, really, but he can honestly say that therapy is the worst
part of any given day.
Will goes into the office and sits down in the chair across from Dr. Brown, who smiles at
him. “Hi, Will! Today, we’re going to be doing something different.” she says in that faux-
cheerfulness that he hates.
“Okay.” he says as she pulls out a stack of papers. Uh-oh. Whenever doctors have a ton of
papers, it means nothing good is happening. She flips through and takes out 3 or 4, clipping it
to a clipboard and grabbing a pencil.
“So today we have a mental health evaluation. Just to see how you’re doing, you know? I’ll
read you the questions and you’ll answer on a scale of ‘Never’, which is 0, ‘Rarely’, or 1,
‘Sometimes’, or 2, ‘Often’, or 3, and ‘Always’, 4. Okay?”
“Okay.” he repeats.
“Okay. Let’s start off, here. ‘I have little interest or pleasure in doing things, even if they’re
things I used to enjoy.’”
3, he thinks.
“0.” he says.
“Great!” she says, scribbling something on the top sheet. “I feel down, depressed or
hopeless.”
4. “0.”
“I have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, or sleeping too much.”
Ha. She doesn’t even know. 4. “1.”
“I feel tired and have little energy.”
4. Of course he’s tired, he sleeps less than three hours a night. “1.”
“I have a poor appetite or I overeat.”
Both. 4. “0.”
“I feel bad about myself - like I am a failure or have let myself or my family down.”
4. Doesn’t everyone? “0.”
“I have trouble concentrating on things such as reading the newspaper or watching

television.”
He can’t watch TV, draw, read… do much of anything without his mind wandering, so 3. “0.”
“I move or speak so slowly that other people could have noticed, or the opposite, being so
fidgety or restless that I have been moving around a lot more than usual.”
“0.” At least that one isn’t a lie.
“I have thoughts that I would be better off dead or hurting myself in some way.”
He thinks of the times when he wished that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning, the times
that he tried to sacrifice himself to save his friends even when it wasn’t really necessary. He
thinks of how he doesn’t mind when he’s hurt because he deserves to feel the pain, deserves
to bleed. Maybe 2 or 3? Will has no idea. “0.” he says.
“Fantastic!” she says with the shiny fake smile, flipping the page to another one. “You only
got a 3 on the depression one, which means you’re doing really well with managing it.
Anxiety next.”
“I have excessive worry about a variety of activities and events.”
Not excessive, considering everything, but still a 4. “1.”
“I find it difficult to control worrying.”
Everybody does. 4. “0.”
“I feel restless, on-edge or keyed up.”
“Um… 2?” he says. He feels on-edge all the time, but not restless or keyed-up, so maybe a 2
is accurate.
“I am easily fatigued.”
3. He’s always tired, but maybe it’s just his poor sleep. “1.”
“I have difficulty concentrating or having my mind going blank.”
Well, he can focus and do a task, but his mind still wanders. Maybe a 2? “2.”
“I am irritable.”
No. He’s never angry because he can’t be. He can’t be like Lonnie. Even when he is angry,
it’s always with himself, not with others. “Um, 0.” he says. Will’s not sure if the number’s
right, but who cares.
“I have muscle tension.”
Yeah. 4. He’s pretty sure his muscles are going to snap one day with how tight they are.
When he presses down on a muscle in his shoulder or back, it hurts because it’s so tense. “2.”
“I have disturbed sleep such as difficulty falling asleep, difficulty staying asleep, or restless,
unsatisfying sleep.”
4. “1.”
“I feel distressed because of these problems.”
What even counts as distress? He’s used to it by now. “0.”
“You got a bit higher on the anxiety one with a 9. That means your anxiety is solidly in the
moderate zone.” she says. He cringes. Jeez, even with him underselling and lying it’s still
moderate? That’s not great. “Okay, we just have the one for PTSD left and then we can
discuss your scores. Sounds good?”
No, he thinks, but he nods anyway. She smiles again. He idly thinks that her mouth must hurt
from smiling so widely all the time. He doesn’t understand how she can act so happy all the
time.
“I have repeated, disturbing, and unwanted memories of the traumatic experiences.” she says.
4. “0.”
“I have repeated, disturbing dreams of the traumatic experiences.”
Heh. What’s the maximum? “1.”
“I suddenly feel or act like the traumatic experiences were actually happening again, as if you
were actually back there reliving it.”
4. He hates when those episodes happen, but they’re pretty frequent, despite his best efforts.
“0.”
“I feel very upset when something reminds me of the traumatic experiences.”
4. He thinks everyone would be. “0.”
“I have a strong physical reaction when something reminds me of the traumatic experiences,
for example, heart pounding, trouble breathing, shaking, or sweating.”
4. Daily. Every single day, usually more than once. “0.”
“I avoid memories, thoughts, and feelings related to the traumatic experiences.”
What counts? His possession and how he tried to ignore it and write it off as trauma? How he
pretends he’s fine so he doesn’t have to deal with it? Will doesn’t know what the question is
asking, so he’ll just roll with it. “0.”
“I avoid external reminders of the traumatic experiences, like people, places, conversations,
activities, objects, or situations.”
He can’t stand spaghetti, if that counts. He avoids anything to do with his dad. He avoids
talking about the secrets he keeps. Does that mean anything? Some of these questions are
stupid. He hates it. “0.”
“I have trouble remembering important parts of the traumatic experiences.”
“0.” he says honestly. He remembers all of it. Everything. Will wishes he didn’t.
“I have strong negative beliefs about myself, other people, or the world. For example, having
thoughts such as ‘I am bad’, ‘there is something seriously wrong with me’, ‘no one can be
trusted’, and ‘the world is completely dangerous’.”
Does it count if they’re true? If so, 4. “0.”
“I blame myself or someone else for the traumatic experiences or what happened after it.”
Of course he does. Most of the things that happened to him could have been prevented if he
tried harder, and even more were his fault. But that’s not blame, that’s honesty. 4. “0.”
“I have strong negative feelings such as fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame.”
Duh. 4. “0.”
“I have lost interest in activities that I used to enjoy.”
Didn’t she already ask this one? “0.”
“I feel distant or cut off from other people.”
4. “0.”
“I have trouble experiencing positive feelings. For example, I am unable to feel happiness or
have loving feelings for people close to me.”
He still feels love. He loves his family and his friends, even if he loves Mike in the wrong
way. But he doesn’t feel happy. What's the right number for that? 3? "0."
“I feel angry and have irritable behavior, angry outbursts, or act aggressively.”
Once again, already asked. 0. "0."
“I take too many risks or do things that could cause me harm.”
He can hear the tapping of Morse code. It’s all he can focus on as he taps it out. ‘C-L-O-S-E-
G-A-T-E’. He knows he’ll die. He’s part of the Hive Mind. Part of the Mindflayer. If they die,
so does he. But it’s all worth it if his friends and family end up okay.
“Will?” she asks. He blinks twice as he tries to regain awareness of his surroundings. He's not
possessed. He's safe. He's fine.
"Will, are you alright?" she asks.

"Yes, I am. 0." he says.
She puts down her clipboard, sighs, and leans back in her chair. "What was that?"
"What was what?" he responds, choosing to play dumb.
"You had a severe reaction to that question. Why? What happened just now?”
“Nothing. Just… zoned out.” he lies.
She huffs, and he blinks again in surprise. She doesn't normally show honest feelings like
frustration, just that fake happiness that he hates.
"Will, I've tried to be patient with you, but this is ridiculous. You're lying to me every session,
clearly not adjusting or managing your mental health well, and you just had what looked like
a flashback in my office. You need to stop lying, whether that's to me or yourself, and get the
help you clearly need."
Will doesn’t know what to do. He’s freaked out that she’s known he’s been lying the whole
time, and he’s freaked out that she’s called him out.
So he does what he always does: he runs.
Will grabs his bag and hightails it out, running as fast as his shaking legs can carry him on
adrenaline alone, ignoring the receptionist and therapist shouting after him and other kids
turning and looking at him as he goes faster, faster, faster, trying to outrun both the fear of the
therapist and of the past. He keeps going even once he’s away from the school and knows
that nobody’s coming for him. He runs until his shaky legs give out, leaving him gasping for
breath on the sidewalk in an area that he doesn’t know. After a while sitting curled as small as
he can make himself, arms wrapped around his knees and forehead pressed to his legs as he
rocks, catching his breath from the dual forces of what felt like a panic attack and running on
an empty stomach and a soft, non-muscular body, Will comes out of his safe, dark little world
to see a street lined with houses. It’s all shades of orange and red, with palm trees adding the
occasional touch of color to the mostly monotonous street.
“Shit.” he mutters as he looks around for a recognizable landmark. He finds none. How far
did he go? What time is it? Is Will missing class?
He checks his watch. It should be mid-first period. Goddammit. They’re going to call his
mom, and she’s going to get upset and become overprotective again, and he’s going to have
to face the music of running away from and lying to Dr. Brown, and- oh. He’s still lost. Will
wishes that he had done more exploring of Lenora so that he would at least have a general
idea of where he is. In Hawkins, he knew every crack in the sidewalk and every car on the
street. He misses home.
Will starts walking in what he thinks is the way he came. After about five minutes, things
start to look familiar, and he eventually makes his way back to the school. At this point, it's
almost second period, so he just goes and waits outside of the classroom before taking his
seat the second that the kids from first period have left.
He goes in and sits down at his desk, but the teacher looks up from her own. “Oh! Will! The
front office called down and said if you came in to send you to them.”
Will nods, ignoring the way his heart feels like it’s pounding out of his chest and how he can
feel his pulse everywhere, from his throat and chest to his finger- and toe-tips. He walks on
shaking legs to the office, where the receptionist looks up and nods over her shoulder. “Dr.
Brown’s waiting.”
He wants to throw up. He’s terrified of the hell that’s about to be rained down upon him.
Will walks into the office and sits down, heart hammering and head pounding. She keeps
working on whatever she’s writing for a moment as he sits frozen in fear before looking up.
She sighs. “Will, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah?” he stammers. Will doesn’t know what she’s asking.
“I am so sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you, and I shouldn’t have treated
you like that. I’ve been dealing with some issues at home, and it shortened my patience, so I
snapped at you because you were the easiest target due to our communication issues. It was
unfair of me to do. Is it possible for you to forgive me?” she says.
He’s not sure what to do, so he just nods.
“Okay. I realize that me getting upset at you after a flashback may have triggered you, so I’ve
gone ahead and excused your first period. Our next session is on Wednesday, so I’ll see you
then. Okay?”
“Okay.” he says, standing up. She gives him a guilty smile, and he returns an empty one that
drops as soon as he walks out of the office. He goes back to second period, where El taps him
on the shoulder.
He turns to look over at her. “You are okay? You were gone.” she says.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Therapy ran long.” he says.
“Okay.” she says before turning her attention back to the front. He takes notes as always, not
speaking or doing anything but writing and keeping his head down in this class and the next
two.
Before Will knows it, it’s lunchtime, and El grabs his hand. “Eat with me today?” she asks.
He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he just nods, even if he doesn’t like the cafeteria.
They walk over and find two seats together, and as El starts eating, Will pulls out his
sketchbook and starts drawing. He’s finished with three-quarters of a drawing of El and El is
almost finished with her lunch when the same group from last week comes over. Will notes
that, unlike last week, her face is drawn tightly and she seems tense. The same girl, Angela,
goes up. “Hey, girlfriend! How you been? Still can’t talk? Still dumb as shit?”
Will whips around. “El- Jane isn’t dumb, and her English is fine, for your information.”
She blinks before smiling at him. “Alright, sure. Well, see you later.”
She leads the gang away, and he sighs in relief. “El, are you okay?”
El grabs her tray and gets up, sniffling as she puts it with the other dirty ones. “El?” he asks
weakly.
“I am going to go to class.” she says, eyes starting to brim with tears.
“Do you need me to come with you, or do you want to be alone?” he asks.
“Alone.” she says, shaking her head and leaving quickly.
“Okay.” he says as she leaves. He goes to put away his sketchbook, but he’s stopped by a
light tap on his shoulder.
“Can I sit here?” asks a girl. She has dark hair and skin and a nice smile.
“Um… sure.” Will says, awkwardly gesturing to El’s empty seat.
She sits down, smoothing out her pink skirt as she gets settled. “Hi, I’m Lucie. You’re Will,
right?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you, Lucie.” he says.
“Yeah, nice to meet you too. I’m sorry about Angela. She can be a real bitch.”
“I guess. How do you know her?”
“We run in the same circles. Still doesn’t mean I like her.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Will says.
“I wanted to say that I really like your art, too.”
He looks at her in surprise. “Wait, how do you know my art?”
“Ms. Martinez hung some drawings on the wall. A few of them looked really good, so I went
up and looked at them, and they all had ‘Will Byers’ as the signature. We share a lot of
classes, so it wasn’t too hard to make the connection between the shy guy in my History class
and the art. They’re really cool.”
“Thank you.” he says with a slight smile.
“You know, your girlfriend’s a lucky girl.” she says, and- is she batting her eyelashes?
“Girlfriend?” he chokes out. What- what?
“Well, yeah. You’re cute, artsy, sweet, smart… all the qualities a girl looks for in a guy. Plus,
you’re mysterious. You’re the talk of the school, and a bit of mystery is hot.” she says. Will’s
too distracted both by the fact she called him cute (and hot) and that she thinks he’s straight.
“Um… no, I don’t have a girlfriend.” Will says awkwardly.

“That’s a shame.” Lucie says, and- she’s doing it again! She’s definitely batting her
eyelashes! “So anyway, Halloween’s coming up. A friend of mine’s having a massive party at
her house that night. It would be so cool if you could come.”
“Maybe. Could E- my sister come?” he asks.
“Sure! It’ll be fun. Do you have a marker?”
He pulls one out of his bag, and she quickly uncaps it and scribbles a phone number on his
forearm. “Here’s my number. Call me if you decide to come - my friend Cole can give you
and your sister a ride.” Will nods and gives a smile, and she smiles back before getting up
and walking away, smoothing her skirt again.
He turns back to the table for a second, staring at it before getting up and slinging his
backpack on. That was… weird. As Will goes to class, he thinks through the entire
interaction again.
Will goes into the next period and crouches next to El’s desk, where she’s sitting with her
head in her arms. “Hey, El. Do you need anything?” he asks quietly. She shakes her head.
“Okay. Let me know if you do. I’m right next to you.”
As class starts, she lifts her head and pays attention, though Will can see her puffy, red-
rimmed eyes. He keeps an eye on her all throughout the rest of the day (on Tuesdays and
Thursdays they have all their classes together), but still takes notes and such. Over time, she
looks less upset, but she still doesn’t look happy. It worries Will. He knows what it’s like to
be bullied, and he knows how hard it is. Will tries to think of what to do to fix it.
At the end of school, he bumps her shoulder with his several times to check that she’s okay,
and she doesn’t respond. As they get into Jonathan’s car, Will worries about how she’s doing,
discreetly looking over at her every few minutes.
When they get back home, El quietly goes and sits on the couch, and Will sits next to her,
still concerned. Right then, his mom walks in, arms full. He springs up and helps her with the
papers in her arms.
“Alright, we got mail!” she says. “Will, want to help me organize?”
“Sure.” he says, quickly sitting back down and starting to pile the mail. After a few minutes,
there are four piles, with his mom’s the largest at a few packages and at least a dozen letters,
Jonathan’s the second-largest with six or seven letters, and El’s the smallest pile with two
letters. As for Will, he gets a single letter from Hawkins, which he tucks under his arm. “Hey,
I’m gonna go do homework. Be back in a few.” he says. Nobody responds, too busy reading
their mail, so he goes upstairs.
As soon as he’s in his room, he quickly opens up the envelope and is greeted with Lucas’s
handwriting over several pages of paper, which he begins reading.
'Dear Will,
How are you? Is California as sunny as it is on TV? It’s going to snow soon here, probably in
the next week. Gotta love a cold Halloween. Speaking of, I’m going as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar,
the basketball champion. Who are you going as?
I miss you, man. We all do. You’ve always been the glue of the party, Will, and now we’re
dissolving.
Dustin's too busy hanging out with Steve and Robin to hang out with the rest of us. It's kind of
weird how attached he gets to every older teenager we meet, right? Well, he has Steve pick
him up after school most of the time and immediately goes over to Family Video, where he
stays all afternoon. I'm happy he has them, but would it be so hard to just take, like, one or
two nights a week to hang out? I miss him.
And he’s the better one of the Party. Mike’s gotten really depressed since you and El left -
how is she, by the way? He spends all his time in the basement. He plays video games all day
every day after school. His grades are slipping, too. I mean, Mike’s not even trying to get his
homework done anymore. He looks tired, man. I know he's sleeping in his basement every
night, and it's not good for him. He keeps cracking his neck and wincing, and he has dark
circles under his eyes. They aren't too bad, but still. I'm worried.
Max is definitely the worst. She broke up with me again, which isn't out of the ordinary and is
fine. I'm okay with just being friends, but she doesn't even want to be that. She sits away from
us at lunch, and in some of our classes. She doesn't wave back or say hi in the halls. It’s like
she's trying to shut the world out, including us. I've been trying to help, but she’s ignoring me
and won't talk about it or accept help from anyone. I wish you were here. I just know you'd
find a way to help her.
I started playing for the basketball team, which is pretty cool. Most of the other guys are
cool. I'm mostly a bench warmer, but I think I'll be able to play in a real game soon. It's
another reason the Party's falling apart, though. They all think I'm being stupid for doing
new things and branching out. You remember how we promised to be different this year?
Well, apparently I'm the only one who's following through. And even if the Party's mad and
all going through something, it's really awesome.
What I'm trying to say is to do new things. I know you, and I know you haven't done new
things in California. You deserve to be happy, Will, even without us. So please do something
different. Make new friends, join a new club, just… try new things. You might find something
you love, like how I love basketball. We have fresh starts, and we should do something with
them.
I miss you like crazy. Please write back and call when you can. Promise you'll visit soon?
With love,
Your friend Lucas.'
He puts down the letter with tears in his eyes. They do miss him, and they're having a hard
time too. Will goes downstairs and goes straight to the phone, left alone for the few minutes
that his mom’s too busy with other things to be on it. He looks at the number on his hand and
dials, with someone picking up after one ring. "Hello?" asks a voice he recognizes from
school.
"Um… hi, Lucie. It's Will. I wanted to let you know that I'd love to go to the party." he says.
"Awesome! I'll tell you some details as soon as I see you tomorrow."
He smiles as he puts down the phone, happy that he’s making Lucas proud. That smile stays
on as he writes a return letter to Lucas as well as letters to Mike, Max, and Dustin, as he eats
a full portion of food for the first time in a week, as he convinces El to go to this Halloween
party with him, and as he goes to sleep two hours earlier than normal. He may be alone, but
with his friends just a letter away, maybe he doesn't have to be lonely.
Mike doodles a picture of Michael the Paladin, smiling as he thinks of the day's events. He,
Dustin, and Lucas had been approached by a cool outcast named Eddie, who asked them to
join his D&D club, Hellfire. Mike's excited to play D&D again, and excited to hang out with
Eddie. His good mood extends outside of his doodling, as he smiles to himself as he does
homework for the first time in a week, calls the Byers once instead of the usual number of
times, and goes to sleep in his actual bed. Mike wonders when the first meeting of Hellfire
will be. He bets Will would like it, but Will's having a great time off in California, so he’s
allowed to do fun things with a cool guy.
And for the first time in a week, Mike drifts off thinking of something other than Will.
Chapter End Notes
Hey. Hope you enjoyed. If you did, please leave a Kudos or comment. It makes my day,
and as I've been having some really bad mental health, it gives me a reason to keep
going, both in life and in writing this. Have a great day!
Halloween
Chapter Notes
Hi! You better like this chapter, because my blood, sweat, and tears went into it. And a
lack of sleep. Please like this.
Shout out to heidibyers(emiliano) and HesterAnadilFoREVER for giving me the

motivation to write this, and thank you to @cypriathus on Tumblr for being my beta
reader.
Turns out, having beta readers is awesome. If anyone who's a reader would like to be a
beta, please tell me in the comments! Also, please leave Kudos and comments if you're
up to it, as I've been struggling and it makes me so happy to know someone likes my
work.
Overall rating: TV-14.

TW:
- Child abuse (past)
- Disordered eating (skipping meals)
- Flashback and other PTSD symptoms
- Language (shit, damn, hell, etc)
- Peer pressure
- Self-harm/cutting (will be skippable)
- Slurs (f@g, fairy, etc; internalized homophobia)
- Underage drinking
- Vomiting
Will’s gone through the rest of the week in a better mood since he got Lucas’s letter. He still
doesn’t sleep or eat very much, but he’s trying his best, sitting down to dinner and eating at
least half a portion a few nights a week and sleeping from 10 to 3 every night. His showers
aren’t as hot, his sketchbooks aren’t as full, his body isn’t as thin.
Naturally, that doesn’t last for too long.

On Halloween, he stands in front of his closet, picking both today’s and tonight’s outfits. He’s
both terrified and excited for the party, and even if terror’s starting to win out, he’s gonna try
his absolute best to make Lucas proud and have fun in a new way with new people.
In the end, he chooses to wear his blue flannel, green hoodie, dark-wash jeans, and Converse
to school, and change into a plain black short-sleeve button-up shirt and keep his jeans and
Converse for the party. He isn’t sure if it’s a costume party or not, but better to be the only
one dressed like normal than to be the only one in a costume. Will grabs the school clothes
and heads to the shower, which is still hot, but doesn’t leave his skin with the red, blistering
patches that he’s been trying to prevent lately. After he’s dressed and his hair’s been brushed,
he goes down into the kitchen. As he’s making coffee, pouring some into a to-go cup and
putting in a little bit of sugar and milk, his mom silently comes in.
“Good morning, hon.” she says quietly.
He jumps, but swiftly collects himself, turns around, and smiles. “Good morning, Mom.”
“You’re going to that party tonight, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. It sounds really fun.” he says.
“I’m glad. I was worried about you. It’s good that you’re making new friends, Will. Keep it
up.” she says.
She pours herself a cup of coffee as he smiles to himself. Even his mom noticed he’s doing
better. Maybe he really can adapt to living here. Make new friendships, maintain the old
ones, and survive and thrive until he can go back to Indiana when he’s 18 and be with the
Party again.
Will keeps smiling as he finishes getting ready, but as he starts to go out of the front door to
get into the Pinto, Jonathan stops him. “Hey, my friend Argyle is gonna drive us to school
today.”
“Wait- wait, who’s Argyle?” Will asks.
“My friend.” Jon says. Will hears a little bit of irritation in his brother’s voice, and
immediately starts thinking about it as his smile drops. Is Jon mad at him? Did he screw up?
If he did screw up and Jonathan is mad, how does he fix it and get Jonathan to forgive him
for whatever he said wrong?
Will’s panicky thought train is derailed by the honking of a big yellow pizza van driving up.
A guy with dark hair down to his waist, a sun visor, loud shirt, and rainbow socks hops out.
“Hey, dude! Hey, little dude! What’s popping?”
It takes Will a second to realize that this guy - Argyle - is talking to him. “Oh, um… nothing
much.” he says, trying to come across as casual (and failing).
“Cool! Sweet hair, little dude. Looks super soft.” Argyle says. That wasn’t what he was
expecting. Will’s thrown for a loop. What… what? What’s going on in this guy’s head?
“Thank you. Your hair is cool, too." Will says awkwardly.
"Thanks, man! It smells like coconut." Argyle says.
Will isn’t quite sure what to say to that.
"Uh, yeah. This is my brother Will. My sister Jane is going to be out in a minute." Jonathan
says.
"I'm Argyle, little dude." Argyle says, walking over and pulling Will into a hug.
Will doesn’t hug back. He awkwardly stands there.

Through years of practice, he’s gotten pretty good at interacting with other people, but Argyle
is throwing all of his carefully-memorized social rules and responses out the window. It’s
making him uneasy. Between Argyle’s lack of respect for social norms and rules and the
general vibe that says ‘I’m intoxicated and super out of it!’, Will feels uncomfortable around
him.
Argyle pulls back and looks over to Jonathan. "So we'll be ready to go in a minute?"
"Yep." Jonathan says. "Just have to wait for Jane."
It's just a minute before El comes out of the house, hair in a ponytail and wearing a white
printed T-shirt tucked into black jeans and her white sneakers. She gives Will a questioning
look, and he looks her up and down, evaluating her outfit, before giving her a subtle nod,
which she nods back to. It's become their routine: she chooses an outfit, he tells her whether
it's okay to wear to school, and if it isn't, they pick a new one together that is acceptable, with
Will explaining the few fashion rules that he knows while they go through.
"Hey! You must be Jane. Cool nose. Wish mine had that good of a shape." Argyle says. El
looks puzzledly over to Will, who just shrugs.
"Thank you." El says at last.
"Yeah. El- Jane, this is my friend Argyle. He's going to drive us to school." Jon says.
“Oh. Why are we not driving in the car?” El asks.
“Because I want to hang out with Argyle, and he’s nice enough to take us to school. Speaking
of, we’re going to be late, so let’s go.” Jonathan says impatiently.
Will feels slight anger towards Jonathan for his lack of care with their sister before being hit
with the guilt.
Jonathan’s always been the caretaker and perfect older brother. He’s sacrificed his happiness,
his time, and his social life to take care of Will in the past. On top of dealing with school and
a new sister, they’ve also moved - Jon’s just acting off because he’s struggling with all of the
new things being thrown at him.
How can Will be so judgemental? His brother has done everything for him, and it’s great that
Jon’s making friends and having fun. It’s Will’s job to be El’s perfect brother, not Jonathan’s.
He’s being ridiculous. He needs to be better. A better brother, to both Jonathan and El, and a
better person.
They get into the van, and unlike the Pinto, there are no seats, so Will and El sit on the floor
of the back of the van. Despite his best efforts, his mind spirals to the lack of safety in case of
an accident. There are no seat belts, or even seats in the first place. This is dangerous for Will
and El, and Will is painfully aware of it.
They drive to school, with Argyle chatting, laughing, and singing along to the reggae music
on the radio, Jonathan occasionally chiming in, El finishing her homework, and Will tensing
and wincing with each bump in the road. He feels like
When they get there, Will gets out, takes a minute to get his land legs, and helps El out. He
waits for Jonathan to get out, but he just sticks his head out the window.
“Hey, I’m gonna hang out with Argyle for a few more minutes. You get to class, okay? I’ll
see you in a bit.” Jonathan says, giving them a smile that could be interpreted as either
serene, tense, or guilty. Will doesn’t have time to analyze, though, before the Byers-Hopper
twins are waving off Jonathan and Argyle and heading inside.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, with the only notable thing being that Will manages to
get his homework all done in class. His nerves and brain are buzzing as he thinks about the
party tonight, all through his classes, all through the lunch where he sits outside in silence
idly doodling as El makes another brave attempt to make friends (which she requested to do
on her own without his supervision). Is he going to have fun? Is he going to regret it? His
thoughts race, but he can’t tell if it’s in fear or excitement. Even as Argyle drops them back
off at home, it’s still all he can think about.
Around 6 in the evening, he emerges from his room, where he’s been obsessively drawing
Jack-O- Lantern’s (as one does) and goes over to knock on El’s door.
“Hey, El! Are you ready to go to the party?” he asks cheerfully.
He hears a sniffle from inside, followed by a quiet “I’m not going.”
“El- El, are you okay?” he asks, knocking again on the door.
“I am okay. I do not want to go to a party.” she says.
“Why not?” he asks, not unkindly.
“Do not want to be with mouthbreathers.” she says.
“Why are they mouthbreathers?” he asks.
“Angela will be there.” she says.
"Oh. What did she do?" he asks.
"Do not want to talk about it." El says.
“Okay. Do you want me to stay here with you?” he asks.
“No. Go. I will stay.” she says before sniffling again.

“Are you sure? I’ll stay if you want me to, I don’t mind.” he says.
“Will. Go.” she repeats.
“Okay…” he says, still concerned.
He stops by where his mom is still working, though not on the phone. “Hi, Will.” she says,
hardly looking up from her log of sales that she’s filling out.
“Hey, El’s upset. I don’t know why, but… I don’t know. I just think someone should keep an
eye on her.” he says.
At that, his mom looks up towards the stairs. “Okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll go
check on her. You have fun, okay?”
“Okay. See you later, Mom. I love you.” he says, giving her a quick kiss on the top of the
head before heading out into the driveway.
He’s standing outside for about ten minutes before a large, black, expensive car pulls up, loud
metal music blasting from the rolled-down windows.
Will hesitantly walks over, and when he looks inside the window, he sees a strange
combination.
There’s Lucie in the backseat, waving at him with a pink-gloved hand - she must be going as
a princess - and a bright smile on display. Next to her is a boy with short blonde hair in a
buzzcut wearing all black and a girl wearing a blue checkered dress and long brown hair in
pigtails - Dorothy, maybe?
“Hey, new guy!” shouts someone from the front seat.
Will quickly looks towards the driver, who’s a muscular guy with long blond hair half-tucked
into a baseball cap. “Um… yeah?” Will says.
“You can ride shotgun with me.” the guy says.
“Oh, okay.” Will says, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. He sits
awkwardly, feeling out-of-place in the car of people he doesn’t know.
Lucie pokes her head up between the seats and starts talking. “Oh! Will, these are my friends.
The driver’s Cole-” the driver gives a mock salute. “The girl’s Amanda, and the boy is
Jamie.” Amanda nods a hello, and Jamie continues looking out the window. Will nods back.
They sit with the loud music as the only thing filling the silence before Cole starts talking.
“Hey, new guy. You want some booze?” he asks, leaning over and pulling a flask off the
floor. “Vodka.” he clarifies, holding out the drink.
He’s six. He came into the house late after playing in the woods. His dad was in the living
room, and Will just wasn’t quiet enough. When he sees Will, he throws his bottle of vodka
across the room, the sound of the crash echoing in Will’s ears as his dad shouts at him,
pushing and hitting until Will’s ‘learned his lesson’.
Will ends up having to get rid of his shirt. The blood from shallow glass cuts won’t wash out.
“No, I don’t drink.” he says, turning to look out the window.
“Aw, come on! Don’t be a killjoy.” Cole laughs.
“Leave him alone, Cole. Will doesn’t have to drink if he doesn’t want to.” Lucie says sternly.
“We were just having fun, Luce. Christ, get a sense of humor.” Cole says.
“Screw you!” Lucie says. “I have a sense of humor! It just doesn’t come out around you
because you being a dick isn’t funny!”
“Well, at least I have a car and don’t have to mooch to get rides.” Cole mutters.
“I’m literally fourteen. Why would I need a car?!” Lucie asks.
They continue to bicker as Will looks out the window, looking at the Halloween decorations
on this street. They’re well-done, though some are a little bit overboard. He wonders what his
friends are doing in Hawkins. Are they going trick-or-treating, or was Lucas’s letter right and
they’re splitting up? Have they thought about Will at all?
“So Will.” Lucie starts, snapping him back to reality. “How’s Lenora been? Like, I know you
showed up mid-semester. So, like, how have you been doing?”
“I’ve been doing alright with it.” he lies. “School’s fine, but does anyone really like it?”
That gets some chuckles and an ‘Amen’ from the backseat, and he half-smiles. “How’s
school for you?”
“Fine. But let me tell you, there’s this one teacher, Mr. Oren, and his grading is stupid-” Lucie
starts. He nods along, humming in agreement at the right moments and saying ‘That sucks’
when she pauses to wait for a reaction. Before her story is even over, they’re at a huge house
that has drunk teenagers milling all over the lawn, neon lights and decorations, and loud
music. To Will, it honestly looks like a nightmare, but he needs to try new things and branch
out - and this is definitely new for him.
Apparently, it’s not new for Lucie, as she immediately opens the door and runs over to a girl
who looks to be super intoxicated, speaking excitedly before hugging. The other kids in the
car get out a few seconds afterwards, and Will sits in the car for a moment, taking a deep
breath before getting out of the car.
He looks at his feet as he walks into the house, cautiously looking up through his bangs
occasionally to make sure he doesn’t run into anyone or anything.
He still does.
Unexpectedly, a large guy gets in front of him, and Will bumps into him before jumping
back. “Oh- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” he says.
The guy laughs, a deep, echoing sound. “Nah, you’re good. Want a drink?”
“Is there any alcohol in it?” Will asks cautiously.
“Nah, just lemonade.” the guy says.
Will thinks for a second, before nodding. If it does have alcohol, he’ll taste it, and he can spit
it out and stop drinking. “Sure, I’ll have some.”
“Cool, cool.” the guy says, producing a red plastic cup from God-knows-where. “Here.”
Will takes it, and the second the guy is off across the room, he lifts it to his nose, cautiously
inhaling. He can’t smell the stinging scent that he knows is vodka, nor any other liquor, so he
thinks it’s okay. Still, he carefully takes a small sip from the Solo cup before anything else,
and when he can’t taste anything, he decides it’s clean and takes a larger swig.
“Hey, Will!” calls a voice that he recognizes as Lucie’s. “Come on! We’re playing truth or
dare!”
He takes another long drink from his cup, taking it down to the bottom, before going over to
where a circle is starting to form, with teenagers both sitting down and standing up and most
with the same red cups that Will’s drinking out of. His cup is taken from him by someone
else and a new one pressed into his hand, which he does the same test on before drinking
from it.
The kids all start taking their turns, with invasive questions and stupid dares being thrown
around and responded to. Will keeps drinking his cup (which gets replaced several more
times, all clean) and watching the chaos unfold. Eventually, it becomes Lucie’s turn, and after
she has to kiss a random boy in the circle, she turns giggling to Will. “Will! Truth or dare?”
“Mm… dare.” he says. Normally, he would pick truth, but for some reason, he feels brave.
He feels like the edge of the anxiety that’s normally digging into his brain has been dulled.
Maybe the party really is good for him.
“Ooh, brave. Hm…” Lucie says, teasingly tapping her chin. “Alright, tell us about yourself.”
“W… what kinda a dare’s that?” he asks. His words aren’t coming out quite right, but he
doesn’t care. He’s having fun. Who cares ‘bout a little grammar when he can have fun?
“A good one! You don’t talk about yourself. You’re the mysterious loner, and it’s a good way
to get some info out of you.”
“Fairrr…” he drawls.
“Alright, so talk! Who are you?”
“‘M Will Byers. ‘M fourteennn… like art ‘n painting ‘n music ‘n stuff… ffffavorie color’s
green…” he slurs. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he talk right? Why does he feel weird?
“Shit, dude, you’re messed up. Thought you didn’t drink.” Cole says, coming out of nowhere.
“...don’t. Can’t be drunk… don’t drink.” he says, going to take a sip of his lemonade that’s
been refilled indefinitely.
“You… do realize that’s spiked, right?” Lucie’s friend Amanda asks from his… right? Left?
The room’s spinning… wait, what did she say?
“I… what? Can’t… can’t taste any… alcohol.” Will says.
“It’s Everclear, buddy. Can’t taste it, can’t smell it. A hundred percent alcohol. It’ll get you
absolutely smashed. How much have you had?” Cole asks.
He tries to think through the fuzz in his brain. One that the guy gave him, then a refill… or
was it two? Three? Four? Eight? He doesn’t know. He knows it was a lot more than three.
“I dunno. Sssix?” he says with alarm, words still slurred.
“Dude, that’s like half a bottle. You’re drunk as a skunk.” someone says.
No.
No.
No no no no no.
Apparently someone can see how much he’s freaking out, because they change the subject.
“Alright, then. We’ll go back to Will later. Bobby, truth or dare?”
He’s eight. His dad thinks he’s weak, that he needs to man up. Will would do anything if it
meant that his dad loved him again. So that’s why he’s drinking the beer that his dad gave
him, grimacing at the horrible taste but downing it anyway. “Good boy, Billy. Gonna put
some hair on your chest, huh?” his dad laughs, ruffling Will’s hair. Will feels bad. The beer
tastes bad, feels bad. He wants to throw up. He can’t throw up. His dad would be upset. He
needs to keep it down.
He can’t. It makes him sick. He’s gagging over and over, the liquid going down the drain in
the bathroom sink. His dad’s disappointed. His dad stops talking to him for days except to
shout.
Will wishes he could have kept it down.
Cole puts a hand on his shoulder, probably meant to help, but Will flinches, covering his head
with his arms. “Whoa. Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to freak you out. I don't know why you're
losing it. It's just a little liquor. Getting drunk one time isn't that big a deal. Chill out."
"How'd I sober up?" Will asks in that same, odd way.
"Um… you can throw up, drink coffee and water, sleep it off, take a cold shower…" he says,
starting to tick them off on his fingers as he talks. "Be a shame to sober up, though. Getting
buzzed is pretty awesome once you get used to it, and Everclear’s pretty expensive.”
For once in his life, Will doesn’t care about the price of something - or other people’s
opinions. He gets up off of the floor, swaying once he’s standing, and stumbles from room to
room to find a bathroom. Once he does, he quickly locks the door and gets on his knees in
front of the toilet, forcing fingers down his throat until he starts to retch. After he’s left with a
scorched throat and blurry vision, he gets back up and washes his hands and face, feeling a
bit less out of it but still pretty bad.
What else did Cole say? Drink coffee and water? He can do that.
Will leaves the bathroom and goes down to the lower floor, trying to find the kitchen without
running into anything (he runs into a wall and two people). After a minute, he does, and
immediately goes to the coffeepot and starts brewing some. He hears the cheering of the truth
or dare game in the other room, but he doesn’t care. He needs to get it out of his system, or
next thing he knows, he’s gonna end up like Lonnie, constantly with a drink in his hand and
constantly picking a fight with the people he’s supposed to love. He can’t do that. He can’t be
like Lonnie. He needs to sober up.
As soon as the coffee’s done, he grabs a Solo cup (empty, of course) and pours it in, starting
to chug it. His hands aren’t working right - the coffee’s half down the sides of the cup. He
can’t control how he’s moving. He doesn’t like this.
He grimaces at the bitter taste at first, but keeps going, and he gets used to it after a few
seconds. After he’s done with that pot, feeling the warm liquid in his stomach start to cancel
out the fuzzy feeling in his brain, he puts on another one, filling his cup with water in the
meantime.
Despite the sloshing feeling of his stomach, he drinks the water and then another pot of
coffee. He feels nauseous, but that’s fine if he can just get the alcohol out of his system.
As he’s thinking about Lonnie, the fact that he just drank and had no idea, and bad memories
involving alcohol, the music feels like it’s growing louder, pounding in his eardrums and
brain. His breath is starting to come short, and his heart is racing.
Nonono. He can’t have a panic attack at this party. This is bad, this is bad, this is bad.
As it gets worse, and his thoughts start spiraling as his body starts its fight-or-flight response,
he sits down on the kitchen floor, putting his head in his hands. He swore when he was
younger that he wouldn’t drink, that he wouldn’t be his father, but here he is, drunk and a
failure. Will’s worthless. He’s a failure, a mess, a nothing. This is all his fault - he should’ve
known better than to think that there wouldn’t be alcohol at a high school party, should’ve
known better than to trust the people around him.
He’s not sure why, but he starts full-out sobbing. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s because
he’s genuinely upset, but he’s crying hard, with his shoulders shaking and tears and snot
running down his face. Will curls into a ball, with his forehead pressed to his knees and his
arms wrapped around his legs, pressing himself into the cabinets as he gets as small as
possible. He’s glad that all of the other kids at this party are drunk, because nobody can hear
(or care about) his muffled cries.
Combine the crying with what feels like a panic attack, he can’t breathe. Soon enough, the
cries give way to wheezing as he struggles to get enough air.
After a few minutes of hyperventilating, he staggers to his feet and stumbles outside, hoping
that air untainted by cigarette smoke and dozens of teenagers will help.
He stumbles outside, and flops down on the lawn, staring at the stars as his train of thought
switches from ‘gotta sober up, can’t be like Lonnie’ to a spiral of contemplation of his life.
Why is he alive? With everything he’s been through, he should’ve died by now. He’s always
been living on borrowed time. His father should’ve killed him during one of his fits of rage,
beating him until there was just an empty shell left. He should’ve died when he was
kidnapped by a monster, eaten and forever lost to the Upside Down. He should’ve died when
he was possessed, had the gate close and snap his mind like a twig. Why hasn’t he died? He
should be dead. Maybe it would’ve been better that way. He wouldn’t be hurting right now.
He’d get to rest. He should be allowed to die. There should be an option where you can just
press a button and go to sleep and not wake up. He’s so tired.
His breathing is slowing down, but it speeds back up when he starts trying to think of other
things. He feels horrible. It’s like he’s both speeding and moving through Jell-O, with the lag
of his vision and lack of control over how he moves contrasting with his racing heart and
shortness of breath.
Will looks over at his watch, almost puking with how his vision spins at the rapid movement.
It reads 10… something. Maybe 11 something? He just sees that the hands are to the… left.
It’s left. It’s up and to the left. And it’s dark out. So… it’s night. It was evening when he got
here. How long has he been here? He should go home.
He gets to his feet, but as he’s walking towards the sidewalk, he stops dead in his tracks. The
last time he ate anything was… hang on… no food today… no food yesterday… dinner two
days ago? An empty stomach probably amplified the effects of the alcohol. If he ate
something, it might make him feel better, and make him more able to walk home.
Will grimaces and goes towards the loud music, stepping back into the crowded house. He
goes back to the kitchen, where he tries to remember how to use his arms without flailing to
open the refrigerator. Once he does (after a few embarrassing tries), he gets out a loaf of
bread. He starts looking for things to put on his sandwich, but as the only sandwich meat they
have is ham and he doesn’t eat pig, he goes for peanut butter and jelly.
He drops the knife. And the jelly jar. And the bread.
Will really hates being drunk. On top of the obvious reasons, he can’t hold anything.
He makes two sandwiches, which he starts devouring. He gets through one and a half before-
Will’s twelve. He’s hiding in the library, desperate to escape the monster hunting him. He
presses his back against the bookshelf, making himself smaller so that he can’t be found. For
a second, he thinks he’s safe, before vines wrap themselves around him. Despite his
struggling, they don’t budge, squeezing him so tightly he can’t breathe. One slips up his neck,
and even though he squeezes his mouth and eyes shut, it forces its way into his mouth, then
down his throat, the disgusting, slimy thing keeping his vomit in his stomach as he chokes and
gags and retches, his body not capable of handling something down his esophagus into his
stomach.
It uses him as an incubator, planting larvae in his stomach. He coughs them up from time to
time for six months after, crying or having the air feel too thin every time he sees another
disgusting little monster squirming and crawling in the sink.
He sputters and starts gagging on the sandwich, his brain tricking him into thinking it’s
another part of the Upside Down. He knows it’s not, but his instinct is working with his bad
memories to cause him to feel so sick and violated that he can’t force anything down his
throat.
He drops the half-sandwich that’s left onto the counter as he rides out his choking fit, trying
to keep what he’s already eaten down while getting enough air. It passes after a minute, and
he’s left wheezing (yet again) and holding onto the counter, fingers turning white from the
force of his grip.
As he catches his breath, he realizes that the sandwich, coffee, and throwing up seem to be
helping, as his head is almost (not quite) clear. It’s still fuzzy, and the corners of his vision are
still blurry and he still wouldn’t be able to write for shit if someone handed him a pen, but he
can think and walk and talk and exist half-decently.
Will thinks for a moment, and concludes that he’ll be okay once he takes a cold shower and
has some ibuprofen. First, though, he has to get home.
He walks into the main area of the party, and sees the truth or dare game is still in full swing,
now half spin-the-bottle as well. He goes over to Amanda, Lucie’s friend, and taps her on the
shoulder.
“Hey! What’s up?” she asks.
“I’m gonna go home. Just in case someone asks.” he says, noting with relief that his words
are only slurred a little bit.
“‘Kay. You need Cole to drive you?” she asks.
“No, I’ll walk. Bye, Amanda.” he says, turning and starting to walk away.
“Bye.” she says, turning back to the game.
He quietly leaves the house and crosses the front lawn, having his feet hit the sidewalk. Will
looks up and notices that it’s starting to storm. He shrugs it off, starting to walk the way that
he’s pretty sure that they came earlier that evening.
After about twenty minutes, it starts raining. The cold water helps to sober Will up even
further, which he appreciates, though he’s not as big a fan of the way that his hair and clothes
are sticking to him. It’s fine, until the thunder starts.
There’s a loud crack, and Will immediately ducks on instinct. After a second, lightning fills
the sky, and the shape of the clouds reminds him of-
“MIKE!” Will screams. “MIKE!”
He runs down the street, desperately trying to escape the clutches of the huge monster
looming overhead, only visible when the cracks of red lightning provide contrast to its
massive, dark body.
It comes closer. He hides to the best of his ability, but it’s not good enough. The monster is in
his head, feeding off him, feeling what he feels and thinking what he thinks, constantly
encroaching in a bid for control. He can hear it, its booming voice that’s silent but so loud in
his head, talking to him, telling Will about how they’re connected, how running and hiding is
futile.
It doesn’t matter if he fights, if he runs, if he hides. It will always get him. It will always catch
up to him. There is no escape. It’s a war between Will and the monster, and it’s a losing battle.
There is no hope.
Will is connected to the monster. It will never leave him alone. It will always be right there,
waiting for a moment when it can get him.
He will never be free. One way or another, it’s going to get him, and he’ll have a fate worse
than death.
There is no escape.
It’s just a matter of time.

Will shouts, bending over and covering his ears. The monster’s catching up. It’s coming.
They may have burned it out, but it will never leave entirely. It will always be there.
He looks around frantically. Will’s in the Upside Down, but is it real? He doesn’t know. All
he knows is the shaking - in his hands, in his lungs, shaking his entire body like he’s a leaf
stuck in a hurricane - and the screaming in his head telling him to run! Run! It’s coming! Run!
Will does.
He does what he does best.
He runs.
He runs until his legs give out, sending him sprawling onto the street wet with rain. He’s
crying, pleading out loud for the monster not to take him. He needs to keep going - he’s only
a mile or two away from his house - but his legs are burning and trembling, begging him to
rest. He can’t. If he rests, then it’ll catch up. He’ll be possessed again - and this time, he
won’t be able to be saved. That can’t happen. He needs to run.
He stumbles to his feet again, tears mixing with rainwater as he tries to keep moving. He has
to get home. He has to get to safety. He has to-
Will starts running again before he falls, scraping his hands and knees on the concrete of the
road. It hurts like hell as the skinned areas start bleeding, but it's enough to snap him out of it.
He blinks a few times before getting up and moving to sit down on the sidewalk, staring at
the road blankly.
That was… that was a bad one. Worse than normal. He wasn't even able to tell what was real.
Normally, he's back reliving something for one or two minutes before being shot back to real
life - ten minutes, maximum - but that was long and really bad.
He gets to his feet slowly, walking on still-shaky legs back to his house, where he quietly
goes inside and locks the door.
Will isn’t sure what his action plan is, but after careful consideration, he decides on a drink of
water and some ibuprofen, a shower, then lay in bed. It's around… he looks at his watch and
reads that it’s about 2:15. With his sleep schedule, he'd hardly get any rest, so he might as
well just lay there and relax. Besides, he wouldn't be able to handle the nightmares tonight.
It's not worth the effort to sleep.
He goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water to take the ibuprofen with, but they’re all out
of clean cups in the Byers household. Looking at the cluttered sink, he sees that there are a lot
of dishes that need to be washed. He decides to clean the kitchen up; after all, he's not going
to sleep anyway and is still a little bit intoxicated, so he might as well.
He washes most of the cutlery and a few plates, pans, and cups with shaking hands before
starting to wash a chef's knife lying in the sink.
!TRIGGER WARNING - SELF HARM AHEAD! IF UNCOMFORTABLE, SKIP TO

NEXT SET OF DASHES!
He scrubs and rinses it, about to place it on the drying rack, before he gets a horrible idea.
Will thinks of people on TV, talking about how they cut their wrists for relief, how it made
them feel better. Will thinks of the seminar at school where they talked about a 'cutting
epidemic'. Will thinks of the peace he feels when he punches himself or the wall, hitting until
the pain cancels out his emotions. Will thinks of Lucas telling him that he deserves to be
happy - maybe his happiness just comes in a different, gorier form than other people's?
With a shaking hand, Will raises the steel blade to the inside of his wrist, hand clenched as he
lightly presses, watches blood start to bead around the blade as he starts pressing harder.
The little voice of reason in his head is screaming at him. 'Stop!' it says. 'Stop! You’re making
a mistake! Stop!'
After ignoring that train of rationale and watching the red grow, it shifts. 'Okay, you're
bleeding, but it's not too late. If you lift the knife now, it'll just be a nick. A nick isn't too bad.
That you can explain away. Just lift the knife. It’s going to be fine. Just lift the knife.'
Will doesn’t.
He presses even harder, enjoying the sharp sting before quickly moving it, dragging it
outwards. His nerves start to scream as the cut goes white, then dark red as blood starts to
pool, then drip.
Will lifts it just above that cut and does another, faster one, feeling the pain flow out of him
with the blood. His nerves are burning, but his mind is blissfully peaceful for the first time in
years.
He does another.
And another.
And another.
He does it nineteen times before he realizes that the amount of crimson running and staining
both the floor and his skin is probably a bit too much. Will starts to walk to the bathroom,
cradling his sliced arm. He feels like he isn't real - like he’s floating rather than walking. The
weight always resting on his shoulders and in his chest and head, weighing down his
movements and every thought, is gone. He feels a happy sort of numb, and he loves it.
Will stops the rivulets of blood running with gauze and dabbed rubbing alcohol, and those
that he went a little too deep on he applies butterfly bandages to.
As he sits on the linoleum bathroom floor and looks at the sliced skin, still stained a darker
shade than its normal and paths drawn across the surface, that little voice tells him that this
needs to be a one-time thing. Normal, happy people don’t hurt themselves. This has to be the
first and last time.
But as he thinks about the calm that he’s feeling, the fog in his head taking all of his pain, he
decides that no, it’s not a one-time thing. Sure, normal, happy people don’t slice their skin
open with knives, but when has he ever gotten to be normal and happy? Other people haven't
been through what he's been through, felt what he’s felt, and that means that they don’t have
to do this just for relief from the pain and exhaustion of every day. If he gets a chance for a
reprieve from the hell he’s living in, he needs to take it, even if it's wrong.
For just a second, he thinks of what the people he loves would say. Would his mom cry if she
saw him right now? Would Jonathan be disappointed, have to avert his gaze? Would Mike
retch with disgust? Would Lucas look at him in pity? Would Max stare in shock? Would El be
confused at how her brother could do this? Would Dustin's ever-present smile drop as he
looked on in horror?
No.
Will Byers is a burden. He is nothing. A freak, a zombie, a fairy, worthless, useless, fag. This
is not horrific. This is simply penance. This is what he deserves. And he’s fine with that.
Wait. Wait, how will he hide it? All of the cuts, they're obvious. The peace almost begins to
fade as he looks at the lines that are jagged from shaking hands while he created them.
They’re going to scab and scar, and he doesn’t know how to hide it.
He thinks about it. It's November now. He can wear sweaters and long sleeves and jackets
without suspicion. He can also blend together some of his paints to match his skin color and
use it as a concealer. And, in the future, he can do it in less obvious places.
As Will looks at the cuts that he’s inflicted on himself one last time before finishing the
dishes and taking a shower, he has one thought and one thought alone.
'This is just the beginning.'
Mike’s tired, both physically and emotionally.
He misses Will. He misses El. He wants Will to come back.
Today was the first Halloween they spent separated since they were four, and Mike’s been
miserable. Lucas and Dustin are great, as are his new Hellfire friends, but he wants Will, now
more than ever.
Suddenly, he gets an idea.
Mike races up the stairs two at a time, running to talk to his parents. Once he's in the kitchen,
where his mom is making something, he starts talking.
"So, Mom. I really miss Will and the Byers, and was wondering if I could go visit soon?"
Mike asks quickly.
His mom pauses. "Mike, plane tickets are expensive."
"I'll- I'll work it off! I can do chores and keep my grades up and stuff! I can even babysit
Holly!" Mike says, a hint of desperation bleeding into his voice.
His mom thinks, before nodding. "I'll talk with your father about it later, but I think that we
could have you visit soon, maybe around Christmas or Spring Break."
"Yes! Thank you, Mom!" Mike says, giving her a quick squeeze before running back down to
the basement.
They may be separated for now, but Mike and Will are going to be together again soon
enough.
Mike can’t wait.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Will... it will get better for our favorite boy, but it's gonna be a hell of a long time
til it does, so buckle your seatbelts, folks, cause it's going to be an emotionally turbulent,
long ride to the comfort after the hurt. It's gonna be worth it, though.
I do shoutouts now, so if you want one, leave a nice comment :)
Please also leave a comment if you noticed a possible improvement, have a question,
want to be a beta, or just want to let a depressed author know that you appreciate them.
They're the best part of my day.
Chapter 5 will be up soon, and it's gonna be a doozy. Look out, world, because Will
Byers is here, queer, and his mental illness is moderate to severe!
Thanksgiving
Chapter Notes
Hello! Exactly a week after the last chapter, I'm publishing this one, as I got several
lovely comments on the last chapter and wanted to say thanks. I hope you enjoy!
Shoutout to heidibyers(emiliano) and HesterAnadilFoREVER for giving me the

reader.

TW:
- Disordered eating (binge/purge)
- Heavy doses of medication
- Language (shit, damn, etc)
- Nightmares
- PTSD and its symptoms
- Self-harm (cutting, boiling showers)
- Self-hatred
- Weight loss and body dysmorphia
After the Halloween party, Will gave up.
He stopped trying to be better. If anything, he’s gotten much worse. He eats even less than
before, now only eating a small portion every two or three days, the only thing keeping him
going being coffee and water. He’s returned to boiling-hot showers that leave his skin raw
and blistering. He’s given up on other people, no longer making an effort to branch out and
make new friends at school and mostly giving up on reaching the Party - Mike doesn’t
answer his letters or call, and Dustin and Max have only sent one letter each so far in
response to his weekly writings. Lucas is the best out of them, but Will’s unintentionally
leaving his friend hanging by not reaching out as much as he should. He’s too tired to talk to
people anymore, with a heaviness that feels like lead encasing his entire body. It probably
isn’t helped by the lack of sleep, which has gotten even worse, with two hours a night if he’s
lucky.
But worst of all, he’s hurting himself.
Every sharp tool that Will can get his hands on, he’s used, with some of the more common
ones being kitchen knives, scissors, nail clippers, and razors. It’s become the best part of his
day, having the crimson seep out of his veins and paying for his sins while gaining peace and
calm on the way.
It’s November now, a few days before Thanksgiving, and keeping these habits up for over a
month have taken a physical toll on Will. He’s always cold and tired, and when he’s not
numb, he’s sad and hurt and scared. His body’s become littered with cuts, some small and
already healing, others deep enough that he’s had to do stitches. He’s thin, dropping weight
like it’s nothing.
Will’s been meaning to get a scale. He wonders how much, exactly, he’s lost. It’s enough that
he can fit a single hand around his forearm, feel his ribs, feel the ridges on his collarbones
and hip-bones, and only have an extra inch or two between his thumbs when he wraps his
hands around his thighs.
And, with all of this, you would think somebody would notice, that they would care.
Nobody has.
And, as much as it hurts that he’s paid so little attention to that he can get away with ripping
himself apart for the momentary relief of the blood that drips down his arms and legs, the gap
that’s starting to appear between his thighs, the pain of both hunger and row upon row of cuts
as he goes about his day, he’s also a bit relieved, as the lack of concern means that he can
keep going - because at this point, he doesn’t know what he would do if he had to stop.
Well, he thought it went unnoticed.
The day before Thanksgiving, he’s drawing on the couch, halfheartedly listening to an old
black-and- white movie that El’s watching in the background, before his mom comes into the
living room, rifling through her purse. “Will, do you want to come to the grocery store with
me to get the supplies for tomorrow?” she asks.
“Um… sure!” Will says.
He closes the cover of his sketchbook and sets it down on the table before getting up.
Unfortunately, he gets up a little too quickly, as his vision becomes staticky and the room tilts
dangerously until he grabs the corner of the table and puts his weight on it until he’s okay.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m ready to go.” he says, walking over to his mom.
“Alright. You go hop in the car, and I’ll be right out.” she says.
“Okay.” he says. He waits in the car for a few minutes before she comes out and gets in, and
as they’re driving to the grocery store, they start talking.
“So how’s school?” she asks.
“It’s alright. I’m doing pretty well. All my grades are good.” he says cautiously, wondering
about why she’s asking.
“Good, good. Do you have any friends?” she asks.
“Um…” he thinks. He has El, and he has his friends in Hawkins. “Yeah, I do.”
“I’m glad.” she says. They sit in silence for a minute, before he starts talking.
“So… why isn’t El coming with us?” he asks.

“Her name is Jane, Will. I know it’s hard, but we all need to get used to calling her Jane.” she
says.
Shame curls around his stomach. “Yeah, you’re… you’re right.” he says. He feels bad for
having a hard time with the name, but it’s habit, and he’s trying his hardest.
She sighs. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Oh no. Did she figure it out? Does she think he’s crazy? Is she going to make him stop?
“So the therapist from the school called.”
Oh god. What did she say? Did he give anything away?
“She was reviewing your file and found some of your old prescriptions from Doctor Owens.
She thinks it would be a good idea to put you back onto some of them.” his mom says.
“W-what medications?” he asks nervously.
“Um…” she thinks for a second, pursing her lips as she tries to remember. “Sertraline,
alprazolam, and risperidone, I think.”
“Oh.” he says, focusing on a spot on the windshield instead of looking at his mom.
“She renewed the prescription already and changed the dose. I wanted to make sure that you
would be okay with taking them.” she says carefully. Will realizes that she’s worried he’s
going to break - his mom has the same tone that everyone gets when they’re worried he’s
going to shatter like glass with one wrong word. It frustrates him, but he won’t let it show.
Will thinks. The pills didn’t help last time, but maybe that was because it was more of his
true sight than PTSD? He’s older now, and he knows (hopes) that he doesn’t have the true
sight anymore. Maybe this time they can make him feel better.
But even if they did, maybe he doesn’t deserve to feel better. He feels so guilty and sad all the
time because he’s done and seen horrible things. It’s the price he pays, and it’s still not
enough. Besides, he can self-medicate with cutting and starving. He doesn’t need the pills.
He goes to tell her that he doesn’t want to, but one look at her face, worry and sadness written
across it, he changes his mind. If taking the pills would lift some of the burden from her
shoulders, he’ll do it a million times. Even if Will hates himself, he loves his mother, and
would do anything for her, including this.
“Okay, I’ll take them.” he says.
“Okay. There’s a pharmacy inside of the store. We can pick it up tonight.” she says, the
concern on her face replaced with relief.
His heart is a dull pounding in his ears as they stop by the pharmacy and get a large brown
bag with the medications in it after picking up the supplies for Thanksgiving dinner. He
knows that it’s a good thing that he’s going on them, but it doesn’t feel like it.
As they drive home, the weight of the bag in his lap feels much heavier than the three pill
bottles in it should be.
Once they’re there, he and his sister and mom unpack the groceries into the fridge and pantry
before Will takes the medications out of the bag and throws it away. He tucks the bottles into
his pockets and goes upstairs as casually as he can, shutting and locking the door to his room
from the inside.
He takes the bottles out of his pockets and sets them on his bed, reading the labels.
The first bottle is a white bottle with a white label on it and a hard-to-open cap. It’s pure
white. He doesn’t like the look of it. Looks like a Tylenol bottle, honestly, and he’s always
hated Tylenol.
Zoloft (Sertraline) HCL Tablets, USP
50 mg tablets
Take two tablets by mouth twice a day
Quantity - 90
May refill 8 times by 06/01/86
Zoloft. He knows Zoloft. It wasn’t his favorite, but it’s alright. It takes a second for him to
remember the dose, but he realizes that this dosage is over eight times what it used to be.
That’s a big difference… but then again, last time it didn’t work, and Dr. Brown is the expert,
not Will. He’ll follow the directions. Maybe 200 milligrams a day is the only way that it’ll
actually work. He sets it aside.
The second bottle is in another white bottle, but the label has orange and blue on it along with
the black print. It’s a bit less sterile and a bit more cheerful, which Will has mixed feelings
about. It’s nice that they’re trying to add a bit of color to it, but at the same time, it’s a
medication for people like him that are slowly but surely losing their mind, so it seems kind
of insensitive to the situation.
Xanax (Alprazolam) Tablets, USP
1 mg tablets
Take two tablet by mouth three times a day
Quantity - 100
Xanax is one of the most popular drugs, he knows that. He hears girls in the hallway laughing
about how they need some because they’re stressed, knows that people take it with alcohol at
parties to get high. But he also knows that it can help people. Maybe it’ll help him. He sets it
next to the Zoloft.
The last pills are in a dark yellow plastic bottle with a similar white label and cap. It looks
like a stereotypical pill bottle. He quickly reads the label.
Risperdal (Risperidone) Tablets
1 mg tablets
Take one tablet by mouth two times a day
Quantity - 60
He remembers that one. It wasn’t his favorite to take. It made him feel tired and weighed-
down. But then again, maybe it just wasn’t necessary and it was actually his true sight that
was causing it, so the meds didn’t help. Maybe it’ll work this time.
Will looks at the pill bottles sitting side-by-side, the neatness contrasting with the messiness
in his head that they’re supposed to fix. For a moment, he feels scared and angry that he has
to take these now - that he can’t be normal now - but Will compartmentalizes the emotions
that aren’t helping and instead turns and goes downstairs.
He starts searching through the drawers in the kitchen downstairs, and when he can’t find
what he’s looking for, he turns to the office. “Hey, Mom! Do we have a pill organizer?”
“One under the sink!” she calls back.
He digs through the things under the sink and looks closely and, lo and behold, there’s a pill
organizer with three slots per day throughout the week.
Will takes it and gives it a once-over, making sure it’s acceptable to use, before taking it back
upstairs. Once in his room, he sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor and starts to count out
the pills into the sections. The sertraline is the one that takes up the most space in the little
plastic cubes, with the other pills being so small that if he dropped one he might never find it
again. But then again, the sertraline dose is over fifty times the dose of the other ones, so of
course they’re going to be dwarfed in comparison.
Once he’s done with this week’s pills, he puts a night’s dose into his hands, feeling the five
tablets sit in his palm as he squeezes both his hand around them and his eyes shut. Once he’s
mustered the courage, he gets up, grabs the glass of water by his bed, and pops the pills into
his mouth, quickly washing them down with a few swigs of water. He grimaces at the feeling
of the meds going down his throat, but it’s gone soon enough.
He picks up all of his new health regalia and puts the organizer and bottles onto his dresser.
He’ll find a home for them later. The idea of going on the medications has made Will feel
tired and sad, so he’s going to finish his nightly routine and go to bed early. He’ll wake up in
a few hours screaming, but that’s going to happen no matter what time he goes to bed, so who
cares?
Will gets up with a groan from the floor, stumbling once he’s up as his vision tunnels. This
keeps happening the longer he starves, and one of these days, he’s going to pass out, but he
doesn’t really care as long as he doesn’t have to eat.
After he regains his balance, he grabs some pajamas (plaid pants with the black long-sleeve
shirts that he’s been using - they don’t show blood and they keep him warm, so it’s a win-
win) and goes into the bathroom. He turns the shower to the hottest setting and, as he waits
for it to heat up, he grabs a razor from under the sink, takes off his shirt, and lifts the blade to
his shoulder.
He gets through thirty-three lines that overlap and drip the crimson that he loves before the
shower’s hot enough, at which point he finishes undressing and gets in, watching his stinging
shoulder color the water going down the drain an orange-red as the blood dilutes. Once he’s
clean and the cuts have stopped bleeding, he gets back out and gets dressed, looking at
himself in the mirror as he does.
Even though he’s losing the weight he wants to, the longer he carries on as he has been, the
more he hates himself. The dark circles and gauntness of his cheeks pair with the hollowness
in his eyes, and his body is a whole different mess, with hundreds of scabs and newly-formed
scars from his activities with the blades scattered across his skin. Meanwhile, though he’s
losing weight, he still doesn’t look right. He can feel his ribs, hips, and vertebrae, but he still
has a little bit of fat on his lower stomach, and his biceps and legs look like they belong to a
whale. Even if he’s starting to have a little space between his thighs, it’s still not enough, and
they’re still far too thick. The longer he looks in the mirror, the more he despises what he
sees, and after a while, he has to turn away from his analysis and go back to his bedroom.
He lies down on the bed and, after a while of staring at the ceiling, he drifts off. Tonight, he
doesn’t even get the few minutes of rest that he normally does, going straight to the
nightmares.
He’s twelve. He’s possessed. He’s part of the Hive Mind. Will is not a person. He is a cog in a
machine, nothing more. He is a tool. He is not Will Byers. He is a part of the Mindflayer.
He’s screaming inside his head. Outside, nothing shows. The scientists and military sent to
deal with the Upside Down are being torn apart by the Demodogs that are part of the same
set of chains trapping him. Will can feel the blood on his teeth as they rip out throats and
intestines, the starvation all they know, along with the desire to state it.
When it was really happening, he couldn't remember feeling hungry. The only thing he can
remember feeling is the cold, then heat, then burning burning BURNING STOP HE LIKES IT
COLD-
But now, in this dream he feels the hunger, and when the Demodogs rip the soldiers and men
who tried to help him limb from limb, he feels as though he is one of the monsters, running
along with the pack through the tunnels and killing alongside. He relishes the taste of raw
meat on his tongue.
He wakes with a scream ripped from his throat, trying to sit up but failing as he falls onto the
floor due to the sheets twisted so tightly around him that they’re practically restraints. As he
struggles, still trapped in his blankets, his breathing is short, with Will audibly gasping every
few seconds as he tries to get enough air.
After he finally frees himself, Will lies on the ground, still trying to breathe. He wipes his
mouth with his left hand, still able to feel human blood coating his mouth and tongue as he
devoured flesh, and when it comes away wet and sticky with blood, Will almost starts
screaming again before he remembers that his nose bleeds nightly.
Will’s breathing slows as he comes to his senses and truly realizes that it was just a memory
dream. He isn’t possessed, and he isn’t a cannibalistic monster. Everything’s okay.
He gets up and goes into the bathroom, at which point he pours water from the faucet into his
cupped hands and splashes it on his face.
Will looks up into the mirror. He looks so small and scared, and his eyes somehow manage to
look dead and vulnerable at the same time.
He looks into the mirror for longer than he probably should, at some point zoning out and
thinking about the people in his dream. Even if it was just a recollection plucked from his
subconscious, the people ripped apart actually died that day. And they’re dead because of
Will.
He may not be a Demodog or part of the Upside Down’s hivemind, but he’s still a monster.
He woke up with the dream around one in the morning, and after curling up in his bed for a
while before carving things into his skin to make him feel better and taking another shower,
he comes downstairs and draws as old movies play on TV.
About three hours after he came down and turned on the TV and six hours after waking up,
the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade comes on. When he sees the time, he flips the channel
over to NBC, where they’re finishing setting up the parade. With a smile (one of the first
genuine ones in a while), he goes up the stairs and into El’s room, where he gently shakes her
awake.
She sits upright with a start before looking over at him, blinking as though she’s tired but
fighting to wake up.
“Hey, El. You want to come watch TV?” he asks. “It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I would watch it every year when I was younger.”
El nods with wide, curious eyes and gets out of bed, walking softly on fuzzy-socked feet. As
they start to go downstairs, she slips her hand into his, and he squeezes lightly. He leads her
over to the couch, and while he sits down on the furniture, she sits cross-legged on the floor
in front of the TV, gazing at the floats as they’re about to go.
He watches his sister more than the TV itself, enjoying the wonder in her eyes at the crowds
and the balloons and floats. Around 10, in the middle of the parade, he gets onto the floor
with her and starts pointing out specific floats and explaining the parade.
“See! That one’s Snoopy!” Will says more energetically than he’s said anything in a while.
He’s sitting on his knees in front of the TV, pointing out each float on the screen to his
amazed sister.
“Who is Snoopy?” she asks.
“He’s from a cartoon called the Peanuts. We should watch it together soon. He’s Charlie
Brown’s dog and the Flying Ace. He lives in a red doghouse and pretends to be a pilot in
World War One.”
“Funny dog.” she says. “What is that one?”
“Tom Turkey! He’s, like, the oldest float in the parade.”
“Turkey.” she says, rolling the word around on her tongue.
“Yep! That’s what we’re gonna have for dinner tonight.” he says.
They watch the parade for a minute before she turns to him with wide, vulnerable eyes. “Can
we go to the parade soon?”
“It’s really far away, Jane. All the way in New York City.” he says.
“When we are grown-ups?” she asks.
“...Sure! When we’re eighteen, if you want to go to the parade, we can go in-person.” Will
says.
“I want to see Tom Turkey for real.” she says, turning back to the TV.
“I know.” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders and resting his cheek on her scalp
when she puts her head on his shoulder. They sit like that for a bit, until their mom comes
downstairs.
“Oh, parade’s on?” she asks from behind them.
“Yes! Will tells me about Tom Turkey and a funny dog Snoopy.” El says, smiling widely.
Will smiles too, happy both at how happy she is and at how much her English has been
improving.
“Santa hasn’t come by yet?” his mom asks, sitting down on the couch.
“Santa?” El asks.
“Yeah! Santa rides by on a float with the elves and reindeer and Mrs. Claus every year. It’s
the start of the holiday season every year.” Will says.
“Who is Santa?” El asks.
Will dramatically gasps. “You don’t know Santa?!”
She’s smiling. “No. Who is Santa?”
When he pretends to be too flabbergasted to answer, she gives him a playful shove and
laughs. “Will! Tell me!”
“Gather round, I shall tell the tale.” he says just as dramatically as he gasped. He feels a bit
silly being so over-the-top, but the light in El’s smile and eyes is worth him feeling ridiculous
any day. Plus, he’s having fun being so goofy. She shifts to sit looking more at him than at the
TV, and a glance over at his mom tells him that she’s happy that her kids are having fun, with
a content smile resting on her face as she watches them.
“Santa Claus is a magical man who travels around the world in one night and gives good kids
presents.” Will says. “He rides in a sleigh with eight reindeer pulling it. Their names are
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen… um…”
“Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. And Rudolph.” his mom finishes.
“Rudolph’s nose glows.” Will adds helpfully. “It’s how Santa sees on foggy Christmas nights.
He goes down the chimney on Christmas Eve and leaves gifts under a tree and fills stockings
with candy.”
He’s sure there’s more lore he’s forgetting, but El’s still hanging on every word. “He lives at
the North Pole with his workshop and elves who make the gifts and his wife, Mrs. Claus.”
“What are reindeer?” El asks.
“Um…” he stumbles. “Well, they’re like normal deer, but they have antlers.”
“In biology, teacher said all deer have antlers if they are male.” El says.
“Um…” he looks over at his mom.
“They do! However…” his mom starts.
After El asks all her questions about Santa, his mom gets up and goes to the kitchen to get
started on making dinner. He sits with El for a while longer, watching the end of the parade
before getting up, flipping through the channels, and, much to his delight, finding ‘A Charlie
Brown Thanksgiving’ on one. He’s only half paying attention, drawing and answering
questions about the cartoon, holidays, and American history whenever El comes up with
them (and when he actually knows the answer). Once the Peanuts go offscreen and a
Christmas cartoon comes on, he goes into the kitchen, where his mom’s starting dinner.
“Hey, do you need any help?”
“Oh! Um… if you want to, I would love some, but it’s fine if you want to do something else.”
“I want to help.” Will says. He goes over to where his mom’s starting to prepare the food.
“So what’s the plan for dinner?”
“Well… we have turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry
sauce, cornbread, and pumpkin pie.”
“That’s… a lot.” he says, immediately trying to figure out how many calories are in a serving
of each.
“Well, we have an extra person to account for this year. Besides, we have the money with my
job.”
“I guess you’re right.” he says. “What do I need to do?”
“The cranberry sauce, pie, and cornbread are already made. The turkey needs to be popped
into the oven, and we can use the premade mixes for the stuffing and gravy. The mashed
potatoes and green bean casserole need to be made from scratch-”
“I can start on the potatoes and make the mixes.” Will says.
She looks discerningly at him for a second before smiling. “Thank you, honey. You’re a
lifesaver.”
“Just being a good son.” Will responds.
“You already are, Will. I’m so proud of you and happy that I have you in my life. I love you,
honey.”
“Thank you. I’m proud and happy of you and I love you, too.” Will says. They lapse into
comfortable silence as they work side-by-side, mother and son just like it used to be without
the complications of growing up and everything that came with it.
He peels potatoes as his mom prepares the turkey to go into the oven, and once Will’s done,
he puts them into a pot to boil. “Mash them once they’re soft, right?”
“Yep.” she says, putting the turkey in the oven.
“Cool. How do I make the casserole?”
“Honey, there’s no need for you to-”

“I want to.” Will says, getting out the green beans.
They work together for a few more hours until Thanksgiving dinner’s been made, and once
the turkey’s done and coming out of the oven, as they’re serving it up, Will’s mom nudges
him. “Hey, why don’t you go get your siblings for dinner?”
“Do you want me to serve it? I can-”
“I’ve got it from here, honey. Thank you for helping me with dinner, by the way.”
“...Of course, Mom.” he says, choosing to go off to find his siblings instead of disagreeing.
He finds El sitting on the floor in front of the TV, watching ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’.
“Hey, El. You enjoying yourself?” he asks.
She looks over and nods. “I am learning a lot about Christmas.”
“Good! You should learn about Hanukkah next. Dinner’s ready, by the way.”
She stands up and brushes herself off, a habit picked up from spending time around other
people at school. “I will go to dinner.”
“Yep! I’ll be right there.” he says. She nods and goes to the dining room as Will goes to
Jonathan’s room to fetch his brother.
He knocks twice on the closed door. “Hey, Jon. Dinner’s ready.”

Will hears muffled cursing and giggling on the other side of the door before a ragged-looking
Jonathan answers the door, Argyle sitting on his bed in the smoky room holding a joint. Will
sighs at the sight of his brother and his brother’s friend, both high as shit on the weed that it’s
hard to see them without at any point these days.
“Hm?” Jonathan asks, clearly out of it.
“Dinner’s ready.” Will says before turning back to the dining room. He loves his brother, but
he hates how high Jon is all the time. He misses the old Jonathan, the one that wasn’t so
obsessed with weed that everything else, including their family, wasn’t important anymore.
“Oh, okay. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Will doesn’t respond to this, instead going into the dining room and sitting down at the table,
where his mom has brought all of the food and arranged it. El is seated to his left, and despite
the trepidation about the fact that there’s no way out of eating, he gives her a smile. A minute
after he’s seated, Jonathan and Argyle come in and sit down across the table from Will and
El, and his mom’s just behind them.
“Alright, you can get started.” his mom says, cutting herself a piece of turkey and taking a
few spoonfuls of everything.
El, Argyle, and Jonathan follow suit, and as Will looks at the food, he feels terrified. He feels
silly to be so afraid of food, but he is. He’s afraid of how much he’s going to have to eat to
avoid suspicion.
Well, he reasons, I can just take small portions of everything and leave some on the plate. If I
scatter what I leave around, it’ll look like I eat more than what I’m going to. It’ll be fine.
It was not fine.

Once he’d taken his small portions and consciously ignored the concerned looks from his
mom, it’s like he can’t control himself. He doesn’t leave anything on the plate like he’d
planned to - he eats all of it. And he still feels hungry.
Despite the fact that he’s trying to fight the urge to keep eating, he still does, and gets large
helpings of seconds and thirds. He’s inhaling it and hating himself for it, but it’s like he’s not
in control, like his body has a mind of its own and wants to eat everything.
After his fourth - fourth! - plate, three with large servings, he finally forces himself to lean
back, even if he wants to keep going.
His mom chuckles. “Good job on the food, guys. Guess we won’t need too much fridge
space. Who’s ready for pie?”
NO!, he thinks.
“Yes, please.” he says.
With the chorus of agreement around the table, his mom brings out the pie and cuts it, placing
a sizable piece in front of each person.
Will devours that too. What’s wrong with him? He wants to stop eating. Why can’t he stop?
After dinner, Jonathan volunteers him and Argyle to clean up, and Will, El, and his mom all
agree. While El and their mom go and start on the next Christmas movie on TV, Will rushes
to the bathroom. The food is sitting like a rock in his stomach and he hates it. He wants to get
rid of it.
He does.
Will shoves two fingers into his mouth until they’re touching the back of his throat and he’s
gagging and sending his astronomically large dinner down the drain. It hurts like hell, but
once the vomit becomes more acid than food, he wipes his mouth and gets back up.
Will quickly brushes his teeth, grimacing to himself as he thinks about the food, both going
down and coming back up. Once he’s done, he moves to go back downstairs but stops.
Even though throwing it up helped him feel a little better, he still feels bad. And by bad, he
means he hates himself for it. On top of being a fat pig with eating too much and losing
control, he just wasted all of what he ate by throwing it up. It’s not just that he’s a waste of
space, he’s quite literally now a waste of resources that other people could have and should
have used.
He decides to self-medicate. Will takes off his pants, gets out the razor, and starts carving
stripes up the side of his thigh. He does it for fifteen or twenty minutes, only stopping once
blood starts dripping onto the floor. He quickly wipes it up and presses toilet paper against
the wounds, his blood soaking through and making his hands red and sticky. It’s stopped
bleeding, so he removes his hand from the paper, throws it in the toilet, wets some more
squares, and gently wipes down his thigh so that it’s not bloody anymore. Once he’s sure that
it’s not going to bleed through fabric, he puts his pants back on, washes his hands, and goes
downstairs.
His mom smiles at him from the living room, and he smiles back, feeling better from dinner.
He’s going to be fine, and even if he's not, that’s what he’s going to show to everyone around
him. “So what are we watching?"
Chapter End Notes
Nope! Hehehe 😈
Poor Will. Binging and purging sucks. Hopefully the medication will help... right?
it only gets worse from here.
For the record, before anyone comes at me and says it's out of character for Will to
binge, binging is the body’s natural response to repeated starvation and can't be helped
even if it’s not normal for the person.
I need feedback on two things: 1. How much do you really like Lucie and how much
would you be opposed to her going darkside? 2. Would you like a chapter about El
getting her first period and Will trying to help but being a gay disaster about it or skip
that and straight to angst? Please leave your feedback in the comments.
Please leave kudos or nice comments, it's the best thing in my day. <3
Have a nice day!

Tardive Dyskinesia
Chapter Notes
Two posts in two days?! :0 I know right?! This week is light on homework so I'm
publishing mini chapters when I get the chance. So here's one - hope you enjoy!
(Sorry it's short.)

reader.
Overall rating: R.
- Language (f*ck, sh*t, etc)
- Self-harm (beating a vending machine until injured)
- Self-hatred
- Mentioned self-harm
- Negative emotions about having tics
After Thanksgiving, Will went back to school and resumed his normal routine.
However, things had changed. A few days after starting the medication, he started feeling
weird, before he stopped feeling at all. Will feels like he isn’t even real anymore. Like he’s
just a numb, emotionless ghost, floating in the same path every single day and constantly
waiting for something that’s never going to happen.
Will supposes that the pills are doing their function - he doesn’t feel sad anymore, but he
doesn’t feel anything else either. Sometimes, on nights when he just stares at the ceiling in
the yellow room that’s not his but not someone else’s either, he wonders if feeling pain is
better than feeling absolutely nothing at all. Though even though the meds have robbed him
of his emotions, they still haven’t fixed him, as he still starves and cuts and destroys himself
in every way that he can. Even if he’s miserable, he can still survive like this - or at least,
that’s what he tells himself.
But he is wrong.
About a week after starting the medication, he started losing control of his body. His eyes
started twitching. He started to blink rapidly at random. His arms and hands and legs began to
spasm and shake uncontrollably. His head tilts over and over until he gets dizzy, and he
doesn’t have any say in whether it happens. His lips purse and twitch, and his nose wrinkles
at random as well as odd facial expressions coming on and dropping rapidly.
And it all happens over and over again, movements combined at random and happening all
the time. It honestly scares him, and after two weeks with no sign of slowing down or
stopping, he’s decided that something has to change. And that’s why he brought it up in
therapy today.
“So, um… I keep moving and I can’t stop. Like, I keep twitching and shaking and stuff. And
it started after I started taking the medications, so I thought maybe they were related? And I
thought that if they were related, there was something you could do.” Will tells Dr. Brown.
She looks at him scrutinizingly from across the desk. Right on cue, his head tilts four times in
rapid succession. He curses internally.
She sighs. “I think I know what’s wrong, but I may not be correct. Based on the timeline and
symptoms, I believe that you are experiencing something called tardive dyskinesia.”
“Tardive dyskinesia. Okay, what’s that?” Will asks.
“It’s a condition that affects the nervous system that’s linked to long-term and repeated use of
psychiatric drugs or high doses. In you, it might be contributed to by your age, both when
you started them when you were younger and now. It causes repetitive and involuntary
movements like blinking, grimacing, or twitching.”
“Great. How do I make it stop?” Will asks, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
“I’m afraid you can’t. Stopping or tapering the medications might lessen the symptoms,
though there hasn’t been any proof that it would help, as would going on sedatives, but both
would only minimize the symptoms - if that - and not stop them.”
“So I’m stuck like this.” he says disbelievingly.
“We could try a sedative. It might make the movements and tics less severe or less frequent.”
“But there’s no concrete solution?” he asks incredulously.
She sighs. “Not really.”
He leaves the office with a prescription for benzodiazepines and a jumble of bad feelings in
his head. Not only has the medicine screwed up his brain and emotions, it’s screwed up his
body, too. As much as he hates it, he’s angry. Will doesn’t get angry often, and when he does,
it’s usually turned inwards onto himself, afraid that if he takes it outwards, he’ll become as
abusive and horrible as his father - the rage and capability for violence is in his genes, after
all. But right now?
He walks calmly through the school through empty hallways until he gets outside, at which
point he goes out into the outdoor cafeteria where it’s away from the building so that it isn’t
too loud, which serves his purposes right now.
He goes to a vending machine and starts screaming and beating it, denting the metal with the
force of his punches and kicks. It’s not bad enough he’s fucked in the head, that he has to
force pills that just make him feel worse down his throat every fucking day, but now he has to
be sedated so that way he has a chance of controlling his own body. Hasn’t he gone through
enough? What did he ever do to make God hate him so much that he has to go through
horrible things over and over and over, the only relief being when he literally cuts himself
open with razor blades?
Will’s always found a kind of peace in religion, but right now, he resents the idea of a higher
power. The idea of some being who forces him to go through his life in fear and pain because
of his experiences just for amusement makes him hate God.
It’s not fair. He knows life is unfair, but this, this is abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous. He’s
fourteen and, on top of being traumatized and having severe mental illness (hooray! Woob-
ba-fucking-do!), now he has this tardive dyskinesia bullshit to deal with.
He’s been hitting and kicking the vending machine the whole time, denting the metal with
some of the harder strikes, but with an unwelcome thought of ‘If you were dead, you wouldn’t
have to deal with this. Wouldn’t that be better?’, Will strikes exceptionally hard, earning a
crunch from his knuckles.
The sharp pain of something breaking in his hand pulls him out of his fit of rage, and he takes
a few teetering steps back, breathing raggedly and heavily and cradling his hand. With a
glance down at them, he can see that the skin across his knuckles is broken, leaving rivulets
of blood down the back of his hand and raw, dark red marks on the places where his bones
protrude.
As he collects himself, he walks back inside, where he goes to the front office. “Hurt
myself.” he says.
The nurse asks him many questions as she bandages his hands and tells him that he broke
some of the knuckles in his left hand, he’s going to have to wear a compression bandage, how
did this happen, but he doesn’t react or care.
Upon his silence, the school calls his mom, and she picks him up with worry across her face
and a hand on his forehead. It causes the anger that he finally released to begin to bubble and
build in his stomach again. Is he so weak and quiet and sweet that a single lapse of judgment,
during which nobody even got hurt, is enough to make people think that he’s actually ill?
On the ride home, after he gives one-word answers to all of his mom’s concerned questions,
there’s silence, which permeates the house as Will goes to his room and lies in bed with the
lights off, sinking into grief over his new diagnosis, anger with himself for losing control, and
self-loathing.
He drifts off sometime between hateful, cruel, berating rants from his brain, and for the first
time in months, he doesn’t dream.
Will isn’t dead. But as he wakes hours later, going from peace to picking up the turmoil that
he left off on, he wonders: would that be so bad?
Chapter End Notes
Welcome to medication side effects! You can never leave.
Poor Will.
Leave a comment or Kudos if you enjoyed!
Enjoyed is... not the right word about this. Leave a comment or Kudos if you read it and
felt things.
Out
Chapter Notes
Here's Out! Please don't read this when you can't show emotion (i.e. in public, with
parents, etc). I hope you read this and feel things - I can't say enjoy with this.
PS: next chapter is a bit fluffier to make up for the two back-to-back angsty ones.
Also, I failed my chemistry test (65%) and feel like shit today. :) not relevant, just don't
have friends and needed to say it to someone.

reader.
Overall rating: R.
- Homophobia (bullying)
- Being outed
- Language (sh*t, f*ck)
- Slurs (f@g, queer, etc)
- Self-harm (cutting, carving words)
Since the ‘incident’, as the school has called it, Will’s been miserable. He snapped and
released all of the anger and pain that he’s only been letting out little by little with red slits
over his skin. On top of the already-existing pain from the past, the medication that’s
supposed to be saving but is instead destroying him, the lack of contact with his friends and
new lack of care and attention from his family, and the new issue of tardive dyskinesia,
there’s the self-loathing that’s been worsened by his lack of control.
Luckily, people have mostly been leaving him alone at school, but Lucie and her friends still
make an effort to include him. Theoretically, he appreciates it, but they’re better off without
him in their group.
However, one day Lucie calls.

“No, I’m serious, Will. It’s gonna be so much fun. We’re all gonna hang out at Aurora’s
house. It’s gonna be the best thing ever.”
“I don’t know if I can, Lucie. I have homework, and I’m tired, and-” Will says, attempting to
get out of it.
“Bullshit!” she says over the phone. “That’s been your excuse for, like, the past month. It’s
December 7, and you haven’t hung out since Halloween.”
“I’ve been busy-” he says feebly.
“We have the same classes. You can hang out, you just don’t want to. Please? For me?” she
says, cutting him off.
“Okay, fine.” Will relents. “Where?”
“So you walk down Sullivan Street, and you take two lefts…” she starts.
Twenty minutes later, he’s walking up to Lucie’s friend Aurora’s house, tugging self-
consciously at the bottom of his flannel shirt. He’s wearing a black-and-white flannel and
black jeans with his Converse - he doesn’t have the energy to dress in colors anymore.
“Will! Hey!” Lucie says from the porch, jumping up and tackling him in a hug. He blinks in
surprise before hugging her back briefly.
“Hey, Lucie. Who else is here?” he says.
“Um, there’s Jamie, Cole, Amanda, Aurora, me, a few other kids - like, 15 - and now you!
It’s smaller than the Halloween party, promise. I know you had to leave that one early.”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks for inviting me.” Will says.
She laughs and elbows him in the side. “You aren’t glad. I had to guilt-trip you into it. Still,
you’re here, and that’s what’s important.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t been hanging out.” he says, opening the door and holding it for
her.
She smiles. “It’s okay. And thank you. Who said chivalry is dead?”
He laughs awkwardly, and to his ears, it sounds hollow. “Heh. Yeah. Just the way I was
raised.”
“Well, whatever and whoever got you the way you are, thank them.” she says.
It’s meant to be nice, he’s sure, but all he can think about is Lonnie, teasing, hitting, insulting,
beating…
“Yeah! So you know everyone here.” Lucie says, walking over to a circle of people on the
floor. There are about twenty people in it, and Will recognizes a few familiar faces, including
Cole, who he ends up sitting next to.
“So what are we doing?” he whispers to Cole.
“We’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.” he whispers back.
“Okay.” he says.
He watches a bunch of teenagers look at the people they hope it lands on as they spin, and
watches couple after couple go off into closets and bathrooms and cone out disheveled.
At some point, it becomes Lucie's turn.
Lucie spins the bottle, and he watches it spin until-
Oh no.
The other kids are cheering, and Cole’s patting Will on the back. Lucie blushes and smiles at
him.
Apparently, nobody else can see the panic on his face.
“I- I don’t know…” he says, trying to get out of it without outing himself or being mean.
"Come on, man! Lucie’s cute! Go get 'er, tiger!" the boy to his left says. He realizes that
there's no way to get out of this without someone getting hurt, whether him or someone else,
and he grits his teeth and gets ready to grin and bear it.
“Alright, Will, come on.” Lucie says, walking over and offering her hand. His heart’s
pounding as he takes it and gets up, following her to a nearby closet on shaking legs.
She holds the door open for him, and he goes inside, much to the cheering of his peers. Once
Lucie comes inside and shuts the door, they stand about six inches apart in the dark space, the
only sound their breathing, Will's racing heart, and the party in the other room.
"Hi." Will says awkwardly.

"Hi." she laughs back.
Before he can say anything else, she steps closer, flattens her hands against his chest, and
presses their lips together. He stands frozen as she kisses him, and after a moment, he takes
hold of her shoulders and gently pulls her away.
"What’s wrong?" she asks, looking upset, her brown eyes wide and vulnerable.
"Lucie, I'm so sorry. I don't like you like that. I can't like you like that." he says.
"Oh. I'm sorry." she says, turning away from him as best she can in the small space. "I didn't
even ask. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn't have thought you'd like me
back. I'm so sorry, Will."
Upon hearing her sniff, clearly trying not to cry, Will panics. "Hey. No, no, no, it's not your
fault. I-" he hesitates, debating on whether to say it. "Lucie, I don't like girls." he says. His
kiss with Lucie confirmed what he already knew: he's definitely not attracted to girls. It feels
concrete now. He’s gay. "It's nothing to do with you."
"What?" she says, obviously surprised. "You’re- you're gay? It really isn't because of me?"
"Really! You're funny and smart and sarcastic and pretty, and if I were straight, I'm sure I'd
like you, but I'm not!"
"Thank you." she says. She wipes her eyes and clears her throat. "You being gay… makes a
lot of sense, actually. Are we still friends?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we are." Will says, his own eyes misting up. This is the first time he's ever said
it out loud.
"Can I offer some advice? As a friend?" she says after a few moments of silence.
"Sure." he says, managing to get the word out around the lump in his throat.
"Don't tell anyone. I know they say California is the best place for gays, but that’s San Fran
or Fresno, not Lenora. If you told anyone… God, I don’t even want to think about it. You
would be in danger."
"I know. I'm not going to." Will says. "You’re the first person I've ever told."
"I'm honored." she says. "And, like, for the record, I'm okay with it. With you."
"Thank you." he says. If you asked him, he would deny it, but he’s about to cry of happiness.
She looks at her watch. "Okay, it's been almost seven minutes. Want to say we made out?
Keep your cover?"
"You would do that?" he asks.
"Duh. We're friends." she says, rolling her eyes and smiling like it’s obvious.
He nods. "Okay. Thank you."
She winks at him and opens the closet door.
Which reveals two teenagers crouched by the keyhole.
Oh, fuck.
They both stand up from their position and walk backwards, one with malice in his eyes as he
looks at Will, the other with fear. Will realizes that they both know.
Lucie walks over to the game and starts talking about what they supposedly did in the closet
and Will tries not to run. The kids who were listening, who know his secret, stop looking at
him and go back over to the game. Once he’s sitting on the floor near Cole again, he watches
them take their spots, and his heart stops when they start whispering to the people around
them, who immediately look at Will with surprise, fear, and most prevalently, disgust.
Everybody’s going to know.
He had finally shaken the rumors, been known as just another straight boy, not had to worry
about ending up dead in a ditch because he was a fag, but now they aren’t even going to be
rumors. He actually confirmed it. They heard him confirm it.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Will says, getting up abruptly. He doesn’t want to be here when
everyone in the room knows. He’s genuinely, actually afraid.
He leaves, and once he’s outside, he runs the whole way home.
El and his mom are in the living room, and he hears his mom ask what he’s doing home, but
he doesn’t answer, running up the stairs and locking himself in the yellow room. He can’t
breathe. Everyone’s going to know, he’s going to be a target, he’s going to get killed, he’s
going to be hated, he’s going to he’s going to he’s going to-
Will looks around for something sharp to dull the panic, but he can’t find anything. After a
minute of searching, he digs through his backpack and pulls out a pencil sharpener, which he
quickly pulls the plastic off of until the blade that shaves the wood off of the pencil tip is the
only thing left in his hand.
He drives it into his wrist until there’s only a little sliver of metal to pull it out with, which he
does over and over until his wrist has dozens of deep cuts that are deep enough that the skin
isn’t stitching itself back together.
Will watches himself bleed, and it’s helped a little bit, but not enough, never enough. That’s
when he gets an idea.
He pulls down his pants until the middle of his thigh is exposed, at which point he starts
carefully carving with the sharpener. Once he’s done, he pulls back and admires his work,
blood and tears mixing on his skin and on his clothes.
He sobs once, twice, three times, his shoulders shaking as he looks at the word that’s carved
deep enough into his skin that it feels like it’s almost as deep as the shame from it.
'Faggot.'
After Will’s cried for a while and patched himself up, he takes a shower and goes to bed. He
gets even less sleep than usual, an hour and a half haunted by dreams of bullies and fathers,
all doing what they did to him because of his perceived sexuality.
He lies in bed for hours upon waking, unable to force himself to get up and face a school
that’s going to be full of whispered rumors about him.
A few minutes before it’s time to go, El comes and knocks on the door, telling him to get up,
and after a minute, he does. On top of being thought of as dumb by the other kids at school,
now she’s going to be the fag’s sister, and he can’t let her face the repercussions of his
actions. He has to man up and face the music. He was stupid to tell Lucie, and he was stupid
to tell her in such a public place. It was his mistake. Nobody but him should have to pay for
it.
He feels dazed as he gets ready, and he doesn’t even flinch like usual as they turn corners in
Argyle’s van on the way to school. What does it matter if they crash? As long as his siblings
and Argyle ended up okay, he’d be fine with it. He’s going to end up dead anyway. People
like him don’t live long between AIDS and hate.
They get to school, and as he walks through the halls, he can feel eyes on him and hear
whispers. He can only pick out parts of conversations, but what he’s hearing isn’t good.
People are moving out of his way in the hallways, clearly going out of their way to not touch
him. He keeps his head down. Maybe if he keeps himself out of the way enough, they’ll
forget about him.
In first period, despite assigned seating, most of the desks around him are empty, the people
in his immediate proximity gone to sit with friends across the room. He keeps his head down.
Before second period, he goes to the bathroom and stands in front of the sink, bowing his
head in front of the mirror. Will remembers that he hasn’t taken his four medications yet
today, so he takes off his backpack and digs through it until he finds the backup supply he
keeps with him.
As he pops the pills into his mouth and washes it down with water from his cupped hand
from the faucet, someone speaks.
“Let me guess. Medication for your disease?” a male voice asks from behind him.
Will whips around to find the source, and sees a tall blond boy leaning against the wall and
watching him.
“W- what disease?” Will stammers.
“Seriously? You’re gonna pretend that you don’t know?” the boy sneers.
Will just looks at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“You’re taking medication for your AIDS.” the boy says with a mean, mocking smile.
“I- I don’t have- I don’t have AIDS.” Will gets out.
“You’re a queer, aren’t you? All queers have AIDS. It’s the disease of the fags.”
Will tries not to cry, and blinks tears back into his eyes.
“I don’t have AIDS, okay?” he manages.
"Come on. Look in the mirror. It makes sense. You’re a faggot, and you have the symptoms.
Just admit it."
"What- what symptoms?" Will asks.
"You keep twitching. Anyone looks at you long enough, they can see it."
"I'm not a fag. I don't have AIDS." he says, his voice coming in a hoarse whisper as he
struggles to contain himself and his emotions.
The boy moves forward quickly, grabbing Will by the front of his shirt and slamming him
against the grimy bathroom wall. "Your kind aren't welcome here in Lenora. But I'm going to
cut you a deal: admit to it, and I won't rough you up too bad."
"Admit to what?" he asks. He isn't sure whether it's in defiance or fear.
The boy leans in, their faces only inches apart, one with an expression of malice, the other
with one of pure terror. "Say it. Say you're a dirty little faggot, that you're a sick, disgusting
son of a bitch that deserves whatever he gets. Say it."
Will shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes.
The boy pulls him forward and slams him back against the wall, causing the back of Will's
head to hit the wall hard, producing a sickening thud. “Say it and I'll let you go. Come on."
Will takes the opportunity to lift up his foot and kick the boy in the stomach. When he lets go
and staggers back from the pain, Will grabs his bag and runs as fast as he can.
He runs to the front office and catches his breath in a place where there are adults - other kids
don't attack when there are adults that can see and/or protect him.
Will calls his mom and begs her to pick him up. He says he has a headache - it's not a lie;
where he hit his head stings pretty bad.
She comes and picks him up, and on the way home, with his forehead pressed against the
window in the backseat, he cries.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Will. 1985 isn't a good year to be gay and mentally ill in a small town. Hopefully it
gets better soon... or will it?
What did you think? Let me know in the comments and leave kudos if you're up for it.
<3 see you soon with the next chapter!
December
Chapter Notes
Hello! Sorry this is a few days late. Hope you enjoy!

reader.
Rating: PG-13.
- Language (sh1t, hell, etc)
- Slurs (f@g)
- Self-hatred
- Disordered eating
- Self-harm
- Fighting between siblings
- Planning suicide
A week after everyone at school found out about the secret Will’s kept carefully concealed
for years and his life became a living hell, it lets out for a two-and-a-half week holiday break.
As Argyle drives Jonathan, El, and Will away from the school, Will feels the tension leave
his body. For him, the break isn’t just a break for his brain from schoolwork, it’s a break from
the stares and whispers, the snickering as notes are slipped into his locker with death threats,
a chance for his body to heal from both the bruises from being hit and the extra cuts to make
up for the hellish wreck of emotions he goes through every day.
Plus, it’s El’s first holiday season with the Byers, and he’s excited to share it with her.
When he was younger and Lonnie was still around, they only celebrated Christmas. Despite
the fact that his mom (and thus Jonathan and Will by birthright) were Jewish, Lonnie was
Catholic, and what he said went. They would go to Mass and do all the stereotypical
Christmas activities that Lonnie approved of, and it was fine, but the atmosphere of fear
would kind of ruin it. However, after Lonnie left when Will was ten, the holidays changed.
The Byers started to celebrate Chanukah and some of the other Jewish holidays as well as
Christmas, and Jonathan and Will were given the option of whether they wanted to go to
church, synagogue, or neither (Will prefers synagogue and the Jewish holidays, Jonathan
doesn’t like either). The holiday season went from a time of stress about being perfect
enough to stay safe from Lonnie to a time for fun and spending time with family.
And now, while it was just his mom, Jonathan, and Will, there’s El, and he’s so excited to
bring her in on their traditions and make her feel like a real part of their family. He’s decided
that he’s going to bring Jon along to find her a present tomorrow morning, then he’ll decorate
the house after they get home, and then he’ll hang out with El for the rest of the day.
As Argyle pulls up to the house and lets the Byers kids out, Will lets El out of the back of the
van first, then gets out himself. However, as he’s getting out, his vision swims and his legs
spasm, causing him to fall hard onto the concrete.
“Will!” he hears from a couple directions. He realizes it’s from Jon and El, Jon from next to
the passenger door and El from the walkway of the house.
“I’m okay.” he says, carefully picking himself up. When he looks up, he sees Jonathan
looking at him with concern in his eyes and El looking at him in panic. “I’m okay. Seriously.”
He goes into the house and ignores the way that his siblings are following him and watching
him like a hawk, probably trying to make sure he doesn’t fall again.
Will feels so ashamed. After months of this, he should be better at keeping his issues quiet -
keeping the people around him from knowing anything’s wrong. But, just like he does at
everything else, he failed.
He tries to brush it off, though, and pretend that everything’s fine. For the next few hours at
home, Will just hangs out and draws while El watches TV, and after he gets bored, he goes
upstairs and starts on his homework for the break. He manages to get the math done before he
goes to bed and starts the cycle of sleep, nightmares, screaming, blood, short on breath,
drawing some more, and then ‘getting up’ for what feels like the millionth time.
In the morning, he goes downstairs and decides to make himself some coffee before making
Jon drive him to the store for present-shopping. Will drinks two cups of black before rinsing
his cup. While he dislikes the taste, the bitterness and warmth are enough to temporarily
drive away the cold and tiredness set so deep into his bones that he will never be able to
shake it entirely - and when it’s black, it doesn’t have any calories, meaning that he won’t get
fat(ter). In the end, drinking it is a win-win.
After his cup is clean, he gets some water, goes and retrieves the pills from upstairs, and takes
them after a moment of hesitation. He hates them. But, in the end, taking them is the only
good option. At least the numbness distracts, and taking them makes his mom and therapist
happy.
After he’s done with his ‘breakfast’, he goes and wakes up his brother. “Hey, Jon. Jon. Wake
up. Can we go to the store?”
“Whht’re you doing in my room?” Jonathan slurs, half-asleep.
“Getting you up. We should go shopping for gifts before the lines get too long.”
“‘Kay, just lemme wake up…” Jonathan says sleepily.
Will goes into the living room, leans his head back, and closes his eyes as he waits for
Jonathan. After about fifteen minutes, during which Will’s been slipping in and out, Jonathan
comes out of his room, dressed and ready to go but still bleary-eyed.
“I’m gonna have a piece of toast before we go. Have you already eaten?” Jonathan asks.
“Yeah, I did.” Will lies. He’s always been a good liar (to everyone except Mike), but God,
he’s gotten damn near flawless with it with hiding this stuff.
“What did you eat?” Jonathan asks, and it could pass for casual interest or curiosity, but with
a look at his brother’s face, Will realizes that he’s under scrutiny.
“I had an egg and a piece of toast.” Will says.

“Hm.” Jonathan says. He sniffs at the air. “I don’t smell any food. And I don’t see any
dishes.”
“I ate a while ago, and I cleaned up after.” Will says as smoothly as he can with his heart
pounding like it is. If this kind of questioning becomes common as he loses more weight,
he’ll need to think of different meals to claim that he’s eaten and make falsely-dirty dishes.
He can’t get caught. Not only would they make him stop, but it would make him more of a
burden - plus they would think he was weak and a failure and too messed up to bother with.
He can’t get caught.
“...Okay.” Jonathan says after a moment, apparently accepting Will’s statement. He starts on
his own breakfast as Will breathes a sigh of relief.
Before Will’s able to half-drift off again, Jonathan’s done, and they’re on the way to the store
in the Pinto. Jonathan half-heartedly hums along to the music on the radio as Will looks out
the window quietly.
After three songs, they’re at the store, and Will looks around, almost overwhelmed at what to
get his family members. He decides to paint something for his mom and get Jonathan a book
of photography he saw the other day at a combined book- and art-store, which means that
today’s trip to the store is just to get El’s gift. Will thinks for a moment before getting an idea.
“Come on, Jon. I have an idea.” Will says.
He drags his brother over to the makeup part of the store. He’s seen El admiring the way that
some of the girls around Lenora do their makeup, and he thinks that some starter makeup
would be a gift that she would like.
He starts looking around in the aisle, trying to find some that would work for El.
Unfortunately, he’s so invested in his quest that he doesn’t hear someone else walk into the
aisle.
“Hey, Will!” he hears. He shoots up and looks nervously at Angela and her boyfriend, Jake,
who just walked over, before looking at the ground.
“Um… hi.” he says. He knows that something bad’s about to happen, and he’s afraid, but he
doesn’t know what exactly the bad thing is.
“Buying makeup for yourself? I mean, I knew it was a favorite of your people, but I guess I
didn’t think you’d be so obvious about how much of a freak you are.” Jake laughs.
“Oh, Jake, don’t be mean! Here, I’ll help you. You’re gonna want the boldest colors that you
can, so that way it’ll be obvious that you’re a faggot. Now-” she says, pulling random
products off the shelf and shoving them at Will, who hasn’t said a word.
“Hey, what the hell?” Jonathan says from behind him. Will had almost forgotten he was
there. One glance at him shows how pissed off he is, and Will braces himself for hell to rain
down upon them.
“Oh, I was just offering my friend here some help. Don’t worry about it, mister.” Angela says
with a fake smile.
“He’s my brother, and I doubt you’re his friend. What is wrong with you?”
“Jon, let it go.” Will mutters.
“No! You’re a little-”
“Jon!” Will barks.
Jonathan turns to look at Will in shock at his tone before turning back to Angela and Jake. “I
think you should leave now.”
Angela turns giggling to Jake, who takes her hand as they walk away across and out the store.
The second they’re out of sight, Jonathan turns back to Will. “Who the hell were they?”
“Just some kids from school.” he mumbles, putting back the makeup that Angela had shoved
at him, grabbing the four products that he had been eyeing before Angela showed up, and
starting to walk away.
“Will- hey, no, stop.” Jon says, jogging to match Will’s pace and stopping him with a hand to
his shoulder. Will turns to look at his brother. “Have- have kids been like that all year?” he
asks.
“It’s not a big deal, okay? Everything’s fine. Just forget it.” Will says.
“No, it’s not okay. If kids are being mean to you-”
“Stop!” Will says, much louder than he intended before going back to a quieter tone. “Just…
just stop. Everything is fine, and I have it under control. Let it go.” Will says, trying to hide
the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes by looking at his shoes.
“Will…” Jonathan starts.
“Please just forget it.” Will says, and it obviously sounds more desperate than he intended, as
Jonathan looks at him scrutinizingly for a moment before nodding.
“Okay. I’m gonna drop it for now, but I’m not gonna forget it.” Jonathan says.
“Fine.” Will says. The second his back is to his brother as they walk to the checkout, he
subtly wipes his eyes and sniffs once to make sure that it’s not obvious how much it really
hurts him.
They check out without a word, and the silence continues as Jon drives them home.
The brothers pull up to the house and Jonathan stops the car, but before Will is able to get
out, Jonathan stops him. “I’m sorry, we need to talk about this.”
“Why?” Will asks. He knows he sounds like a brat, but he really doesn’t want to talk about
this.
“Because I’m worried about you! You’ve been acting weird for months! I hear you screaming
in the middle of the night! You’re losing so much weight, you’re practically skin and bones!
You aren’t eating or sleeping or smiling, and now I find out that kids are treating you like
shit! I’m your brother and I love you, and it’s my job to look out for you!” Jonathan says
loudly.
“Really?” Will spits, turning to him with anger bubbling in his stomach and in his words.
"You’re so worried, but this is the first time you’ve brought it up? You hear me screaming
every night, but you haven’t come and checked on me once? You’re so worried about how
I’m not eating and sleeping and smiling, but you’ve never asked me how I’m doing once
since we moved? Sorry I haven’t been ‘normal’ and ‘perfect’, Jonathan! Sorry I haven’t been
smiling and eating and sleeping and making friends! I forgot that I had to perform happiness
like a goddamn court jester for someone that would rather be off getting high than even
bother to look at me unless I’m telling you that dinner’s ready!”
As soon as the ugly mess of words leaves his lips, Will regrets it. He sits in silence for a
moment, thinking about what he just said. “Jonathan, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
I didn’t mean it.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” Jon says. He looks straight ahead before shaking his head and
sighing. “Truth is, Will, I’ve been having a hard time since we moved, and I’ve been trying to
drown my problems in weed. I know I’ve been a crappy brother lately. I know I haven’t been
there for you as much as I should. But I’ve been trying to work through my own stuff. And
while that’s not a good excuse, I’m trying. I love you, man, and no matter what I’m working
through, that doesn’t change. If you need me, I’m here for you, whether that means someone
who listens or someone who beats the shit out of those little assholes. I always will be.”
“I’m always here for you, too, Jonathan.” Will says, trying to think of what else to say. “And
it’s okay. I get that we both have stuff to deal with, and we work through it in different ways.
Do whatever you have to. I love you too, and while I appreciate that you’re there for me, I
don’t need anything.”
Will sees Jonathan open his mouth to question, but he cuts him off. “I’m serious. You work
through your problems in your way, I work through mine in my way. I know it doesn’t seem
like it, but I really am fine. Everything’s okay. I don’t need to be looked out for, and if I do,
I’ll tell you. I’m trusting your judgment on your life, and I need you to do the same for me.
Okay?”
Jonathan nods after a pause. “...Okay. Promise you’ll tell me if you need help?”
“I promise.” Will lies. He starts to feel guilty about lying before he remembers how much of
a burden he is, about how much more of one he would be if he confessed everything to
Jonathan right here, right now. This is better for both of them.
“Alright, let’s get Jane’s gift all wrapped and ready.” Will says, changing the subject.
As Will places the makeup into a box and wraps it, he questions whether or not Jonathan’s
actually forgiven him. Maybe he’s still mad. Maybe he sees the filth under Will’s skin, the
anger that he’s buried as far down as it’ll go - but also the anger that seems to be showing
more and more as time goes on. Maybe he sees that deep down, Will’s just like Lonnie, and
maybe he hates Will for it.
God, he hopes not.
To alleviate the guilt, he goes upstairs and does a few cuts over his ribs and stomach. After
they’re done bleeding, he goes back downstairs and sits on the couch.
Soon enough, El comes in and sits down next to him. “What will we watch?” she asks.
Will smiles at how much better she is at English than a few months ago. “I don’t really mind.
You go ahead and choose.”
She flips through the channels for a minute before putting it on M*A*S*H.
Will’s head shoots up, and he looks in panic at the TV, where the theme song has started
playing. His heart’s stopped, and as he stares at the screen, his breathing starts coming in
short bursts and his hands start to shake.
“I- I’m sorry, I have- have to go.” Will stammers, getting up as fast as his shaking legs will
let him and walking as fast as he can to the stairs. He probably looks stupid, but he- he just
can’t. He can’t stand it. The theme song, the voices of the characters… he just can’t.
Once he’s upstairs and in his room, he quickly shuts and locks the door before pressing his
back to it and sliding down, putting his face in his hands as he tries to keep his breathing
regular.
He sits there for a while in a crouched position, with his shoulders shaking as he tries to keep
from crying for the second time today. It’s just a TV show. He shouldn’t have this much of a
reaction. What’s even wrong with him? It’s just a show. Just a bunch of actors reading off a
script. It’s not a big deal. He shouldn’t be acting like this. He shouldn’t be afraid. He should
be able to breathe and be okay. He should be normal.
But then again, as the kids in school make clear daily and Angela and Jake pointed out today,
he’s not normal. He’s never going to get to be normal. Maybe his dumb reaction is just his
brain demonstrating that they’re right.
Everybody in his life has always been right about him. Lonnie, Troy and James and the other
kids in Hawkins, the kids here… everyone’s always been right.
He thinks about it, and after a minute, he comes to a sickening realization: they were right
when they said that he shouldn’t have ever come back, that he should’ve stayed dead when
the Upside Down got him. If they’re right about how much of a freak and a fag he is, they’re
right about that, too. Besides, even Will knows it, deep down.
Will thinks about the future. He’s never going to get a happy ending. People like him don’t.
And besides, with how much he hates himself, with how much he’s miserable, with how he
feels and thinks, with how messed up he is, he’s never going to be happy.
He should’ve stayed dead. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a time machine, so there’s only one
other logical option: course-correct.
Will gets up from the door with a blank face and rigid body language, walks over to his desk,
sits down, gets out a piece of paper, and starts writing in his neatest handwriting.
To my family and friends -
If you’re reading this, I’m dead.
After the holidays are over, after he’s waited a few months to make sure that things really
aren’t going to get better and after he’s made a foolproof plan and said goodbye, he’ll carry
out what should’ve happened years ago. He doesn’t know how or when, but he’s going to end
his misery and kill himself.
As Will keeps writing the first draft of his suicide note, his expression goes from pained and
sad to determined. He’s going to do this. He’s going to make everyone’s lives better and give
himself the peace that he probably doesn’t deserve but hopes to get anyway. He’s going to
die.
In the background, he can hear his sister laughing, his mom working, and the TV playing that
cursed program. For a moment, he worries that someone’s going to walk in, realize what he’s
doing and get worried, but then he remembers that apparently, his family can hear him
screaming in the night and don’t care. Nobody’s going to come in. And, even if they do, he
can just say he’s doing homework. Nobody’s going to read into it. Jon doesn’t care, El
doesn’t understand, and his mom doesn’t have time.
He’s alone. Nobody cares. And while that hurts, at least nobody can stop him.
One way or another, William Jacob Byers is going to end up six feet under.
Chapter End Notes
What did you think? Let me know! If you liked it, please leave Kudos or a comment.
Have a good day and see you soon!
Christmas
Chapter Notes
Hi! Sorry this is late, I have bronchitis and tonsillitis and am now super behind on my
coursework. Happy belated Thanksgiving (to my US readers) and enjoy!
Also, my beta reader, Cypriathus, had to stop due to some personal issues. If anyone is
in the mood to beta, please DM me. My Tumblr is @chouthechaoticraccoon.
Shout out to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, promisesdreamer, and

sunbear_r for giving me the motivation to write this. Enjoy the 23-page chapter.
Overall rating: PG-13.

TW:
- Disordered eating
- Self-harm
- Tic attacks
- Language
- Homophobia
- Post-traumatic stress disorder and its symptoms
- Guilt and feeling like one doesn't deserve good things
“Okay, one more time. We can do this.” Will says. He and El sit across from each other on
the kitchen floor, both cross-legged and watching the dreidel that won’t cooperate no matter
how much they try.
El takes a deep breath before picking it up and spinning it again… and it lands on gimmel.
Which means that Will’s lost all of his coins.
“Noooooo!” he cries dramatically, making a show of flopping over and pretending to cry.
El laughs. “I get your choc-o-late coins?”

“Yep. Stealing all my money, I see how it is.” Will complains jokingly. El smiles as she grabs
the coins and brings them over to her pile.
“So this is drei-del?” she asks, sounding out the word.
“Yep!” Will says. “Back when studying the Torah was illegal - like, way back - they would
have parts of it painted onto dreidels so that the soldiers would think that they were gambling
instead of being Jewish.”
“We are Jewish?” she asks.
Will pauses. “Well, that’s… that’s complicated.”
“Explain?” she requests.
“Okay. Um, with our family, because Lonnie and his side of the family was Christian and
Mom’s Jewish, it’s more up to personal preference, because we have a right to both because
of our parents. I’m Jewish, just like Mom, and Jonathan doesn’t do either Christianity or
Judaism.”
“What am I?” she asks.
Will tries to think. “Well… I don’t know what religion your birth parents were, and I don’t
know what religion Hopper was, so I don’t know your birthright. But you’re part of our
family and one of us, and I think that means you can be either Christian or Jewish. But you
can be whatever you want to be, El. If you wanted to be… I don’t know, Buddhist? If you
wanted to be a religion, we’d support you. It’s all your choice. It’s your relationship with
God, not ours.”
El looks deep in thought for a moment. “I want to be like you. I want to be Jewish.” El says.
“Can we play again?”
“Um… well, being Jewish is more than just being like me and playing dreidel. I think you
should go to synagogue with me before you make any decisions. But I really love it, and
maybe you will too.” Will says.
“When do you go to sy-na-gogue?” El asks.
“I go on shabbat- Saturday, I mean. Usually afternoon services. I don’t go as often as I

should. Only every one or two months. But I do love being Jewish. The community, the
beliefs, the connections, the traditions… it’s so awesome. It feels like home.” Will says.
“It feels like home?” El repeats, looking at him curiously.
“Yeah. It feels… I don’t know how to put it. It feels safe and warm and familiar. You know?”
he says.
“Like Hop. And you. And Joyce and Jonathan.” El says.
“Exactly. Honestly, people always feel more like home than places. To me, anyway.”
“Mike feels like home.” she says. “And so do our friends.”
Will’s heart breaks, just a little. Not just that he misses his friends, but that Mike is hers, not
his, no matter how much he wishes.
She must see how his expression goes from content to a little bit sad, as she begins to get
upset. “Did I not say it right? How did I say it wrong?” she says, going from smiling and a
little wistful to her eyes misting and chin wobbling.
“No, no, it’s okay. Just missing our friends.” Will says, immediately trying to fix it. “Please
don’t cry. Please don’t cry, El, I’m gonna start crying, please don’t-” he says. In a panic, he
pushes aside the game of dreidel so that he can lean over and hug her. She hugs him back,
and they just sit there for a minute, Will’s arms around his sister and his chin on top of her
head, keeping her safe.
“Okay.” he says, withdrawing once he knows she isn’t crying. “You said you wanted to play
again?”
“Yes.” she says.
“You're gonna have to give me back some coins. I’m broke. In real life and in the game.”
Will says.
“You will give them back later?” she asks.
Will decides to save an explanation of credit, interest, and personal finance for another day.
“Yep! Let's play!” he says.
El takes her turn, but when he grabs the stem, his hand starts shaking and spasming, and he
drops it.
“Shit.” he mutters under his breath as he tries to control his right hand. It keeps balling into a
fist before relaxing again, all the while shaking.
Will grabs his right hand with his left to stop the shaking and sits back. “Hey, how about you
spin for me?” he suggests.
El looks at him with concern. “Will? You are alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. You spin for me, okay?”
“...alright.” El concedes, spinning the dreidel.
“Having fun?” asks a voice behind Will. He turns around and sees his mom leaning against
the counter and watching.
“Yes! Will is teaching me dreidel!” says El.
“That’s great, hon. Will, can I talk to you for a second?” she says.
Will’s heart starts hammering. “Sure.” he says. He turns to El. “You okay playing for me for a
few turns?”
She nods, and he gets up and goes over to his mom. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s okay. I just wanted to check in with you.” she says.
“About what?” he asks.
She gently grabs his wrist and extracts his still-seizing right hand from his folded arms.
“What’s going on with this?” she asks.
“With the shaking?” he asks cautiously. He doesn’t want to reveal his activities with sharps
unless he has to, and because he’s painted over the marks today, they aren’t visible, so the
shaking is most likely. He still wants to make sure. Can't be too paranoid prepared.
“Yeah. I noticed it’s been happening a lot lately. What’s up with that?” she asks gently.
Will debates before deciding to tell the truth. “The, uh, the medications… they triggered
something called tardive dyskinesia, according to the therapist. It means I move and shake
and stuff without meaning to and I can’t control it.”
“How long has this been going on?” she asks.
“Since about a week after Thanksgiving.” he says.
“Will- Will, that was a month ago. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, frustration and concern
beginning to leak into her tone. “I’m your mom. If something’s wrong, I’m here to help.”
“You’re busy. I don’t wanna be a bother.” he says.
“You aren’t a bother. You’re never going to be a bother. You’re my kid and I love you, and
you can come to me.”
He doesn’t believe her at all. He knows she’s lying. He’s worthless. Just a burden.
“I love you too.” he says instead.
After a minute, she exhales. “Okay. Is there any kind of treatment we can do? Take you off
the meds, get you on some different ones… do you know?” she asks.
“I already asked. There’s not any real, solid treatment. Going off the meds won’t help. She
gave me a prescription for sedatives that we picked up last pharmacy visit. Said that might
reduce the symptoms. But… yeah, they aren’t gonna go away.”
She moves her hand from his arm to his cheek and tears start to form in her eyes. “Honey…
I’m so sorry. But why didn’t you tell me? That’s a lot to deal with alone. You’re gonna snap
one day.”
“It’s fine. I can handle it. Besides, I already snapped.” he says.
“The-” she pauses. “Was that why you- the vending machine at school?”
“Yeah, it was.” he admits. “I really am sorry about that. It just felt like one thing on top of the
other and I just lost it.”
“Will- Will, you never told any of this to me. I could’ve helped.”
“You have enough on your plate. I don’t want to be a burden.” he says quietly.
She leans forward and hugs him. “You can’t keep holding this stuff inside. If something
comes up, you tell me, okay?”
No, he won’t. He’d rather die.
“Okay. Love you.” he says, only the latter being true.
“Love you too.” she says, giving him a concerned look. “And actually tell me if something’s
wrong. I know you won’t, but you should. I’m here if you need me. Always.”
“Okay, I will.” he lies. “And I’m here for you too.” At least that part’s true.
She looks sad and rests her hand on his cheek again. “Don’t be. You’re fourteen. I’m the
grown-up. Let me handle problems, okay? Have fun being a kid.”
Will half-smiles, and he hopes only he knows it’s a fake. After all he’s been through, he can
handle more than what everyone gives him credit for. If he can handle being possessed, he
can handle this tardive dyskinesia and mental health crap.
“Okay.” he says.
“Okay. Now go have fun with your sister.” she says with a pat on the cheek and a sad smile.
He goes over and loses all his money to El (again) over the next hour, after which they all eat
dinner (Will makes it through with only six bites eaten before excusing himself) and he heads
to bed.
In the night, he wakes up twice from nightmares and goes back to sleep each time, which is
quite unusual. Around four in the morning, about an hour after one of the dreams ended and
he went back to sleep, he’s woken up by El standing over his bed (a welcome difference from
the nightmares, but still terrifying) and staring at him.
“Ohmygod!” Will yelps as he shoots up.
El just continues looking at him, almost reminiscent of a cat the way her wide eyes glint and
reflect the light of Will’s nightlight. “It is Christmas Eve.”
Will exhales heavily. “God, don’t scare me like that!”
“It is Christmas eve. I want to decorate and bake and get Santa.”
“Get- get Santa.” he asks, still trying to get over the fact that she’s not a demon come to drag
him to hell, just his weird sister.
“Yes. I want to meet him.” she says.
“Why would you want to meet Santa?” he asks.
“I have questions.” she says.
Will isn’t sure of whether or not she’s aware of how intimidating that sounds.
“Um… alright then.” he says as he swings his legs over the bed and gets up. He quickly pulls
on a sweater once he’s up, trying to ignore the miniature anxiety attack as he’s painfully
aware of the exposed scabs and fresh scarring coating his arms with no paint or clothing to
hide it from his sister. He hopes that she didn’t notice with the darkness of the yellow room.
“Okay, cool. You want breakfast?” he asks.
“Eggos.” she says immediately.
“How about I make some waffles that aren’t, you know, toaster waffles?”
“I like Eggos.” she says. “I like toaster waffles.”
“Yeah, but regular waffles are super good too. I’ll even make chocolate-chip ones.” he says.
“Chocolate chip waffles?”
“Yep. Best kind. Come on, I’ll make you some.”
Will makes El the chocolate chip waffles, puts three on her plate, and makes some more that
he puts in the fridge for later, when and if his brother and mother want some. As she’s
munching, he cleans up before sitting down at the table and smiling as he watches her eat.
She pauses. “You are not having any?”
“Nah, I’m okay. I'm glad you like them.” he says.
She pauses again, before trying to move her plate over to him. “Have a chocolate chip
waffle.”
“What- no, El, I'm good. Besides, there are some in the fridge if I want them later. You eat
it.”
She takes it back and looks at it forlornly. “You should eat.”
“I'm good, I already said. Don't worry.”
“You should eat.” she repeats. “You are small. I see your bones. You should eat.”
He tries to think through the panic. “You can see my bones?”
“I can see your bones. Your arms are small. You are smaller than me and you are taller. You
are too thin.” she says earnestly, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes.
He tries to think of an excuse. “El, everything- everything's fine. I've just, um… lost some
weight. Not even that much, really. Just a little bit.”
“How much?” she asks.
“How much- how much weight have I lost?” he repeats.

He tries to do the math. Last summer when he went to the doctor, he was 5’3” and 124
pounds… last he checked about a week ago he was 5’5” and 102 pounds… 22? 22 pounds
gone in three months and 2 inches taller.
“Only a few pounds. Barely past 20. It's not that much. Besides, boys need less body mass
than girls. It's healthy, El. Just lost a bit of weight because of stress. I'll gain it back soon
enough.” he says, one excuse after another. He hopes she doesn’t see through.
“Okay. Still eat. Waffles are delicious.” she says.
Will grimaces but slaps on a smile. “Okay, I’ll heat some up for myself.”
He takes one from the fridge, then a second upon seeing El’s look. He pops them in the
microwave and watches them spin, trying to ignore both the sinking feeling in his gut and the
way that his mouth is watering with the promise of food. This isn’t worth the calories, but El
can’t get worried.
Will brings his two waffles over on a plate to the table, where El's waiting. He starts to force
them down his throat, though after the first few bites, he just devours it, his growling stomach
taking control over his brain.
Once he’s done and he leans back, his stomach still not full enough despite how disgusted his
brain is, he looks over at El, who is smiling. “See? Good waffles. You were hungry.”
“Yeah, I guess I was.” Will concedes. “Chocolate chip waffles are pretty darn good.”
“Bitchin.” she says.

“Bitchin.” he agrees.
He rinses both their plates and ignores the guilt in his stomach alongside the food as she
continues sitting at the table. “So what’s the plan for today?”
“Food and decorating.” she says.
“So you want to bake things and decorate the house?” he asks.
“Alright, we can do that.” he says.
Will gets out the tree from the garage as well as the bins of ornaments and other decorations,
and he sets them in the living room to set up with his family later.
“Alright. It’s kind of a tradition that we do it together, so we’ll wait for Mom and Jon, but in
the meantime we can bake.” he says.
Throughout the next six hours, from 5 to 11 in the morning, they bake and decorate three
dozen cookies, two gingerbread houses, and Will starts to prepare Christmas dinner for
tomorrow. Eventually, his mom comes downstairs.
“Morning, Jane. Morning, Will.” she says.
“Good morning!” Will says.
“What are you doing?” she asks.

“We are making food.” El says.
“Need any help?” his mom asks.
“Could always use another taste-tester.” Will says.
They spend about two hours after that talking as they continue working, everything from
school and work to random interests.
“The Beatles are a good band. You should listen to them.” his mom says.
“Yeah, the Beatles are good. Amazing music. When I was younger it used to make me cry.”
Will agrees.
“Why?” El asks.
“Um, just some of the lyrics would make me tear up. But they’re fantastic. You really should
listen to them.” he says.
“What lyrics?” she asks.
“Hm…” he says, trying to think of some. “Yesterday…” he sings. “All my troubles seemed so
far away… now it looks as though they’re here to stay… Oh, I believe in yesterday…
Suddenly… I’m not half the man I used to be… there’s a shadow hanging over me… oh,
yesterday came suddenly… Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say… I said
something wrong, now I long for yesterday… Yesterday… Love was such an easy game to
play… Now I need a place to hide away… Oh, I believe in yesterday…”
Will hums the outro before finishing and having the embarrassment hit him like a truck. He
just sang in front of other people. It was probably off-key and horrible and he probably
messed up the lyrics-
El and his mom start clapping. He feels himself turn red as they smile at him.
“You have a nice voice. You should sing more.” El says.
“I would agree with that.” his mom says.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of weird for a guy to sing. Besides, I think my voice sounds a bit
weird.”
“If you enjoy something, you should pursue it. Honestly, I think you should find something
you enjoy other than art. As amazing as you are at it by yourself, joining a choir or art club or
some kind of activity where you could make friends with similar interests would be good for
you. Also, for the record, your voice sounds perfectly good and I love listening to you sing.”
his mom says.
“I… I’ll look into it.” he says. “El, what music do you like?”
“Madonna.” she says. “The Police.”
“Cool! Madonna’s pretty fun, and The Police are… surprisingly stalkerish.” Will says.
“What other bands do you like, Will?” his mom asks.
“Well, I like a lot.” Will laughs. “Don’t think you have time for all of them.”
“Hm… Top ten.” his mom says.
“Hm, alright. Well, obviously, The Clash is in first place.”
“Obviously.” his mom agrees.
“Second place goes to The Cure. My favorite song by them is ‘Boys Don’t Cry’, but my
second-favorite is ‘Pictures Of You’. Third…” he thinks. “Probably either Queen or Tears for
Fears. Fourth, U2 - they’re really good, trust me - and fifth is… probably Led Zeppelin. Then
I like some newer bands, too, but I don’t know them as well-”
“Which ones?” his mom asks.
“Well, I like The Smiths and Depeche Mode. I also like New Order and Pet Shop Boys.”
“I think I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know them very much.” she says.
“How about you, Mom?” he asks.
“I like older music like the Beatles and Fleetwood Mac.” she says.
“Oh, I love Fleetwood Mac!” he says. “Do you like Simon and Garfunkel and Pink Floyd?”
“I do!” she says.
“Man, they’re good too. Music is awesome.” he says. “So many good artists out there. I
wonder what it’ll be like in fifty years and music’s evolved?”
“Well, you’ll have to visit me in my nursing home or gravestone and tell me.” his mom jokes.
Will wisely chooses not to make a joke about how she’s going to be the one having to talk to
his gravestone about music, and sooner rather than later.
“I will.” El says sincerely.
Will laughs at his own joke before he says it. “No, I Will. You Jane.”
That gets several groans as he laughs.
“Alright. I have a few last-minute things to pick up before tomorrow, so I’m gonna go out for
a bit. Don’t burn down the house, and don’t get hurt. If you do either, get Jonathan.” she says,
standing up from the chair.
“Alright, sounds good. Love you. Have fun.” he says.
“Yes. Bye, Joyce. See you soon.” El says.
“See you soon. Love you two.” she says before walking to the front door and then into the
garage.
The second she’s gone, Will turns to El. “No adults home. Guess it’s time to throw a rager of
a party.”
“Who would we invite?” she asks. “We have no friends.”
Will chokes on air as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe. “Damn! Don’t call me out like that!”
“Why? It is true.” she defends.
“Mean. I have you.” he says.
“I am your sister, not your friend.” she says. “We do not have friends. Our friends are in
Hawkins.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But I’m both your brother and your friend. That is a thing.”
“I am your friend and sister, then.” she says after a pause.
“I’m happy to hear it.” he says. “Everything’s out of the oven and finished, so do you want to
grab some cookies and watch TV for a bit? When Mom gets home we can hunt Jonathan
down and start decorating.”
They get out plates and place three cookies on each. El sneaks another one, and Will decides
to let her (it is Christmas, after all).
They take their plates and go into the living room, where El puts on a show while Will gets a
blanket. He chooses the largest one they have, a knit cream-colored one, for them to all
cuddle up underneath, and El puts on ‘Mickey’s Christmas Carol’, which has been playing
near-constantly since it came out earlier this December.
After they’re under the blanket and nice and warm, El starts eating, and though Will hesitates,
he chooses to eat too. He already had waffles today, so the day’s fast is ruined, and he’s
gonna eat dinner anyway, so it’ll be fine. He can burn off the calories later.
Will starts eating and immediately smiles. They did good. These are delicious. (Almost)
worth the calories.
He watches the TV alongside his sister throughout the entire special before his mom gets
home, brandishing several shopping bags and taking off her coat.
“Hey, need some help with that?” Will asks.
“No, just some presents. Gonna go wrap them now.” she says.
“Oh. Need help with wrapping?” he asks.
“No, I’m good.” she says. “Have fun with Jane and I’ll be out so we can decorate in a few,
okay?”
“Okay.” he says, settling back into the blanket. “Let me know if you need anything.”
They watch all the way through ‘White Christmas’ before Jonathan comes out and sits with
them, about five minutes before his mom appears. “Okay, who’s ready to decorate?”
“Me!” El says.
“Alright, let’s do this.” he says.
They prop up the plastic tree (that they got when Will was nine because Jonathan had
allergies - they would’ve gotten one sooner but Lonnie said the only good Christmas tree was
a freshly-cut pine tree), string up lights, and start putting on ornaments.
Will picks up one about halfway through decorating the tree, but with a double tic attack of
his face and arm, it’s broken on the floor.
“Sorry.” he mutters, crouching and trying to pick up the shards with still-convulsing hands.
“Will?” his mom asks, crouching next to him. He looks over at her, but once he realizes that
he’s still grimacing and pursing his lips repeatedly, he looks back down to the floor.
“Shit.” he curses, flinching back when he cuts his hand on an especially sharp piece.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll clean it up. Go to the bathroom and bring the first aid kit to the
kitchen, okay? I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Okay.” he says, getting back to his feet and going to the bathroom. He grabs the kit and goes
back to the kitchen, his cheeks burning. Why does this keep happening at the worst time? It’s
so embarrassing.
His mom comes in with a dustpan of shards, which she dumps into the trash before coming
over to him. “Are you okay?” she asks gently.
“I’m fine.” he says. “Stupid hands.”
“Was that- is what’s happening right now-” she tries to ask.
“It’s the tardive dyskinesia. This is just what it is. I- I’m sorry, I’m ruining it.” he says.
“Ruining what?” she asks as she bandages his hands.

“The whole day. I thought I could make it a good holiday for Jane, but I keep messing things
up, and I dropped the ornament and I ruined that too-”
She stops and looks into his eyes with a determination that’s exclusive to Joyce Byers.
“William Byers. You are not ruining everything. Today has been great, and your sister’s been
having a lot of fun, in no small part because of you. Even if you broke an ornament - which
was because of a medical problem, not your fault - everything’s still going just fine. You
didn’t ruin everything. You made it better, just like you make everything else better, too.
Once you’re able to, if you want, you can finish decorating with us. Okay?”
“Okay.” he says. He’s too tired and embarrassed to disagree with her other points. “The
attack’ll end soon. I’ll be good to go in a minute.”
“Take your time. No rush.” she says. His mom packs up the kit, smiles, and pats his knee.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” he says.
She smiles and leaves to go back out to the living room. He sits there, staring at his stupid
shaking hands. He wishes that he was normal. He wishes that he could just deal with his
stupid issues without his stupid medication. But he can’t, so he ruins things.
He puts his face in his hands for a few seconds, finding the cold of his skin calming against
his warm face, before practice-smiling and going back out into the living room.
“So we have some ornaments to hang?” he asks.
His mom and Jonathan give him concerned looks that say ‘I don’t think you should’, but El
smiles and hands him an ornament. “Here. To the left of the tree.” she says.
They finish decorating the tree, and while his family watches another Christmas movie, he
places his family’s gifts underneath it before saying goodnight and heading to bed.
He drifts off relatively quickly, which is pretty unusual, with no bad dream setting in as the
night starts.
The next morning, Will wakes up to El standing over his bed in the middle of the night again.
“Ohmygod!” he shouts.
“It is Christmas. There are presents. I want to open them. Come on.” she says.
“I- hnngh. Yeah, okay. One second.” he says, swinging his legs over the bed and immediately
seeking out his slippers. He’s glad he wore a long-sleeved shirt to bed. Will figured that El
would wake him up early, so he picked clothes that would hide everything but his hands and
face.
“Alright. I will get Joyce.” she says, leaving the room, presumably to wake up the rest of the
family.
He checks his watch. It apparently isn’t the middle of the night, but 6:15 in the morning,
which is still early, but a bit more reasonable than what he thought. He’s honestly a little
surprised he didn’t wake up with the nightmares last night, but he’s not gonna complain.
Will leaves the room and goes downstairs, where the tree’s crowded underneath. He looks at
it with a swirl of emotions. When he was younger, they were way poorer, and they were
lucky to get one or two presents each. He’s glad that they have more money, but he wishes
that he could’ve had this when he was younger and would’ve appreciated it more, too.
“Yes! Come, come, come.” El says, dragging his mom into the living room.
“Morning, Will.” she says, sitting next to him. “You excited?”

He shrugs. “Sure, but I don’t think anyone could beat E- Jane right now.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that seems pretty accurate.”
His mom gets up to make everyone coffee as El drags a half-asleep Jonathan out.
After everyone’s settled, Will, Jon, and their mom with cups of hot coffee, they all go through
their stockings. El is more than excited at her candy, makeup, and toys, while his mom and
Jonathan go through with much smaller smiles, though still enjoying it. When Will sees all of
the candy in his, though, he frowns before fake-smiling again. His has nineteen pieces of
candy and some new pencils, some regular writing ones and some drawing. He does like the
pencils, so there’s that. He’ll give his candy away to Jon and El in little bits over the next few
weeks. He won’t ruin his weight loss.
After that’s done and El has already eaten two pieces of candy (she’s gonna have a hell of a
sugar high if she keeps it up), she goes and starts passing out presents.
“Oh! Jane! Give each person a present with each round. That way we can all take turns.” his
mom says.
She nods before handing a box to each of them. Will peeks at the tag on his and sees that it’s
from Jon and El.
“3… 2… 1… go!” Jonathan counts before ripping into his.
Will takes his apart more gingerly, carefully unsticking each piece of tape and flattening the
paper when he’s done before taking the lid off of the box.
“Guys!” he says with delight when he sees a plethora of art supplies. He immediately starts
digging through. He now has a sketchbook, watercolor paper, two canvases, a watercolor
tablet, new paints, and oil pastels. “This is insane! I love it!”
El smiles a wide, toothy grin at him as Jon leans over and pats him on the shoulder. “Between
the two of us, we actually had quite a lot for the art store. I expect a drawing as
reimbursement.” Jon says.
“You got it.” Will laughs. “Man, this is awesome.”
“I got posters from Max!” El says with pure joy in her voice.
“Awesome!” his mom says. “I got a lovely picture collection from Jonathan. Thank you,
honey.”
“And I got a book of photographs from influential photographers and the stories behind each.
Thank you, Will. This is pretty awesome.” Jonathan says.
Will gives a smile to his brother and goes to say something before El interrupts. “Next
round!” she cheers.
“Alright!” Will says amongst his family’s chorus of agreement.
They all have envelopes handed to them, and Will smiles to himself. His abuela, his mom’s
mom, always gives them a fifty-dollar bill, on birthdays and for the holidays. Some things
never change. It’s kind of a relief. She actually used to send it for Hanukkah, but when
Lonnie wouldn’t let any mail get to his wife or kids unless it was on Christmas, she started
sending it to arrive on the 24th.
He opens it and laughs. “Fifty dollars!”
“Fifty dollars!” Jonathan parrots.

“Fifty dollars!” his mom laughs.
“Fifty dollars.” El says, clearly confused as to why they’re all saying fifty dollars. She holds
up her envelope.
Will smiles. He’s so glad that everyone, including his grandmother, has accepted El as a part
of their family, even sending gifts despite never meeting her. They should travel to Miami at
some point and have the two meet. That would be nice.
“Alright, Round 3.” his mom says.
El goes to hand him a box, but his mom stops her. “Jane, hon, I think Will should open that
one last. Why don’t you give him another one?”
She pauses and frowns, setting down the box and grabbing another one. He looks at the tag
and smiles. It’s from Max. He misses Max. They weren’t the closest while they were in close
proximity, but she’s awesome, and Will genuinely loves being around her. He’s glad she
thinks that they’re enough of friends to send him a gift, and he’s glad that he sent her one too.
On the count of 3, they all open theirs, and Will finds a succulent plant in a small handmade
pot with a note.
Will-
Hey. Tried to make a pot in art class and it sucks majorly, but I thought you might like it. I
also get the vibe that you would like plants, so here’s a succulent in the pot. I named him
Bobert. You’re welcome.
Call me soon. I have a letter arriving in the mail in a few days for you, too. Say hi to El.
- MadMax
Will smiles and picks up the plant, bringing it closer to his face so that he can examine it. The
pot is blue and glazed, and while a bit misshapen and cracked, he loves it. He loves any kind
of flaw in art, but especially these flaws, because they were all made by Max.
He touches the leaf of the succulent and smiles again. It’s fuzzy, elongated, and soft, and the
plant clearly had been watered before being sent to him.
“Thanks, Max.” he whispers, and he hopes that she can sense his gratefulness over the miles.
He’s drawn out of his fascination with the cute little plant and its pot by El giggling and
spinning. He looks up at her, and he sees her spinning in circles with a black skirt hitting her
knees on over her pajama pants.
“Who’s that from?” he asks.
“Lucas. He sent me three.” she gets out between laughs. “Fun to spin in.”
“Nice!” he says.
“Will, honey, thank you so much.” his mom says, smiling wistfully at the canvas sitting in her
lap. “I love it.”
He smiles. For his mom, he painted an 11”x11” portrait of her based on one of his favorite
pictures of her, where she was sitting with Will in her lap and smiling but too busy to look at
the camera.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Jonathan slip a bag of weed into his pocket. He
realizes that it’s probably Argyle’s gift. Will shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but does so
with a smile.
“Alright. Round 4?” Jon says.

They go through several more rounds.
His mom gets the painting that Will did, a book of Jon’s photography, a homemade necklace
from El, and the fifty-dollar bill.
Jonathan gets the photography book, several reels of new camera film, two button-up shirts,
developing fluid for pictures, the weed from Argyle, and fifty dollars.
El’s received makeup, nice stationary, nail polish, new Adidas sneakers, earrings, three skirts,
a Rubik’s cube, posters, magazines, and a new blouse from Max, and fifty dollars.
Will’s gotten the most, and he doesn’t feel right about it, even if he loves all of it. He’s gotten
the art supplies from Jon and El, comic books from Mike, a recipe book from Lucas along
with a note about how he knows that Will likes to cook and should explore that more, colored
pencils from Dustin, the succulent and adorable pot from Max, and the fifty-dollar bill from
his grandmother.
“Alright, there should be one more, and it should be for Will.” his mom says. He feels a pang
of guilt in his stomach at the amount he’s getting.
“There is more than one.” El says.
“What?” his mom asks.
“There are three boxes from-” she checks the tags. “Dad and Lonnie.”
His mom’s expression has gone from peaceful and a bit confused to angry. “How did those
even get into the house?”
“I’m sorry, I think it was me.” Jonathan says. “Mail guy dropped a box of presents off, I
figured they were fine. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose before scrubbing her hands down her
face. “El, could you throw those away, please?”
“They are presents.” she says puzzledly.
“Not good ones. Trust me, we don’t want them. Please just throw them away.” his mom says.
“Okay.” El says, standing up and throwing them away after some hesitation.
“Okay, now there should only be one left.” his mom says.
El brings over a large box to Will, which he opens with the same care as the others. Inside, he
finds a Walkman and a ton of cassettes.
“Oh my God!” Will says, immediately pulling out the Walkman and looking through the
cassettes. They’re all bands he likes, like the Clash, the Cure, and Fleetwood Mac.
“You’ve been such a good kid this year. I figured since you love music but always just rely
on the radio and we have the money…” his mom explains.
“This is amazing!” he says. “Mom! Oh my God, thank you!”
She smiles and finishes her second cup of coffee. “You want another, guys?”
He and Jon both nod. “Alright, be back in a few.” she says.

As she’s gone, he goes through the cassettes one-by-one. There’s the Clash… the Cure…
Queen… Tears for Fears… U2… Led Zeppelin… The Smiths… Depeche Mode… New
Order… Pet Shop Boys… the Beatles… Fleetwood Mac… Simon & Garfunkel… Pink
Floyd… David Bowie… R.E.M…. Echo and the Bunnymen… Talking Heads… Violent
Femmes… Duran Duran… and Bauhaus.
Will feels overwhelmed. He’s been given too much. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t deserve
this.
He tries to take deep breaths to keep from crying. What the hell is wrong with him? He just
got a ton of stuff that’s awesome and he loves. He shouldn’t be this upset. He’s being stupid.
But he really doesn’t deserve this. Everybody’s being too nice for him. He’s a freak and a
fairy and a loser and a person that people end up hurt or dead because. The only thing he
deserves is… well, nothing. He doesn’t deserve anything and he’s being given everything.
This isn’t right. Someone else should have had all this.
Jon leans over and squeezes his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Will says.
Jonathan sighs. “I’m sorry. I really am. I had no idea that the gifts were from Lonnie. If I
knew I would’ve gotten rid of them.”
Will realizes that Jon thinks he’s upset because of Lonnie, not anything else.
“It’s okay.” Will says honestly. “Besides, we shouldn’t let him ruin the day. Otherwise, it’s
been pretty good, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Jon says. “Anyways, we should clean up some of the paper.”
“Yeah.” Will agrees.
They both get up and start picking up the wrapping, which they put into a garbage bag El
brings over at their mom’s instruction.
Once they’re done, Jon takes it out to the garage, and they all take their respective things to
their rooms.
Will sets each carefully on his bed before deciding where each goes.
Art supplies and colored pencils go in his art corner.
The comic books and recipe book go on his bookshelf.
The fifty-dollar bill goes into his savings jar on his dresser.
The plant goes on his windowsill, where it can get a lot of light.
And the cassettes… hm.
Will opens one of his nightstand drawers, mostly empty, and takes out its contents (some
leftover school supplies). He quickly starts stacking the tapes in groups of five, and when
they’re all in, he leans the Walkman against the drawer side.
He moves the school supplies over to his dresser and decides to find a place for them later.
As Will walks back over to his bed, he sees a piece of wrapping paper crumpled on the
bedspread. He goes to throw it away in his own trash can, but he decides that he doesn’t want
a single scrap of paper to be alone in the basket.
He decides to take it downstairs to throw it away, as it would make him feel better. He goes
down, through the living room to the kitchen, but when he goes to throw it away, he stops
with a glance in the trash.
Will sees his gift from Lonnie on top of the trash, and it’s just too hard to not take it. Maybe
Lonnie’s changed. Maybe he stopped drinking, stopped hanging out with hookers and
underage girlfriends and wants to be part of his life again. Maybe he wants to be Will’s dad.
And everyone deserves another chance, right? If he really has changed and is trying to reach
out, Will can’t just leave it.
With a quick glance around, Will grabs the box and stuffs it under his shirt before hurrying
upstairs.
Once he’s safely locked in his room, he unwraps and opens it, at which point he looks at the
contents before sighing, closing his eyes, and shaking his head.
Three tubes of opened lipstick, a bottle of lube, a pack of condoms, and a note that reads
‘Bill- For getting fucked by the next faggot who can stand your pussy ass.’
Will slams the lid back on the box and crushes the cardboard with the force with which he
shoves it into the trash basket. How could he be dumb enough to think that Lonnie changed?
How could he ever believe that there was a bit of good in that man? And above all, after all
these years, why does the fact that Lonnie doesn’t love him still hurt so much?
He takes a deep breath and tries to forget about it. His mom was right. Lonnie didn’t mean
anything good, and the gifts should have stayed unopened. But he’s not going to let his piece
of shit of a father ruin an otherwise-great holiday, so instead of dwelling, he’s going to enjoy
his other gifts.
Will puts the Fleetwood Mac cassette into his new Walkman and turns it up as he gets out his
new watercolor supplies and starts on a painting.
He paints random streaks onto the paper. He has no idea what this is going to be, but he needs
to do something with his hands.
As he works, he nods along to the music, hardly listening until there are some lyrics that
resonate with him more than they used to.
‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise…’
‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies…’ That makes Will pause. Isn’t that
how he’s felt for years? He’s been stuck in the dark for years, and after so long of having
people treat him like shit and putting up with everything just so that he gets their affection,
he’s honestly sick and tired of it. He wishes that he could say that to everyone.
‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again…’ Wasn’t that the essence of his
and Mike’s fight last summer? Mike wasn’t giving him what he needed, so Will left and
stopped asking for Mike’s attention and affection. He really does wish that it had gone
differently. He has so many regrets. He misses Mike.
‘I can still hear you saying we would never break the chain…’ He still thinks of ‘Crazy
Together’ every day. Wasn’t that their version of never breaking the chain? But in the end,
he’s going crazy alone, and Mike’s happy away from him.
‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again…’ Hell, that applies to now, too.
He’s hurtling towards his demise, and if the people he loves don’t show him they care now,
they’ll never get the chance to.
‘I can still hear you saying we would never break the chain…’ His whole life, Will’s had
people tell him that they’re going to keep him safe, not let anything get him. They were all
liars. He’s tired of the lies.
‘Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night…’ The night he was taken, the wind was
blowing away. It marked the beginning of a new, horrible era for Will. Maybe it was his
‘down comes the night’.
‘Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies…’ As angry as he is at people like
Lonnie who have hurt him, he still buys their lies and bullshit and craves their affection. As
much as he wishes he could say ‘damn your love, damn your lies’ and mean it, he can’t. He
always comes crawling back.
‘Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light…' He’s been on both the side of the Upside
Down and against it, and both broke him beyond repair. He can’t even talk about it, either.
Stevie Nicks is right, screw both the good and bad guys.
'And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again…’
‘I can still hear you saying we would never break the chain…’
The rest of the lyrics are repeats of the chorus and singing that the chain should keep them
together as they run in the shadows. Even if the lyrics are the same, it still sparks thought.
Once the song’s over, he presses ‘rewind’ and listens to it again.
And again.
And again.
After a little bit of trial and error, he figures out how to loop a song, and he does. He listens to
those lyrics over and over and over as he paints, getting lost in the music.
And after sixteen repeats of ‘The Chain’, he sets down his paintbrush and looks at his work.
He was so zoned out and focused on the song, he wasn’t even paying attention to what he
was painting.
The painting is a road at night, leafless shapes of trees surrounding the watercolor pavement.
The moon looms overhead along with dark clouds.
Will thinks that it looks familiar, and after a second, he recognizes it.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath. The watercolor is of Mirkwood on the night he was
taken. He would recognize it anywhere.
After a second, he picks up the brush and gets some more paint on the bristles. Might as well
make it accurate.
He paints three dark shapes onto the paper. The first is a creature, twisted and humanoid,
though its features are hidden by the gray and black paint it’s made of. The second is a boy,
wearing red and yellow and standing in the road looking back at the creature. Once again, his
features are disguised by the color palette. The third is a bike, as warped in the painting as it
was when it went off the road in real life and as shadowed as the other figures.
Will gives a broken, bitter laugh. Guess that he can’t even zone out without his trauma being
a part of his life somehow.
He looks at the painting. At least the work isn’t too bad. He’s always done well with
watercolors.
Will leans the painting against the wall on the back of his desk to dry. He leans back and
looks at it with a knot of emotions in his stomach. He feels angry and sad that any of what
happened to him happened, and guilty for not being a normal, happy, appreciative kid, and so
tired of putting up with trauma after trauma and not even feeling better when it’s over.
He closes his blinds, replaces the Fleetwood Mac cassette in the Walkman with Pet Shop
Boys, and lays in his bed staring at the ceiling as ‘West End Girls’, then ‘Suburbia’, then
‘Always On My Mind’ plays. He sighs and closes his eyes before drifting off.
Soon enough. He’ll get what he deserves and get to rest soon enough. Just have to hold on a
little longer.
Chapter End Notes
Will's family: *is nice to him because they love him and he’s a good person*
Will, immediately: I am the literal Worst™️and Deserve Nothing But Swift Death.
Also, fuck Lonnie Byers <3
What did you think? Let me know in the comments! Please leave Kudos or comments if
you're up for it.
Floating
Chapter Notes
Hello! Here's 'Floating'. It's short, another one of the mini-chapters, but the next one,
'Doctor', should be longer. I would say enjoy, but our boy's suffering in this one, so...
maybe not. Still, please read and let me know if it made you feel things!
Shout out to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, promisesdreamer, and

sunbear_r for giving me the motivation to write this. Hope you read this and think it's
good.
Also, I am still looking for beta readers. If you want to be a beta for this, please let me
know in the comments or reach out to my Tumblr, @chouthechaoticraccoon.

TW:
- Disordered eating
- Self-harm
- Disassociation
- Bullying
- Slurs
- Being told to kill oneself
Since Christmas, Will’s just been floating through his life like he’s an outsider in it. It’s easier
that way. If it’s happening to someone else, it doesn’t hurt him as much.
Every single day, he gets called names in the halls, has threats slipped into his backpack and
locker, and has his stuff graffitied with slurs and insults. He gets shoved around and ignored,
and the kids at school play ‘AIDS’, where if someone touches Will they’ll get AIDS unless
they wash their hands within a minute. He’s been beaten up twice and has had his stuff stolen
several times. He hates it. He hates himself.
Every single day, he waits for his friends to return his calls and letters. Other than the
monthly letter from Lucas and the occasional one from Max or Dustin, none have been. Will
is alone and away from all of his friends. Are they even his friends anymore? Now that he’s
away from them, have they seen how much happier they are without him, and this is their
way of trying to drop him? Will doesn’t know. He wouldn’t blame them if it was true. If he
had the choice, he would leave him too.
Every single day, he has to starve himself to keep from getting fat and to stay sane, and he
hates that it’s his only option. He carves lines and words into his skin just to feel better and
know that he’s getting what he deserves. But no matter what he does to himself, it’s never
enough. He could weigh forty pounds, just be skin and bones, have all his blood spilled onto
the floor and all the fat on him destroyed, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Every single day, he has to take sixteen pills - four Zoloft, six Xanax, two Risperdal, two
Valium, two Zalasta (he had more prescriptions added) - in the hopes of making him better.
They don’t. All they do is make him tired and numb.
Every single day, he can’t rest. He lies in bed, and if he’s lucky, he gets three hours of sleep,
and even that is plagued with nightmares. The circles under his eyes that are so dark that they
make him look younger and more emaciated than he is are proof of how bad it is.
And every single day, he has to pretend that none of this is happening and that everything is
fine. He can’t let his smile falter, can’t let his voice crack on the pain, can’t cry or scream or
do anything that would suggest that he’s doing anything less than perfectly.
It’s so hard to keep a brave face and not give anything away, so as bad as he feels about it,
he’s been trying to avoid everyone. He doesn’t talk to the kids at school or his friends back
home. When he’s back at the house with his family, he stays in his room painting or doing
homework, avoiding spending time with his family members. That way, he doesn’t have to
worry about keeping up the mask 24/7 or letting anything slip.
He’s found an escape in music. The Walkman’s kept him sane in his self-imposed isolation.
More often than not, the headphones are over his ears or around his neck, ready to shut out
the world if necessary.
Like today. It’s a week after school got back, and while Will’s miserable, he’s found that if he
blasts the music loud enough, he can drown out both everyone else and his own thoughts.
He goes through his classes and forces himself to be an outsider as a note with a death threat
is dropped onto his desk, forces himself to be an outsider when he’s shoved to the ground as
he’s leaving second period, forces himself to be an outsider as rumors are whispered as he
passes by.
Will makes it through the first half of the day and lunch before he goes to biology in 6th
period. They’re preparing for a dissection next week, so they’re doing packets on proper
procedure and lab safety.
He sits at his table, where his deskmate sits as far away from him as possible, ending with the
boy squished up against the table leg. It can’t be comfortable, but apparently Will’s scary
enough that discomfort is worth it to escape from the scary gay boy.
Will tries to ignore it. He can’t let this affect him. He’s an outsider. This isn’t his life. It can’t
hurt if it isn’t his life.
He listens to the teacher as he lectures and works on the packet that was handed out, and even
if he can’t listen to his Walkman, he pretends that he’s listening to it, imagining Led Zeppelin
playing in his head.
“Alright. Please come turn in your packets and get your new ones.” Dr. Dominick, the
biology teacher, says. Will nods to himself and closes his before scooting his chair back.
He stands up and the room spins and he’s f a l l i n g f a l l i n g f a l l i n g-
The world goes dark as he hits the floor.
“Will! Will, are you okay?” Dr. Dominick asks, a hand on his shoulder.
Will groans as he sits up, propping himself against a table leg. “Yeah, I’m… I’m pretty
good.”
“You passed out. Did you hit your head or anything? Are you hurt at all?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.” Will says.
“Okay. Do you have a low blood pressure condition or a reason for passing out?” Dr.
Dominick asks.
“Um… not that I know of.” Will says.
“Okay. When was the last time you ate something? It might be low blood sugar.” he asks.
Will does the math. It was… nine bites of dinner on Sunday. It’s Thursday afternoon now,
so… that’s… three and a half days.
“A while.” Will says after a pause that lasted a bit too long.
“Okay. Go to the cafeteria and get some food. It should be the senior’s lunch right now. Be
back in-” Dr. Dominick checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes. 1:40. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.” Will says.
Dr. Dominick lowers his voice. “If you can’t afford any, the school has reduced lunch prices
if you just ask.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m okay.” Will says, trying not to let his embarrassment show.
“Alright. Go. Be back at 1:40.” he says, getting off of the floor.
Will stands on shaky legs and walks out of the classroom away from the stares and giggles.
Instead of going to the cafeteria, though, he goes and sits on the floor in the boys’ bathroom.
His body is stupid and lacking in self-awareness, he thinks, resting his head on the tile. It
keeps acting like something’s wrong with him. The only thing wrong with him is in his head.
The dizziness, the headaches, the cold in his bones, the tiredness like a heavy blanket over
him, and now fainting… his body keeps acting like he’s starving. Will isn’t starving. He
knows when he looks in the mirror and sees how fat he is, when he steps on the scale that he
bought and it still doesn’t read low enough. He has plenty of extra fat on him. Why is his
body lying and pretending that he’s starving?
Will takes a deep breath before (slowly) getting up and fighting off the dizziness again. He’s
decided to go another day and a half, then eat normally for a day. If he can just make a five-
day fast, which should have him lose three or four pounds, he can eat. He can’t be weak and
give in, even if he is fainting.
He leaves the bathroom and goes back to class, where he shrinks down in his seat as he tries
to avoid the whispers and stares.
The rest of the day, Will gets more looks as usual as the news about him passing out spreads.
He wants to cry. He wants to run away from this god-awful place. Above all, he wants to cut.
He doesn’t carry around a razor, though, so he has to wait until he gets home.
Unfortunately, for his last class of the day, he has PE, which is with all of the other boys in
the grade and the class where he’s messed with the most.
Will gets his gym clothes from his locker and changes in the bathroom (last time he went into
the locker room, he left with a black eye and cut on his nose) before going into the gym.
The teacher takes attendance and tells them to go for a run on the track, which surrounds the
football field that’s to the left of the school.
Will goes with the rest of his classmates out, but as they all start to run laps, Jake, Angela’s
boyfriend and a recurring tormentor, grabs his bicep and drags him behind the bleachers. Will
tries to snatch his arm back, but Jake has six inches and seventy pounds on him, easily, and
his grip is strong.
“Let go of me!” Will snarls, not even sure if he’s angry or afraid. Jake does, laughing as he
drops his hand off of Will’s arm.
“Heard you fainted today, freak. What’s up with that? Side effect of the AIDS?” Jake says
with mock pity.
“I. Don’t. Have. AIDS.” Will spits.
He laughs. “Sure you don’t. Everybody knows it. You should stop lying.”
Jake grabs the back of his neck, right over where his connection to the Upside Down is,
eliciting a yelp from Will, before pulling him closer so that he can whisper in Will’s ear.
“Speaking of lies, I know the truth about you. Last week when you rolled up your sleeves,
those cuts that you do were on full display.” he whispers. Will’s blood runs cold.
“Instead of bothering everyone else, why don’t you chop yourself up some more without
doing it for attention for once? Maybe you’ll do everyone a favor and go too deep. Everyone
here wishes you were dead. You don’t belong here, and you know it. Just kill yourself. Do
everyone a favor. Bet nobody would even show up to your funeral.” he says.
Will tries to hold in the tears welling in his eyes, both at the sensation of the back of his neck
being touched so harshly and at the words that hit a bit too close to home.
“Aw, you going to cry? Typical. Queers are always oversensitive, after all.” Jake jeers.
As Jake lets go, walks away, and starts running with their classmates, Will lets the tears fall.
He doesn’t let himself make any noise, though.
No need to be weaker than he already is.
Chapter End Notes
Jake and Angela: the bully popular couple that we all wish were dead. :) trust me, you're
gonna hate Jake even more later.
Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and have a nice day. :)
Also, hooray! 10 chapters and 50k+ (51k, to be specific) words! Major milestone (in my
book, anyway)!
Doctor
Chapter Notes
Hello, my lovely readers! Sorry this is late, I'm studying (with a silent 'stu') for my
midterms and didn't have enough time to write it in a week. Enjoy!
Also, please answer the questions at the end of the end notes. It's important for the plot.
If you would like to be a beta, please let me know.
Shout out to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, and promisesdreamer for

giving me the motivation to write this. Hope you read this and think it's good.

- Disordered eating
- Planning of suicide
- Lying to a doctor
- Anxiety
- Physical effects of disordered eating
- Extreme weight loss
- Family tension over disordered eating
- Language (shit, damn, etc)
- Implied child abuse
- Surgery
Will smiles and struggles to contain himself and his excitement as he steps off the scale. It’s
been about three weeks since he passed out in biology and two weeks since he joined the
school’s track and cross-country teams (the coach saw him run when he was late to class and
insisted that Will try out, and he actually made it onto both), and ever since, he’s been stuck,
not going below 100 pounds once. But he’s finally broken that threshold, and the scale
proclaims ‘98.9 lbs’. He checks twice to make sure he’s not misreading, and checks one more
time to make sure that it’s pounds and not kilograms. When he’s sure, he gives a little spin
and hop of glee before getting dressed again.
He wonders what to do with the rest of the day. Will had planned to spend it walking around
and trying to burn calories through steps, but since he’s broken through the obstacle that’s
kept him from being perfect and is back on track, he can take a day of rest for the first time in
a while. Maybe he can hang out with one of his family members? His mom’s been trying to
take more weekends off, and Jonathan’s been acting a lot nicer. Even if his brother’s distant a
lot of the time, he’s been tending to hug Will or pat his shoulder as he walks by. It’s nice.
Maybe it’s Jon’s way of staying connected to him. He sure doesn’t mind.
Will’s also trying to be around them more. Ever since he got the news of Mike coming to
visit in March, he’s decided on a date for his death, and wants to spend as much time as he
can with the people that will (probably) miss him. Even if he has to be careful to not let
anything slip, it’s worth it to leave them with good memories after he dies.
Will has a whole plan for his death, too.
Mike comes for Spring Break on Will’s fifteenth birthday. He’s going to spend about a week,
and during that time, Will’s going to tell Mike the truth about how he feels using the painting
he started working on - probably at the end of the break so that he doesn’t make it awkward
between El and Mike when the love he has for his best friend is revealed. And when Mike
inevitably rejects him and thinks he’s a freak, Will kills himself the second he leaves to go
back home.
He’s even chosen the method: slit his wrists and veins deep enough that he’ll bleed out
relatively quickly with a scalpel he stole from the biology lab, take all of his medications and
vitamins at once to overdose, and if that doesn’t work fast enough, he’ll hang himself for
good measure. Will’s decided that after he’s done all of that and is too close to dying to be
saved, he’s going to call 911 on himself, so that trained professionals will be the ones to find
his body and try to save him, not his family. He’s enough of a problem. He doesn’t want to
traumatize them any worse than they already are.
But he still has about two months before he does that, so in the meantime, he’s going to spend
time with his family and give everyone good memories to carry on with.
Will decides to go downstairs and find someone to be around. He walks down the stairs
calmly, with the giddy smile that’s been on his face ever since he weighed in the double-
instead of triple-digits still on.
As he’s passing the office alcove, he hears his mother and Jonathan’s voices in hushed, urgent
whispers, and upon hearing his name, he stays hidden behind the doorframe and eavesdrops
instead of alerting them to his presence.
“I’m serious. He needs to go to a doctor, Mom. Something’s wrong.” Jonathan says.
“I know he’s shaking a lot, but he explained that to me-” his mom starts.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, though that freaks me out too. Will’s too thin. Have you
touched him recently? Hug him, you can feel his ribs and spine. Squeeze his shoulder, you
can feel the bones. He doesn’t have a bit of fat on him, and he’s always been skinny, but this
is insane. I’m weak and I could throw him like a sack of flour.”
“He’s grown a few inches. It might be a growth spurt-”
“He’s lost weight. You can see it in his face. His cheeks are so thin. It’s not just weight
redistribution. I don’t know what it is, but something’s up. People don’t lose weight for no
reason without trying to without there being something seriously wrong.”
“Jonathan, what are you saying?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t know what it is, but something’s not right. I don’t know if it’s a disease or cancer or
an eating disorder or what, but something’s wrong, and we need to do something about it.”
Will hears his mom sigh. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. He’s been looking and acting off, and I
thought it was just the move, but it’s not getting better. I’m thinking we ask him about why
he’s acting odd and why he’s losing weight, and if he doesn’t know and isn’t trying to, we’ll
take him to a doctor. Sound good?”
“Anything’s better than doing nothing.” Jon says.

Will turns and runs upstairs as fast as he can to avoid detection.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit. If he goes to a doctor, everything’s going to come out into the open,
and then he’s going to be a burden and a disappointment and everybody’s going to know how
much of a messed-up, worthless freak he is- he won’t be able to starve or cut or die-
Okay. Okay, he has to come up with a plan. Obviously, he can’t be like ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m
trying to lose the weight, so it’s not coming off for no reason. I’m just starving myself
because it makes me feel better. Everything’s fine.’ But if he says he doesn’t know, they’ll
take him to a doctor, and they’ll find out.
Will tries to think. Okay. He can tell Jon and his mom that he’s losing weight because he’s
stressed from school and because he’s exercising with the track team. And because he’s
growing.
Alright, that should cover the first step. What if he still gets taken to a doctor?
Will quickly goes into the bathroom, locks the door, takes off his shirt, and carefully
examines himself. His collarbones stick out a lot, as do his ribs, vertebrae, and pretty much
every other bone. He’s much paler than his former olive skin - is he too pale? Will that raise
eyebrows? - and his hair is thinning and falling out as he loses weight. He’s covered near
head-to-toe in scabs, cuts, scars, and carved words as well as bruises that keep appearing out
of nowhere, and his finger and toenails are brittle and slowly becoming blue. All the things
he’s proud of because it means he’s on the right track are now incriminating evidence that he
has to hide, and he doesn’t know what to do.
Will thinks. He can keep his shirt on and wear long sleeves. Actually, he could wear a long-
sleeve shirt under a zip-up hoodie under a pullover hoodie as well as his heaviest jeans and
shoes. It’ll make him seem thicker and alter the weighing results.
Actually, to truly alter the results, he could fill his pants and hoodie pockets with heavy
things. No, that would make the clothing sag… unless he taped it. That could work. Fill his
pockets with… rocks or something, get some duct tape, wrap it around his midsection around
the pocket of the under-hoodie, and when he gets on the scale, weigh a lot more.
And then, even if he has to take off his shirt, he can take off the hoodies and shirt in one fell
swoop, so that it seems like it’s plain clothing. He can paint his skin with his homemade
concealer all over to hide all the marks, even paint his protruding bones a little bit darker so
that it looks like they stick out less.
His nails… his nails are another problem, but if he has El practice nail polish in a natural
shade like light pink or brown on him, it could hide the blue of the nails. He might get roped
into having makeup on his face, but he can live with that. Wiping makeup off isn’t too hard.
Alright. That covers all but his hair, but he doesn’t know how to hide that (and if it gets fixed,
he sure as hell isn’t going to object, as he doesn’t want to have it all fall out). He’s good for
now.
Will slips his shirt back on and leaves the bathroom, after which he goes back downstairs into
the living room.
“Hi, Will.” his mom says from the couch, where she has a book open on her blanketed lap.
He jumps. He didn’t realize that’s where she was. “Oh! Hey, Mom.” Will says, trying and
failing to seem casual.
“Here, come sit.” she says.
He does so awkwardly, though once he grabs a blanket, he’s far less awkward as he snuggles
up to it, though his heart’s still pounding.
“I wanted to ask you about something, and I want you to tell me the truth. I won’t be mad, I
promise.” she says.
“Okay…” he says.
“I noticed that you’ve been getting pretty thin lately. I wouldn’t be concerned - you’ve always
been pretty thin - but it’s been a lot of weight in a short amount of time, and you’re very pale
and boney. Are you trying to lose weight? I won’t be mad if you are. I’m just worried.” she
says gently.
He shakes his head. “I’m definitely not trying to.” he lies. “I think it’s just stress from school
and the exercise from running.”
“Mm. Okay.” she says. He can’t tell if it’s worry or disbelief in her voice. Please let her
believe him. Please don’t let her find out. “Will, people don’t lose a lot of weight quickly for
no reason.” she says after a minute. “What would you think about maybe going to a doctor to
figure out why?”
Will tries not to let his terror show. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me.” he
says. “Like I said, I think it’s just stress and exercise, but if you think that going to a doctor
would be best, we can.” he says, trying to sound like he’s ambivalent and not raise any
suspicion.
Please let her say that he won’t have to go to a doctor, he thinks.
“Okay.” she says. “Well, I think it would be smart to go to a doctor. If there is something
wrong, it’s better to catch it early. I’ll call the insurance company and see which doctors are
covered around here.”
Damn it!
She gets up from the couch, setting the blanket and book aside to go to the office, presumably
to call the insurance company.
He grimaces the second she’s out of sight. Why didn’t he say that he was afraid of doctors
after his possession at Hawkins Lab or something?
Will gets up to go get El to paint his nails to hide the blue when he realizes that his mom
didn’t bookmark her page.
He looks at the book and realizes that it’s a dictionary. Will realizes that his mom did the
thing she does when she’s worried but tries to hide it, where she grabs the first book she sees
and has it open and pretends to read it despite not processing any of the words on the page.
He looks over to the front office where his mom is now on the phone with the insurance
company. With a deep breath, he goes upstairs. Going to the doctor, even if it’s high risk for
him and scares him, will help ease his mom’s worry. He can do this, even if for no other
reason than for his mom.
He lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and dreading having to get up. Yesterday, his mom
called the insurance company, and she found that a Dr. Davidson, about five miles away,
accepts their insurance, and she made an appointment with him at 10.
Will checks his watch. It’s 8:45. One hour. One hour and then he’s going to have to go to a
doctor who could figure him out. Is it too late to chicken out? Tell his mom that he’s afraid of
doctors or something?
Will sighs and sits up. No, it’s too late. He has to do this.
He gets up and immediately fetches the mixture of paints matching his skin tone from where
they’re hidden under his bed. He also grabs a paintbrush from his art corner and goes into the
bathroom, where he quickly strips and begins to paint.
He covers himself head-to-toe in a thin layer of pigment, enough to cover the colors and
marks on his skin, but not enough to make it hard to move or make it too visible. When he’s
done, he steps back and turns side to side, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that
his skin looks natural and unblemished. He still might get found out, but now you can’t see
the bruises and cuts and scars. If he needs to roll up his sleeves or take off any clothing, he
should be safe.
Will waits about five minutes for the paint to dry before he puts his pajamas back on and goes
back to his room, where he starts rifling through his closet and dresser for his heaviest
clothes.
It takes about fifteen minutes to institute his weighted-clothing plan. He ends up wearing his
heaviest, thickest jeans with pebbles in the front pockets, a tank top, two T-shirts (one long-
sleeve and one short-sleeve), a sweatshirt (with rocks in the pocket and duct-taped so that it
doesn’t sag with the weight), another hoodie over the sweatshirt, a jacket, and his heaviest
boots. It’s hard to stand up straight and walk around, so he hopes that it’ll be enough to keep
from suspicion.
He presses down on his shoulder, and with just the sweatshirt and hoodie, it doesn’t feel like
he’s wearing too much. Will sighs with relief. If someone (his mom, cough cough) touches
him in a hug or to grab his shoulder, it won’t be too obvious that he’s trying to wear bulky
clothing.
Will looks at his nails, a double-check that the skin-colored nail polish that El did is still
intact. It is.
He tries to think of what else he needs to do, but he can’t come up with anything. What if
he’s forgetting something? What if the doctor figures out what he’s doing and tells his mom
or has him committed to an asylum or something? What if he causes his family more stress?
What if he can’t starve or cut after this? What if-
Will’s snapped out of his thoughts when he jumps due to a knock at the door. “Will! Are you
awake? We need to leave in a minute.”
“Um… yeah! I’ll be ready in a second.” Will says, trying not to stutter.
He leaves his room and goes downstairs, where his mom’s sitting in the office. “I’ll be ready
to go in a minute. I just have a call or two to make.” she says.
“Okay.” he responds. He goes to the kitchen. ‘One or two calls’ mean that he has a while to
do whatever he wants, and that means that he’s going to drink a ton of water so that he
weighs heavier.
As his mom makes a call, he drinks four glasses of water and a cup of coffee. His stomach is
sloshing, but at least he’ll weigh in heavier.
“Alright, ready to go.” his mom says, coming into the kitchen as she puts her purse on her
shoulder.
“Alright.” he says.
They go out to the car, and while his mom drives them to the doctor, Will sits and quietly
looks out the window. The radio’s playing, but Will doesn’t register any of the music. His
heart’s beating too loudly in his ears to hear much. Is he going to be caught? What’s going to
happen?
“Will? Will, you okay?” his mom asks.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” he says absentmindedly.
“Are you sure? You haven’t been to a doctor - well, to an actual doctor, not a paramedic -
since…”
“Since Hawkins Lab?” he supplies quietly.
“Yeah.” she says. “It must be hard.”

This could be his chance. He could say that he’s super duper traumatized and can never go to
a doctor again and can they go back to the house now?
“Yeah.” he says. “I guess.”
She leans over and pats his knee. “It’ll be just fine. No Upside Down here. Just a normal
doctor.”
“Yeah, I know.” he says, looking back out the window.
It’s only another minute or so before they’re at the office, a yellow building that looks like
every other building in this town.
His mom parks the car and gets out, but Will just sits frozen in the passenger seat. He doesn’t
want to go in. He doesn’t want to see the doctor. He wants to go home. At this point, he isn’t
sure if home is Hawkins or here in Lenora, or even if he has one anymore, but he honestly
doesn’t care right now. He wants to be anywhere else.
He’s pulled out of his thought process by his mom knocking on the window. “Are you ready
to go?” she asks, her voice muffled from the inside of the car.
Better now than never, he thinks.
“Yeah.” he says. “Alright, yeah.”
He gets out of the car and walks behind his mom as they go into the building. Through the
doors is a sterile but decorated lobby, with wood-look tile floors, white furniture, and white
walls, and with a nice-looking woman in scrubs sitting behind a built-in desk.
She looks up as they walk in. “Hello, how can I help you today?”
“We’re here to see Dr. Davidson.” his mom says.
“What’s the name for the appointment?” the woman asks.
“William Byers.” she says.
“Date of birth?” she asks.
“March 22, 1971.” his mom says.
The woman types something on her computer. “Alright, if you can take a seat and fill out this
paperwork-” she hands his mom a clipboard “You can go on back in a few.”
“Thank you very much.” his mom says, going over to some of the white furniture and taking
a seat on a plastic-looking couch. He sits down next to her, albeit more stiffly.
“Do you want to fill out the paperwork?” she asks.
“Sure.” Will says. He takes the clipboard and pen from his mom and starts filling out the
paperwork. It asks for the date, his name and birthday, reason for visit, current medications,
etcetera, etcetera, blah blah blah…
Will finishes the paperwork just a minute before a woman in scrubs comes through a wooden
door. “William?” she calls. Will stands up and walks over, trying not to give away how much
his knees are shaking. His mom is close behind.
“I’ll take your vitals in here, okay?” the woman says, gesturing to a curtained area.
“Okay.” he says, walking in and staring at his shoes. He makes himself breathe deeply. He
can’t be afraid. It’s fine. He just has to get through this and it’ll be fine.
“Alright, William, I’m gonna have you step on the scale real quick and then get a height
reading.” she says.
“Okay.” he repeats.
“Wait, does he need to take off his jacket and shoes?” his mom asks.
The lady looks at his shoes. “Maybe the shoes. They seem pretty heavy. The jacket can stay
on, though.”
He kicks off his shoes with both disappointment and relief. While he’ll weigh in lighter now,
at least he can keep on the jacket. It should add a bit.
The numbers jump up once he steps on, and his heart’s in his throat as it settles on a series of
digits. 117.6 lbs.
Will sighs with relief. He’s honestly a bit shocked that he’s managed to trick the scale that
he’s twenty pounds heavier than he actually is, but above all, he’s just so glad that it’s reading
higher than his weight actually is.
“Alright, I’ll have you stand over here against the wall.” she says. He gets off the scale and
goes over to the wall chart, which she measures him against.
“Five-foot six-point-five inches.” she says. “If you want to take a seat while I grab your
blood pressure, that would be super helpful.”
He goes over and sits down on one of the chairs in the curtained room next to his mother,
next to a stand with blood pressure monitors on it. She smiles at him before taking his hand
and squeezing it. “You’re doing great, honey.” she whispers.
Will gives a shaky smile and squeezes back. After the nurse is done writing down his height
and weight on the clipboard, she turns back to him. “Roll up your sleeve, please.” she says.
He does, struggling to make the sleeve cuff roll over three layers but somehow getting it up
his arm without showing how much he’s wearing. She fastens the blood pressure cuff around
his arm, and it tightens almost painfully before relaxing again.
“Huh. Are your legs crossed?” she asks distractedly, looking at the screen.
“No.” Will answers honestly.
“Your blood pressure is pretty low. If nothing is tampering with the result, that might be a
problem…” she says, trailing off. “Sorry, got lost in my head for a second. If you’ll follow
me to Room Eight, Dr. Davidson can be with you in a minute.”
Will mumbles something that sounds like ‘okay’ before getting up and following her out of
the room, with his mom close behind him and looking worried.
Room Eight is a small beige room with a desk, a computer, two plastic chairs, and the patient
bench. Will elects to sit in the plastic chair next to his mother instead of on the bench. He
doesn’t feel like he’s sick that way.
While his mom writes on a notepad from her purse (all he knows is that it’s something about
work, from when he glanced over at it), he stares at the wall, trying to stay calm and seem
normal. After a while he zones out, thinking about school, his blood pressure, and his worry
about this appointment. It’s too easy to let his thoughts get carried away, and he just zones out
and lets them run wild with worry.
He’s snapped back to reality when a knock comes at the door before it opens. In walks an
older man with gray hair on top of his head and in a beard, wearing a white coat, button-up
shirt and necktie, and a stethoscope around his neck.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Davidson.” he says.
“Hi.” Will says quietly. “I’m Will.”
“I’m Joyce, Will’s mom.” his mom says.
“Nice to meet you, Joyce and Will.” Dr. Davidson says. “So before we get started, I have a
few questions about Will’s medical history.”
“Okay.” his mom says.
“When was Will’s last medical visit?” he asks.
“November of 1984.” she says. Will realizes that it’s 1986 now. When did that happen?
“Has Will ever had any surgeries?” Dr. Davidson asks after writing something on his
clipboard.
“Yes, several. Um…” his mom clearly tries to remember what surgeries he’s had.
“Appendectomy when I was nine, adeno-tonsillectomy when I was six, five tube
thoracostomies, two thoracotomies at eight and twelve, and pleurodesis when I was twelve.”
Will says quietly. He remembers them all. Sometimes, on bad days, he looks at the scars and
gets angry. On bad days, the scars from the nine surgeries he went through before he was
even a teenager make him hate everything and everyone, especially himself. He wishes he
could forget all of the times he’s gone under the knife, what it felt like to go in so small and
alone and scared for surgery after surgery, but he can’t no matter how hard he tries. So he
chooses to remember the names along with the pain that they brought. Least he can do.
The doctor looks at Will for the second time since entering the room. “That’s quite a few
serious operations, young man.” he says.
“Um… yeah.” Will says, looking back at his shoes. “I guess.”
The doctor looks at him for a long moment before nodding to himself and blinking. “Hm.
Alright. What medications are you currently on?” he asks.
“Zoloft, Xanax, Risperdal, Valium, and Zalasta.” Will says monotonously.
The doctor sits in silence for a minute. “Well, I… hm. What conditions did you have? Which
do you currently have?” he asks.
“Anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, and tardive dyskinesia.” Will says. “And in the past I had
viruses, colds, stuff like that…” he tries to think of any relevant past illnesses.
“Appendicitis, bronchitis, tonsillitis, pneumonia, the flu, colds… he also had esophageal
injury and some other little injuries. When Will was younger, he wasn’t exactly a healthy kid,
but he’s gotten a lot healthier.” his mom interjects.
“I… okay.” the doctor says, sitting in silence before writing on the clipboard. “Noted. What’s
the purpose of your visit today?”
“Well, I’m worried about his weight.” Will’s mom says. “He’s always been thin, but it just
seems so more pronounced than it used to be. He looks so emaciated, and his bones are so
visible. It’s probably nothing, but I just want to be sure.” she says.
“Well, it probably is nothing, as his weight seems to be fine according to the previous
measurement. However, I do make it a practice to have a one-on-one private talk with my
new patients, so unless you’d rather stay in the room, Ms. Byers-”
“No, I’ll go. Get me if you need anything, hon.” she says, first to the doctor, then to Will.
She leaves, and as the door closes softly behind her, Will becomes hyper-aware of the
doctor’s breathing and presence, and his self-consciousness triples.
“So-” Dr. Davidson gives a half-hearted cough. “As you’re a new patient, I did want to ask a
few questions, just to help me understand how to provide better care.” he says.
“Okay.” Will says.
“Are there any preferences for appointments? To have a family member present, modesty,
any of that?”
“Um, I’d like to stay dressed.” Will says.
“Alright, we can work with that.” the doctor says, making a note on the clipboard.
Dr. Davidson puts it down and leans forwards in his chair. “I was thinking we could have a
quick talk about your life. No pressure, just a general talk.”
“So how’s school?” he asks.
“It’s okay. I get good grades and get my homework done.” Will says quietly.
“Any extracurriculars? Friends?”

“I run track and cross-country.”
“How much do you do that every day?” he asks.
“An hour or two.” he answers.
“Very active. That’s good. How much do you eat? You should be counterbalancing the
exercise.”
“I eat three or four meals a day.” Will lies, studying his shoes. The tips are scuffed and the
side of the left one is ripping. When did that happen?
“How many calories, if you had to guess?” the doctor asks.
“I don’t know. Uh…” Will says, trying to think. How much is normal again? He should use a
bigger number than normal so that the doctor thinks that he’s eating a lot. “2400?”
“Good, good. Good number. How much do you sleep every night?” he asks. “A teenage boy
your age needs about nine or ten.”
“Uh… eight?” Will lies.
“That’s alright. I understand that school is stressful. Speaking of, how do you cope? I
understand that smoking, drugs, and drinking are common ways to cope, even if they’re
unhealthy. Do you regularly use any kind of intoxication?” he asks.
Will thinks about Halloween and how he got drunk. Does that count? “No, I don’t believe in
using or drinking or smoking.”
“Mm.” he says, before sitting quietly for a moment.
After a few moments, Dr. Davidson breaks the silence. “Are you sexually active?” he asks,
not unkindly.
Will’s cheeks color as he looks around, anywhere but the doctor’s eyes. What does that even
mean? What’s the correct answer? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Dr. Davidson is
even asking or expecting him to answer. What does being sexually active even cover?
The doctor sighs. “Alright. I understand that question can be confusing or upsetting. Are you
at risk for any sexually transmitted diseases?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Will answers honestly, still bright red.
“Good. Good.” The doctor lapses into silence again.
“Just looking at you, I can see that you’re quite thin, but I think it’s healthy. However, I can
also see that you’re pretty pale, especially compared to your mother, and your hair is very
thin. I’m guessing that you probably have a vitamin deficiency, and that’s why you’re having
effects that are concerning. I’ll have a blood panel run just to make sure that everything’s
good, and then I think we can have you back home.” Dr. Davidson says.
“Okay. Thank you.” Will says.
Dr. Davidson smiles before leaving, shutting the door behind him, leaving Will in the room
alone.
Will waits after the doctor leaves for about five minutes until a nurse comes in with a smile
and a needle. “Alright, hon, can you roll up your sleeve for me?”
Will does, and she taps the vein in the crook of his elbow before opening an alcohol wipe.
She taps the vein again before rubbing the wipe.
His heart stops as flecks of paint come off of his inner elbow where she’s rubbing the alcohol
wipe. Is he going to get caught? What’s she going to do?
She brushes off the flecks and gives him a smile. “Don’t worry, I get dry skin too. Not a big
deal.”
He exhales in relief, and scrunches up his face as he feels the needle go into his arm. It’s quite
funny: he hurts himself regularly, but still finds the needle unpleasant and awful.
After a vial gets taken, she puts gauze on the site and wraps gaffer tape around his elbow.
“Done! You did great, hon. Good job.” she says. “I’ll get this run and let you know the
results, okay?" she says.
“Thanks.” Will says, giving a shaky smile.
She smiles before leaving.
He leaves just a minute after her, going out into the part of the office where his mom is
sitting, if nothing else to let her know that he’s okay. After he tells his mom that the results
will be ready soon, they go back into Room Eight to wait.
While Will’s blood is run, he and his mom sit in the plastic chairs, Will’s leg bouncing
anxiously. He knows that it takes time for test results to come back, but it feels like it’s taking
a million years.
After about half an hour (Will’s been checking his watch regularly), the doctor comes back,
and Will can feel heat in his arms and legs as adrenaline floods his veins and his heart
pounds. What’s he going to say? What’s going to happen?
The doctor sighs and smiles at them as he closes the papers on the clipboard. “Will’s an
active boy, burning a lot of calories with track and cross-country, and that means he’s going
to be naturally lighter and thinner. His weight and BMI are a bit low, as he’s in the 27th
percentile for his age, but it’s healthy. No need to act on that. If he eats more complex carbs
and calories, he could even get up into the 50th or 60th percentile if he tries.”
His mom smiles from next to him and breathes a sigh of relief, putting a hand on his shoulder
and squeezing.
“I do have a few concerns, though.” the doctor says. Will’s heart stops. “First of all, he has
several vitamin and nutritional deficiencies, most notably zinc, vitamin D, copper, selenium,
biotin, and vitamins B1, B9, and B12. I can give you some oral vitamins and supplements.
He might not be able to process nutrients easily from food, which could contribute to the
lower weight.
Will also has low blood pressure and low white and red blood cell counts, also known as
anemia, and an electrolyte imbalance, which suggests the same problem with nutrients
absorption. He’ll be fine as soon as he’s on some medication. I’ll write you the prescription
now.”
“That seems like a lot of problems...” his mom says worriedly.
“It’s just a vitamin and electrolyte deficiency and anemia. Your son is perfectly fine, Mrs.
Byers. He’ll be healthy as a horse in no time.” Dr. Davidson says.
After his mom gets the prescriptions for the vitamins, they drive home, with his mom talking
more than they did on the way over. It seems like the doctor clearing her concerns must have
erased her worries.
Once they get home, his mom goes to talk to Jonathan (probably to tell him that Will’s fine
and their fears are, according to the doctor, unfounded), and Will goes upstairs to his room.
Will goes to his desk and does the math that he finds in one of his math textbooks for his
BMI on a piece of paper. He actually weighs 98.9 pounds… convert five feet and six-and-a-
half inches into meters… square his height… divide…
He smiles as he sits back. 15.7 BMI, not 18.3, and it feels amazing. He may not be thin
enough, may still have more to lose, but he’s well on the way, and now his family can’t even
worry anymore because the doctor said that he’s fine.
With a smile on his face, Will goes over to his bed, lies down, and puts on The Smiths.
He hums along as he drifts in and out, enjoying the sounds of ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable
Now’ as he relaxes.
When he falls fully asleep, for the first time in a while, he doesn’t have to assure himself that
he just has to hold out a little longer.
Chapter End Notes
For those of you wondering, tube thoracostomies are where a tube is implanted in the
chest through the ribs to drain the chest and lung cavities when they fill with fluid and
blood due to injuries and internal bleeding, and thoracotomies are basically open-torso
surgeries when tube thoracostomies don’t drain fast enough and the fluid has to be
removed manually. Four tube thoracostomies and one thoracotomy happened because of
internal bleeding from Lonnie’s abuse. One tube thoracostomy and one thoracotomy
happened when he got back from the Upside Down because of bleeding due to the
trauma on his esophagus and lungs during the Upside Down, and afterwards, when the
chest cavity started filling again, they did a pleurodesis, which is a surgery that connects
the lungs to the chest cavity wall so that fluid and blood stops filling the lungs and chest
cavity.
Poor Will with his body dysmorphia. He thought he might've been 98.9 kilograms,
which is 218 pounds. Babe. Baby boy. You are not 220 pounds.
Also, if anyone has a guess as to why Will had so much difficulty with the ‘sexually
active’ question, please share it in the comments. I’ll tell you if you’re right or wrong if
you request that (and then if you guessed right, I’ll delete the confirmation, cause no
spoilers!)
Plus, I would also love it if you would let me know in the comments if you would rather
I post one more chapter before Season 4 picks up or three. It’s more of a question of
when you want Mike to arrive and more drama and angst to happen. Please let me
know!
Have a lovely day! :)

One More Month
Chapter Notes
Hello! Sorry that this chapter was late (and short). I haven't had much time to write
because my grandparents are in town for the holidays (plus I'm in the middle of a
chronic pain flare and miserable lol). Happy holidays, by the way! I'll try to post another
chapter on December 24/25 in honor of Christmas. :) Enjoy!

Overall rating: PG.

Trigger warnings:
- Self-hatred
- Guilt
- Mentions of disordered eating
- Mentions of self-harm
- Mentions of suicide & planning one
It’s been a month gone and eight more pounds lost since he went to the doctor, and Will’s just
trying to get by. He’s somehow managed to keep his grades up, be a strong runner on the
cross-country and track teams, paint and draw a ton, and work on his suicide note and letters
(now totaling over forty pages) and the painting for Mike. He’s been spending as much time
with his family as possible, too - and if they give him concerned looks or ask if he's alright
one too many times to pass as normal, Will pretends not to notice.
Now, on top of the sixteen mental health pills a day, he now has eleven vitamins. It’s
annoying to have so many, but he does feel better. He’s not passing out as much, he isn’t as
dizzy and tired, and his hair isn’t falling out anymore. At least he’ll look good in his coffin,
right?
He’s almost done with his suicide note, and there’s a month left until Mike comes. It gives
him plenty of time to finish the painting. He’s gone through about a dozen ideas and created
five or six failed attempts.
Will finishes the letter to his grandma, folds it neatly, and sets it on the stack on his
windowsill, next to Bobert the Plant. Once he’s done with the letters for the day, he hides
them in a box under his bed, but it’s too much effort to get up every time he finishes one. So
he puts them in a stack and hides them once his hand gets too tired to write.
As he starts on another letter, the door swings open, causing him to jump and spin to look at
the door. El awkwardly walks in, her arms full of random things. Will realizes that the door
opened so forcefully because she kicked the door so that it would open enough to let her in.
She empties her arms onto Will’s neatly-made bedspread before turning to look at him with a
serious expression.
“Oh! Hey, Jane, what’s up?” Will asks, pausing the New Order tape and pulling the
headphones off of his ears while trying vainly to hide the letters. El has zero concept of
privacy, and Will knows that she’d definitely open them without hesitation if she decided
that’s what she wanted, so it’s better to just hide them.
El looks at him solemnly. “We are going to fix your brain.” she says.
“I- I’m sorry, what? ” Will asks, trying to process what that’s supposed to mean.
El nods. “Yes. I asked Joyce why you act strangely and she said that your brain is wrong.”
“My- my brain is wrong?” he asks.
“Joyce says that your brain has hormones that are not balanced. She says that it is called
depression and anxiety and post- post-” El clearly tries to remember.
“Post-traumatic stress disorder?” Will supplies.

“Yes. She says that your brain hormones make you sad and scared and tired even when there
is nothing to be sad or scared or tired for. So we are going to do things that make me happy
and calm so that you can feel better and your brain gets balanced.”
Will blinks as he processes and translates El’s words. Once it clicks, he gives a light laugh
and a smile to his sister. “Aw, that’s sweet. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though.
I’m okay. My brain’s okay.”
El shakes her head. “I want to. And if your brain was okay, then you would not be acting
odd.” she says.
“Alright, then, what are we doing?” he asks.
She gestures him over to his bed where she’s now sitting, and when he goes over and sits
next to the pile, she passes him a string and a bag of beads. “Let’s make bracelets.” she says.
“Okay, sounds good.” Will says.
As they work in silence, Will tying knots in the stretchy string and sliding beads on as El sits
beside him across the pile, he works up the courage to speak.
“You said that I’ve been acting weird. I- how have I been acting weird?” Will asks.
El pauses bracelet-making to stare over at one of Will’s posters, clearly deep in thought. “You
seemed sad.” she says at last. “And now you act happy but you stop acting happy when we
don’t look. You stay in your room or work or run all the time. You went from always alone to
being around us a lot. You do not eat or sleep very much. You shake and twitch. You give
away your things. You stay by yourself at school. You just act odd. You are different now.”
Will pauses for a second before resuming. “Oh.” he says, not sure of what to say. “I- I’m
sorry. I- El- Jane - I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t know that you- that I was affecting you. I’m
so sorry.”
He focuses harder on making his bracelet until El’s hand covers his. “It is not your fault. It is
your brain being unbalanced. I do not mind. I just want you to be balanced and happy.” she
says.
Will sniffs as he tries to keep the tears in his eyes. “I- thank you, El. I love you.”
She gets up, walks the two steps over to where Will’s sitting, and wraps her arms around Will
in a hug. He leans into the touch, even if it’s slightly awkward due to their height difference
when Will sits, and wraps his arms around El’s waist. If he cries a little bit and leans on her,
neither is going to mention it.
“Okay.” he says, pulling away and wiping his eyes with his fingertips. “Okay. Right.
Bracelets, and then what?”
“Bracelets and then knitting.” she says, sitting back down.
They continue working quietly. Will makes a purple-and-blue bracelet, which he gives to El,
and she makes him a rainbow bracelet. As she teaches him how to knit (which he ends up
actually enjoying), he admires the way that the bracelet looks on his wrist. It may not be
acceptable for him to wear at school because of the colorfulness (and he sure doesn’t need to
fuel the gay rumors that are making his life hell), but it reminds him that his sister loves him,
and that makes Will love it.
“Thank you, El.” Will murmurs as they finish a row of knitted stitches.
She smiles and admires her own bracelet. “Twins.” she says.
“El, we’re supposed to be twins.” Will laughs. “According to school records, we are.”
“We are really twins now.” she says decisively. “We have bracelets to prove it.”
Will laughs. “Guess so.” he says.
She smiles. “I am happy that you are my brother.” she says.
“And I’m glad you’re my sister, too.” he says.
As they do another row, guilt hits Will like a brick to the back of the head. He loves his sister,
but how can he when he’s in love with her boyfriend? He’s a horrible brother. Not only has
he impacted her with his own problems, but he’s betrayed her by loving Mike. He’s betraying
her by confessing to Mike. Will isn’t worthy of her love or time or gifts. He isn’t worthy of
anything. He’s a liar and a cheater and a traitor and worthless and stupid and ugly and-
“Will?” El asks. Apparently, his hands stopped moving with the yarn as he got lost in his
head.
“Right. Right, sorry. Sorry, got lost for a second.” he says.
She squeezes his hands over the needles. “It is alright.”
Will shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts of the guilt and self-hatred as they keep
knitting.
As Will and El work together to create something, Will vows that he’s going to do a better
job of hiding how he feels. He can’t hurt his family. They don’t deserve pain. All they
deserve is the best. So he has to do better so that he becomes the best son and brother that he
can be for the next month. That way, he can give everyone what they deserve. He can give his
family love and happiness. And he can give himself rest and peace.
Just have to hold on. One more month. One more month of being ‘happy’. One more month
of being miserable and hiding it. One more month until rest.
Just one more month.
Chapter End Notes
Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought in the comments. Leave a Kudos if
you're up to it and be on the lookout for the next chapter! See you soon and happy
holidays!
Finished
Chapter Notes
Two chapters in one night?! What?!? I know, I know! I figured that cause they were so
short I could stand to post two in one day. Hope you enjoy Will having second thoughts!


Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal ideation
- Self-harm
- Self-hatred
About a week after he and El made bracelets and Will realized that he was betraying his sister
because of his love for her boyfriend, Will finishes.
He leans back from his desk with a shaky breath. It’s done. Seventy-four pages of apologies
and goodbyes and little sketches here and there. It’s all done - and three weeks ahead of
schedule.
Will skims over them in a quick review. They look good. No grammar mistakes, no spelling
mistakes, consistent and even in tone… a good way to say his final thoughts.
As he looks at the pages scattered over his desk, Will has too many thoughts and feelings to
even understand or name them. He- he’s really going to do this. These are his last words in
front of him. In precisely twenty-seven days, he’s going to commit suicide.
Will exhales a shaky breath as he blinks the tears from his eyes and starts to put the letters
into labeled envelopes. Mom, Jonathan, El, Lucas, Mike, Dustin, Max, his grandma, Lonnie
(it’s more of a forgiving rant than a goodbye on that one, but he still said what he needed
to)... all that.
After fourteen letters, Will has to stop. His hands are shaking, even though he’s willing them
not to, and his eyes are tearing up so much that he’s worried that the papers are going to stain
if they fall.
He sets them aside and puts his face in his hands. This is his last month alive. Is- is he really
ready to die? Is this really what he wants to do? He’s fourteen years old. Is this really his best
option?
With an angry huff, he pulls away from the darkness of his hands and wipes his cheeks. He
can’t be having second thoughts. He can’t be weak. He has to do this.
Will looks at his wrists. In the safety of the yellow room, he lets himself wear his sleeves
rolled up with no concealer. Over the past few months of being out at school, he’s done
hundreds and hundreds of new cuts, and while he tries to save his wrists for bad nights, those
have been getting more and more common as the kids at school get meaner and meaner.
He lightly runs his fingers over some of them. Some of the older, shallower ones have already
healed into thin, distinct white lines, while some of the deeper older ones have turned into
raised red scars. Ones he did over a week ago are scabbed into pale red marks that are slowly
knitting together, while the ones he did most recently are still open and dark. He’s been going
deeper every time he does it, and they’ve gone from skin cut open to white-and-yellow fat
revealed to the red fibers of muscle.
Will soothes himself by saying that what he’s going to do is the same as what he’s already
doing. He’ll cut just like any other day, just a bit deeper. He’ll take his pills just like normal,
just a few more than usual. He just has to do what he always does, just a bit more, and then
he dies like he should have years ago. He’ll finish the job for all the people and things that
have hurt him and then he’ll sleep forever.
That’s what death is, right? Just an eternal sleep?

Will doesn’t mind that. He’s so, so tired. He could use a good sleep, and it would be nice to
not have to ever wake up. He could just be an entity. No body to be imperfect or hate.
Nobody to hurt him. No thoughts to rip his heart to shreds. Just that feeling of drifting off
into a better world.
With a clearing of his throat and a rub of his nose, he starts to put his letters into envelopes
again. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s just what he always does and then he sleeps.
Besides, he’s living on borrowed time anyway, right?
To be honest, Will had never expected to live this long. When he was younger, he had figured
that his father would kill him in a drunken rage. Then Lonnie left, and that couldn’t happen
anymore, so he figured that one day a bully like Troy would try to kill him and succeed.
And then the Upside Down happened. Will figured that would be his end. He was stuck in an
alternate dimension with a monster for a week while injured with no food, water, or weapons,
and when that vine forced itself down his throat and he couldn’t breathe, he figured that was
what would finally take him out. But it didn’t. And then he was possessed, and he almost did
die. He even asked for it when he told them to close the gate. But he still somehow survived.
Will’s lived through his father, bullying, the Demogorgon, the Mind Flayer, the monster at
Starcourt, and his own brain. There have been so many threats to Will’s life.
This is a good thing. He’s paying his debt, getting what he deserves, and getting to rest all in
one fell swoop. This is a good thing.
But if it’s such a good thing, why is he crying?
He mutters a curse as some of his tears get on the paper.

Will thinks to himself that he needs to stop crying. This is what he wants. He’s being a baby.
This is what he wants. What’s even his problem?
With a sob and another muffled curse, he gets up and goes over to his bed, where he lies on
his side as he tries to stop crying, just stop crying, what’s wrong with you?
Will reaches over to his bedside drawer and pulls out his Walkman, which he puts over his
ears and turns up all the way. Pink Floyd. Nice.
You’re going to miss music. Are you really so sure that you want to kill yourself? Won’t there
be things that you’ll miss? the rational little voice in the back of his brain says.
Will ignores it and instead cries as ‘Comfortably Numb’ echoes so loudly in his brain that he
almost can’t hear his thoughts, which are simultaneously both egging his suicidal ideation on
and begging him to stop. They don’t matter. No matter what, he’s doing this, and as soon as
his tears stop, he’ll finish up his letters, gather the pills he’s going to overdose with, and work
on the only other loose end: Mike’s painting.
If he can just pull himself together, he can carry on until it’s time.
Just gotta keep it together.
Chapter End Notes
Well, what'd ya think? I hope you enjoyed (wait no), and please leave a comment or
Kudos if you had thoughts or feelings on it! Happy holidays and have a good day!
Call
Chapter Notes
Hey! I was going to post this on Christmas, but I'm too impatient lol. Next chapter is
officially the start of the season 4 storyline, and I'm so excited to get it up. Please enjoy!

Overall rating: PG-13

Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal thoughts
- Self-hatred
- Pushing friends away
- Language
It's been a week since Will's suicide note and letters were finished, and ever since, he’s spent
all his time on school, running, quietly drawing, or painting Mike’s painting. He’s actually
making two: one of the Party fighting a dragon, another (more personal) one of the day Mike
and Will met.
He isn't sure why he's painting the second. Maybe it's for the nostalgia, maybe it’s just a way
for him to get the homesick feeling and ache out of his heart, but either way, he's painting it.
Today, he’s drawing on the couch as El watches TV. He’s absentmindedly doodling a drawing
of Chester, his old dog. They buried him in the backyard of their home in Hawkins. The walls
that held so many horrible memories held so many good ones, too. Will wonders - if there's
actually an afterlife, will he see those he lost? Will he see Chester? Will he see Bob again?
Will the people dead because of him be there? Will he be able to make amends and
apologize? He isn't sure whether he wants there to be an afterlife or not. He isn't sure whether
he wants happiness or rest. It’s a weird question to have to ponder.
His questioning is interrupted by the phone ringing from the other room. He doesn’t think too
much of it, as it's probably another work call for his mom, but it apparently is not.
“Will! Phone’s for you!” his mom calls.
Will gets up from the couch, mind speeding as he attempts to puzzle out who could be calling
for him.
“Hello?” Will asks into the receiver.
“Hello, sir, can I speak to Will Byers?” a male voice asks.
“I’m Will Byers. Who is this?” Will says. He knows this voice. It’s so familiar. Who is it?
“Will?” comes after a minute. “I- It’s Mike.”
“Oh my God, Mike?” Will asks disbelievingly. Mike’s voice got so much deeper. When did
that happen?
“Will! Oh my God, I’m so glad that you picked up! How are you?” Mike asks.
“I’m doing alright. How are you? How’s Hawkins?” Will asks.
“It’s just fine here. Tell me about California! El says that you both have a ton of friends. Is it
as sunny as everyone says? Tell me everything!” Mike says.
Will blinks as he tries to come up with a response. He and El… do not have a ton of friends,
to put it mildly. What other lies has she told Mike?
“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty sunny all the time. Uh… yeah, El and I are, uh… both pretty popular
here! It’s pretty great!” Will says. Shit. Why did he just lie like that?
“Wait, really?” Mike asks. “That’s- that’s crazy! Are you, like, a jock now? Since you’re
popular?”
“Uh… well, I guess. I’m on the cross-country and track teams for the school and I have a
letterman jacket, so… maybe?” Will says.
“Well, that makes both you and Lucas. Did you know that he joined the basketball team?”
Mike asks.
“Yeah, actually! He’s talked about it in some of his letters. It sounds really fun. I’m happy for
him.” Will says.
“...I guess. He just seems different ever since he joined, you know?” Mike says.
Will tries to think of what to say to that. “Well… sometimes change is a good thing. And I
think that if basketball really makes Lucas happy, then he should keep doing it.”
“...Yeah, I guess. I just miss the old Party the way it used to be, you know? I miss you being
here and I miss Max acting like herself and I miss Lucas just having us. It kinda sucks.”
“You’re telling me.” Will laughs. “Being away from you guys in Hawkins sucks. I miss it -
and you guys - so much.”
“I- hold on, I thought you were having a good time in California?” Mike asks.
“Uh- uh- yeah! Yeah, El and I are having a great time here, but there’s no place like home,
you know?” Will says, only stuttering a little bit on the lies.
“Heh. Yeah.” Mike says before getting really quiet. “I really missed you.” he says.
Will doesn’t mention that a phone works both ways and that Mike could have called months
ago. (Will tried a few times a month, usually in the middle of the day on a weekend, but each
time, nobody answered. At least Mike’s calling now).
“I missed you too.” he says instead.
It’s silent for a moment, both ends filled with quiet breathing.
“So, uh, I’m coming to California.” Mike says after a minute or two.
“I know. March 22, over Spring Break. I can’t wait to see you.” Will says.
“I’m excited too. I can’t wait to see you and El.” Mike says.
Another wave of guilt crashes into Will and pulls him under. Of course. Mike isn’t coming to
see him, he’s coming to see El. His girlfriend. God, Will’s so stupid, getting his hopes up.
He’s ridiculous. Mike doesn’t care about Will anymore. That was made obvious by last
summer, and if not then, definitely by the fact that he never answered any of Will’s letters or
calls. Mike doesn’t care about Will anymore, and Will can’t blame him. Mike deserves to be
happy, even if that means that Will isn’t a part of his life.
Love hurts. Will knows this after years of experience. And his love for Mike cuts deep. It cuts
deeper every time he realizes that Mike isn’t ever going to love him back. It cuts deeper
every time he hears Mike laugh or speak or sees him smile and knows that he’ll never see
that smile and hear that laugh at three in the morning as they’re quietly chatting in the safety
of one of their homes. He’s never going to get to love Mike and have it reciprocated or
accepted, and it feels like a dagger carving through his chest.
So what’s Will going to do?
He’s going to drive that dagger deeper into his heart by pushing Mike away.
“Why- so, uh, why are you calling?” Will asks, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.
“Oh. Um…” Mike pauses, but after a quiet moment, he speaks again. “I was calling because,
uh… uh… I was wanting to ask if you were okay with sharing a bedroom with me when I get
there in three weeks? I figured that your mom and Jonathan wouldn’t want me sharing a
room with El. But, like, if you don’t want to, I can share with Jonathan or sleep on the
couch.”
“It’s fine. You can stay in my room.” Will says flatly. It hurts to be apathetic, but caring hurts
even more. “I don’t mind. Anyways, I have some homework to do. It was nice hearing from
you, Mike.”
“Oh.” Mike says quietly. “Yeah. Yeah, you should get that done. Call me soon, okay? I’ll see
you in three weeks.” Mike pauses, clearly wanting to say something else, but he doesn’t,
instead just saying “Okay. Bye, Will. Say hi to your mom and El and Jonathan for me. See
you soon.”
“Yep. Sounds good. See you soon, Mike. Bye.” Will says.
It’s another fifteen or twenty seconds of quiet breathing on both ends before Will finally
makes himself hang up.
He looks at the phone with an empty expression, feeling that same ache both fill and empty
his heart.
Will goes upstairs and finishes the painting of the swingset. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it
does ease it a little bit. At least he’ll get to see Mike soon, even if it’s not how Will wants it to
be.
Chapter End Notes
For those wondering, yes, it was a fake-ass excuse to call on Mike’s part. He just missed
his boyfriend. Also, the reason that he paused after Will confirmed that it was him was
because he was having a gay crisis over Will’s new, deep voice - he had expected Will’s
voice from season 3, not season 4. We love two (2) disaster gays.
Hope you enjoyed and see you soon! Happy holidays!

One More Week
Chapter Notes
Hello, happy Christmas Eve! I hope you enjoy the long chapter (almost 20 pages in
Google Docs) and have a good holiday! Leave a Kudos or comment if you like the
chapter and are up for it, and have a good day!


Trigger warnings:
- Bullying
- Language
- Slurs (f*ggot, qu33r (derogatorily), sl-t)
- Suicidal ideation
- Fire
- Self-hatred
- Homophobia
- Disordered eating
For the first time in a long time, Will’s having a good morning. Not only does he get to see
his best friend and favorite person tomorrow for the first time in months, but tomorrow, he’ll
also turn fifteen years old.
On top of the excitement about tomorrow, Will weighed and measured himself this morning,
and he’s down to 78.4 pounds and up to 5'8". He figures that if he keeps up his current weight
loss, he can get to his goal of 75 pounds before Mike leaves and Will dies, which would be
amazing. When Will looks in the mirror and looks at his concave stomach and ribs, when he
wraps his fingers around his bicep or thigh and they touch on the other side, he has to smile.
He’s so close to finally looking okay - maybe even to looking good. Three and a half more
pounds to lose and he’ll finally be good again.
But above all, he can’t wait to see Mike. Even if Mike’s coming to see El, Will will take any
chance to be around his best friend, and he honestly just can’t wait.
Will goes downstairs after he paints his arms with concealer and puts on blue jeans, a red-
and-yellow striped short-sleeve shirt, and white sneakers.
He also grabs his presentation board on Alan Turing on the way out of the yellow room, who
he chose to do for his project in History. He honestly really admires Alan Turing, for both his
work and that he did it all while being gay. Will’s a bit worried that it’ll fuel the gay rumors,
but it’ll be fine. People around here don’t care or know about a gay mathematician who lived
forty years ago. Besides, he can actually give a presentation on someone he finds really cool.
Will’s put a ton of effort into it, too. He checked out every book he could find at the library,
drew not one but four pictures of Alan Turing with charcoal, and even printed out the text
with a computer in the computer lab at the library.
Will goes down the stairs with his posterboard, and when he sees his mom in the office, he
goes over and gives her a quick kiss on the top of the head.
She squeezes his hand where it’s resting on her shoulder and turns to look at him. “Good
morning. Excited for Spring Break?” she asks.
“Yep! I’m really looking forward to it.” Will says with a smile.
“I’m glad. Do you have time to eat breakfast?” she asks.
“Mm…” Will checks his watch, even though he’ll say ‘no’ either way. “No, I have a ton to
do today.”
Will can practically hear her frown. “Well, make sure to get something at school.” she says.
“Even if it’s something small.”
“Okay, I will.” Will lies. “Love you.”
“Love you too. See you after school.” she says.
Will gives her a smile and another kiss on the top of the head before going over into the
kitchen, where he pours a cup of black coffee (he hates the bitterness, but it’s energy with
almost no calories, so… worth the unpleasantness) into a red to-go mug.
He leans against the counter and drinks it for a few minutes before going back upstairs and
working on Mike’s painting of the Party. It needs to be finished by tomorrow morning, and
he’s so close to being done, but it also needs to dry in time, so his deadline is tonight. Won’t
hurt to get in a few more brushstrokes before he has to go to school.
Will does a few more strokes to the grass and paints a few clouds before it’s time to leave, at
which point he does a quick brush of his teeth and goes downstairs, where El is sitting at the
counter examining her diorama.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“Yep! Are you?” he asks.
“Yes! I am excited to show my project.” she says excitedly.
“Alright then! You get your Eggos?” he asks.
“Yes!” she tells him.
“Brushed your teeth?” he asks.

“Yes!” she repeats.
“Got everything you’ll need?” Will asks, half-joking at this point.
“Yes, yes! Let’s go!” she says, rolling her eyes with a smile.
They go out into the van, with El laughing and chatting as Will quietly sips his coffee and
listens as he walks alongside. Their pattern continues on the ride to school, at which point
they get out of the van and walk shoulder-to-shoulder down the hall. El waves at a few
people. Will keeps his head down and looks at the floor in front of him.
Eventually, they get to History, where they sit next to each other.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees El get hit with a spitball. Upon seeing her expression, a
spark of anger flares in his gut, and he gets the urge to punch Jake’s lights out. However, he
immediately suppresses the violent impulse, and instead settles for shooting Jake, Angela,
and their friends the dirtiest look he can muster. Will can handle them tormenting him, but
nobody touches his sister. Ever.
He stops glaring when the teacher comes in and announces that it’s time to start the
presentations. Will listens to a few, some interesting, some not, before Angela gets up there.
“I did my presentation on one of my personal heroes: Helen Keller.” she says with that
sickly-sweet smile, before starting to talk about Helen Keller’s life.
Will rolls his eyes several times while Angela talks. Oh, please. As if you wouldn’t bully
Helen Keller for her disabilities. If you existed in the same time and place, you wouldn’t leave
that girl alone.
When Angela finishes hers, Will claps disinterestedly while he rolls his eyes again. Such
bullshit.
However, his interest is rekindled when it’s El’s turn next. He gives her a reassuring nod and
look upon seeing how nervous she is, and she does manage to get up in front of the class.
“Hi. For my hero…” she says, turning her diorama around to face the class. “I… I chose my
dad. And for my visual aid, I made a direyama of our cabin.”
Will winces. He should have taught her not just how to make one, but how to say it.
“More like diarrhea.” someone says to laughter behind Will.
Once again, Will has to quash the homicidal impulses that come when El’s face falls like it is
now.
“Quiet, everyone.” Ms. Gracie says. “Let’s be respectful.”
Will laughs internally. Does she actually think that the class is going to listen?
“This is my dad.” El says, lifting up a small figurine. “His name is Hopper. He made the best
Eggos, and… we used to watch Miami Vice on Fridays.”
Will’s attention is pulled from El when he feels something against his leg. With a look down,
he sees Lucie’s shoe rubbing against his leg. He looks up at her face, and even though she
gives him a nervous smile, he pulls his leg away and watches the front of the class again. Will
can feel her disappointment.
Ever since he got outed, she’s been trying to make it right. Lucie’s called the house a few
times trying to talk to Will, but he hasn’t been interested in her efforts. At school, she usually
pretends that he doesn’t exist, as she’s still friends with Angela’s group. It’s better than her
being one of his tormentors, he supposes. When her friends are some of the kids who are
constantly making his life hell, it’s hard to want to be around her. He does feel bad about it,
though - Lucie’s genuinely a good person, and it wasn’t her fault what happened. He also
doesn’t blame her for mostly ignoring him - he can’t expect a girl to whom he can’t give
much to blow up her whole social life and get in the line of fire by being his friend. But in the
end, he just can’t make himself be her friend only part of the time.
“This is Mr. Fibbly.” El says, holding up another figurine. “He is a squirrel.”
Everyone laughs, and Will fills with that anger again. She’s trying her best. She literally only
learned how to truly speak, like, two years ago. She literally has a mental disorder slowing
her development (it’s called ‘developmental trauma disorder’, and she was diagnosed about
three months ago). What’s wrong with them, laughing at her? How dare they?
“What?” she asks worriedly. Will wants to just go up to the front of the class and do this for
her, protect her. He can’t.
“And… this is the alarm that my dad made. I… I was never scared because… beca-
because…”
Angela raises her hand with that fake-kind smile, and Will really wishes that he had been
raised to believe that it was okay to hit a girl.
“Uh, Angela, let’s save questions until the end of Jane’s presentation.” Ms. Gracie says.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just, like, confused. I thought this was a presentation about a historical
hero.” Angela says, lowering her hand.
“My dad was in the newspaper.” El defends.
“Your local paper?” Angela laughs, and the rest of the class laughs along with her. Don’t lose
it don’t lose it don’t lose it- “I just don’t think that’s what Ms. Gracie meant by historical.
This is supposed to be about famous people.”
“My dad is famous.” El says after a moment. “He… he saved lots of lives. In a mall fire.”
The room is silent, much to Will’s relief.
“He was a hero for people.” El says steadfastly. “And he was my hero too.”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all, but it’s okay.” Angela says. God, Will hates her. “I am so
sorry, Ms. Gracie. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted clarity on the rules of the
assignment.”
“Well, technically, you are correct, but Jane has decided to do her father. So, please continue
with your presentation, Jane.”
El finishes with tears in her eyes, and when she sits back down, she completely ignores Will’s
attempts to talk to or comfort her.
There’s two more presentations, during which Will continues to attempt to get El’s attention.
“Will!” Ms. Gracie calls.
“Yes?” Will asks, looking forward immediately.
“Your turn.” she says.
With a deep breath, Will stands with shaking legs and gets in front of the class, setting up his
posterboard where the class can see his drawings.
“For, uh, for my presentation, I researched Alan Turing. He was a master codebreaker and
inventor in World War Two, and his breaking of the Enigma Code ended the war years early,
ensuring the Nazi’s loss and saving millions of lives. Alan Turing was a true hero. He-”
A hand raises in the audience, and Will braces himself for more of Angela’s comments, but
the questioner isn’t Angela. It’s Jake.
“Wasn’t Turing a faggot?” he asks.
Will tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs just won’t expand. His anxiety in the back of his
mind helpfully suggests that maybe the pleurodesis that connected his lungs to his chest wall
so that he could breathe is failing and his lungs are collapsing like they did twice before.
“Jake-” Ms. Gracie starts to rebuke.
Will tells his anxiety to shut the hell up.
“Um, Mr.- Mr. Turing was accused of homosexuality and underwent chemical castration in
the early fifties, but no matter his sexual orientation, he was a hero and saved millions. He
invented the first computer, and his work in philosophy, biology, mathematics, and computer
science contributed so much to the world. His, um, his lifestyle shouldn’t undermine his
achievements.” Will says.
He can see his classmates exchange looks, whispers, and giggles.
“Alright, then. Carry on.” Jake dismisses.
Will blinks twice and takes a wheezing breath as he tries to remain calm.
He finishes his presentation as he tries to ignore the laughter and looks, and when the bell
rings, he’s never been happier to leave.
However, instead of running off and hiding like he wants to, he stays by El’s side as she
walks out of the classroom with her head down.
“El, it wasn’t that bad.” he attempts.
“Friends don’t lie.” El snaps.
“I’m not lying. El- El, come on.” Will says.
She ignores him as they go through the rest of the day, despite Will’s best efforts. Will even
braves the cafeteria to be near her and try to help. However, it doesn’t work.
Between El ignoring him and the comments about Alan Turing echoing in his head, he’s
having a rough day, which is somehow made even worse by Biology.
“Now, today we’re going to be talking about plant biology. Many plants are vines, and they
are some of the most interesting simpler organisms..."
Dr. Dominick draws a diagram of a vine in black marker, and the shape and color-
He's twelve. He’s hiding in the library, hoping, praying, begging that the- whatever that
creature is- won't find him, that it'll leave him alone.
As it leaves, he leans relieved against the library shelf, but a vine wraps itself around his
throat.
He frantically claws at it, desperate for freedom and breath, but it doesn’t work. Another vine
forces itself into his mouth and then down his throat, and as his vision fades to black and he
goes cold and numb, all he can feel is the vine coiling in his stomach and the one around his
throat retreating.
Will can’t breathe. He gasps for air as quietly as he can in class, careful not to alert anyone to
his circumstances.
He glances down at his backpack. The yellow card that Will hates, it could get him out of
class, he could run, he could get air again, if he just used the yellow card-
Before Will even knows it, the card’s in his hand, and he’s about to raise it.
He immediately shoves it to the bottom of his pocket. Will would rather go to hell in a
handbasket than admit that he can’t handle everything by himself, and that means that he sure
as hell isn’t going to use that cursed yellow card. He can’t. He has to be strong and tough it
out.
Instead of leaving the classroom, Will pulls out his art notebook and starts sketching with
trembling hands, which quickly becomes messy as the shaking combines with dyskinesia
spasms.
He curses quietly and continues drawing, even though it looks horrible with the stray marks.
After three pages of just scribbling, hardly even drawing at that point, he can almost breathe
normally again, which comes just as class ends.
Today, Biology is the last class of the day, and so he leaves the classroom with his head down
and goes down the stairs and through the halls.
He goes out into the courtyard, immediately looking for El, but as he’s walking about, he’s
tripped and goes sprawling.
“Oh, whoops.” Jake laughs. “Here, let me help you up.”
He kicks Will in the back before grabbing away the poster. He looks over it with a sneer.
“You know, I think that I should take this. Maybe you’re being influenced by all these stories
of faggots from the past. Who knows, maybe if we take away all these horrible influences, we
can fix you! Wouldn’t that be great? Maybe we could even fix you before you get AIDS!”
Jake laughs.
Will can hear the crowd’s reactions, varying from quiet murmurs to outright laughter. It’s
taking all his effort to keep the tears in his eyes from falling.
“Oh, wait. Already too late for that.” Jake sneers. “You know, looking at you, you don’t just
seem like a faggot, but you really seem like you’re the type of queer to be a slut, too. I know
your kind are liars, but I’m honestly curious. How many other queers have you slept with?
Hm? How many? Do you even know which one you got AIDS from?” Jake laughs.
Will stays silent, cursing himself as the tears finally brim over.
He looks up from the ground in front of his face when he hears the sound of cardboard
tearing.
“Wait- wait, no-” Will says as Jake rips apart days of hard work.
Will takes as deep of a breath as he can around the pressure in his chest and the lump in his
throat as the pieces of his project are thrown onto the ground and Jake strides closer.
Jake grabs his shoulder and yanks him up. “Come on, faggot, answer me.”
Will stays silent. He just has to wait this out. Jake’s going to get bored if Will keeps being
unresponsive, and he’ll leave him alone.
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey! What’s going on here?” Will hears Ms. Gracie shout, pushing her
way through the crowd. Jake immediately lets go of him and steps away. “What’s going on?
Will?” she asks.
Will stays silent.
“Will. Did someone do this?” she asks, gesturing to his ripped project.
“I-” Will tries to think. “I tripped. It was an accident. Everything’s fine.” he says.
She looks at him scrutinizingly, before she turns to Jake and sighs. “Alright, Jake, come with
me.”
The crowd ‘ooh’s.
“What?! Why?!” Jake asks as she pulls him away by his sleeve.
“Let’s go.” she says.
“I didn’t do anything! Will! Tell her, Will, I didn’t do anything! Tell her, Will!”
Will just starts picking up the pieces of his project.
He sees a pair of Converse with designs that he painted on the fabric stop in front of him and
crouch, immediately helping to pick up the pieces.
“Will, you are alright?” El asks. Will doesn’t answer, too embarrassed by both what just
happened and the tears that are still rolling. “I am sorry, Will, they should not have done that.
We can fix it. It is not that bad. We will fix it together.”
Will takes the pieces from her hands and combines them with his before walking away. He
doesn’t say a word on the way back to the house in the van, and as soon as they’re back, he
goes upstairs and locks himself in his room, turning up the Walkman all the way and drawing
at his desk, making darker and darker images the longer he draws. Even when they get
disturbing (even by Will’s standards), he keeps drawing, pouring his pain and frustration and
humiliation onto the page.
Around the sixth or seventh drawing, he remembers that he has the yellow card in his pocket,
and how he hates it.
Will opens his window, takes the lighter he keeps in his desk (and that he burns himself with
when he feels like the Upside Down and Mindflayer are too close to being in control), and
lights the card on fire, dropping it into his wastebasket, empty but for a few pieces of scrap
paper.
As he watches his 'accommodation' go up in smoke and burn to a crisp, he finds solace not
only in the fact that the temptation to use it and the shame over his need for it is burning with
the paper, but in that he has only one more week before he can finally die.
One more week, during which his best friend will be here. One more week, and it'll be over.
One more week.
As soon as they’re home, Will stomps up the stairs and shuts himself in his room. Jonathan
looks up the stairs after him. What happened? Why is he so upset?
He shrugs it off. Jonathan’ll just ask later.

Both Jonathan and El go to the kitchen, where El sits at the counter with a thoughtful and
concerned expression and Jonathan roots through the cabinets for a snack.
“Jonathan?” she asks after a minute.
“Hm?” he answers, still more involved in his quest for food than the conversation.
“What does ‘faggot’ mean?” she asks.
Well, now she has his attention.
Jonathan whips around. “Where did you hear that word?”
She looks so solemn. “They call Will that at school. I thought it was not too bad, like it did
not mean anything, but it makes Will really sad. Today a boy hurt Will and called him a
faggot, and now he is upset, and I realized that maybe it is bad.”
Jonathan takes a deep breath and pushes his palms against the counter. “That word is a very
bad word - that you should never, ever use - for a gay person.”
“What is gay?” El asks.
“Well…” Jonathan says, trying to think of how to explain it in El-friendly terms. “It’s where
a boy likes boys or when a girl likes girls. Like a gay boy would want a boyfriend instead of
a girlfriend, and a gay girl would want a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend.”
“...So it is love?” El asks after a moment.
“Yeah! Gay people just love people of their same gender.” Jonathan says.
El sits for a minute. “If it is love, why is there a bad word for it?”
Jonathan takes a deep breath. “Because it’s different. People are afraid of what they don’t
understand, and most people don’t understand gay love. So most people don’t like gay people
because they’re afraid.”
El is silent for a minute, and Jonathan can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“Is Will gay?” El finally asks.
Jonathan gives a shaky laugh. “Well, that I don’t know about. He might be, he might not. If
he is, it’s his choice to tell us whenever he wants to, and we aren’t going to push him.”
“But… why do they call Will that?” El asks. “If they do not know if he is gay?”
“Because kids are mean. And the second they find - or even think they find - something
different about someone, they’ll use it to be mean. That’s what they’ve done to Will before,
and they’ll do it again.”
El nods to herself. “I will not let them do that again. I will go do homework. Talk to you
later.” she says, getting up from the counter.
“Wait, El-” Jonathan says. “Look, we can support gay people, and we can support Will, but
don’t go around trying to change people’s minds. It’ll just get you in trouble. You aren’t
gonna change their minds, so all you can do is be kind and supportive to gay people. Okay?
Don’t fight them on being cruel, just don’t be cruel yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.” El says, nodding before going off up the stairs.

Jonathan looks up the stairs after her and sighs. Maybe this is why Will’s been so… different
lately. Jonathan’s been so worried. Will’s lost so much weight, and he constantly wears long
sleeves, and he’s just so quiet and reserved, even more than he used to be. And Jonathan
knows something’s wrong, even if Will’ll deny it if he asks.
He takes a bite of a piece of bread that he put peanut butter on as he thinks about what to do
about his brother. As soon as Jonathan’s done with his snack, he’ll go check on Will, try to
get him to open up, maybe even convince him to talk about what’s happening at school.
Maybe he’ll make Will a snack like he used to when Will would get home from elementary
school. Will’s so skinny, it couldn’t hurt to try to get him to eat something.
Jonathan nods to himself. He loves his brother so much, and he’s gonna take care of him in
every way he can, just like he promised when Will was little. He’ll go and talk to him in a
minute. Just as soon as he finishes his food and makes Will something.
He’ll take care of his brother in a minute. They have plenty of time.
Chapter End Notes
LET'S MURDER JAKE, GUYS
But seriously, what did you think? What did you like? What didn't you? Let me know in
the comments!
Rink-O-Mania
Chapter Notes
Hello! It has been precisely 3 days since I posted so, naturally, here's a... *looks at
smudged writing on hand* thirty-page chapter! (Why do I do this to myself? I don't even
know at this point). I hope you enjoy (oh wait - not this angsty-ass chapter).
In case I don't update by New Years, happy 2024, too.
Shout out to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, promisesdreamer,

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, and Ngalu for giving me the motivation to write this. Hope
you read this and think it's good.
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Homophobia (internalized and external)
- Slurs (homophobic and antisemitic)
- Severe bullying
- Public humiliation
- Violence
- Disordered eating
- Self-harm
- Vomit
- Sex mentions
- Self-hatred
- Language (bitch, shit, bullshit, fuck, etc)
- Fighting between friends
- Blood
Despite Will’s crappy day yesterday, he's overjoyed in the morning. He's going to see his best
friend in a few hours, and he is now officially fifteen years old.
What Jake said and did yesterday doesn’t matter - it was just a school project Jake destroyed,
and as Will won’t ever be going back to school due to the timeline of his suicide, he’ll never
have to see his tormentors at school again. It’s just a little blip that he’ll never have to deal
with again. It isn’t a big deal.
Will goes down the stairs with a smile and a carefully-rolled painting in his hands. He’s
decided to give Mike the one of the Party’s battle with the dragon at the airport (or on the
way back to the house from the airport) as a welcome gift, and then use the one of the swings
to confess later. The one of the Party could work to confess too, but he’ll use that as a backup
- Will hopes the nostalgia in the swingset painting will make Mike hate him less for his
feelings once he’s gone.
As Will drinks a cup of black coffee and takes his pills (his go-to breakfast) and tries not to
crumple the painting in his excitement, he sees El, coming into the kitchen with a cream-
colored dress with rainbow stripes over a checkered flannel shirt and socks up to her mid-
calf.
“I wanted to wear color today.” she says, giving a little spin.
Will gives her their typical once-over. The clothes that she picked kinda don’t go together,
but they’re passable, and since there’s no school and she isn’t in danger of being bullied over
her fashion sense, he doesn’t see why not.
“Lookin’ good, El. Nice twirl.” Will smiles. “I’m so excited to see Mike again.”
“Me too!” she smiles, though it looks slightly odd. She’s probably just nervous to see Mike
after so long, so Will doesn’t question it. “I have a whole plan for today.”
“Oh really?” Will asks. “Do tell.”
“It is a surprise.” El says. “You will hear when I tell Mike.”
Will overdramatically sighs. “Fineee. I guess I’ll hear later.”
El smiles weakly again (which Will frowns a little at - normally when he’s overdramatic to be
funny, she ends up laughing or at least fighting not to) before smoothing her dress. “You are
sure I look good?”
“You look great, El. Promise. Mike loves you, and he’s gonna love your new look.” Will
says, trying not to let his ache at the words show.
She gives a nervous smile. “Okay. If you are sure.”
She sits at the counter as Will makes another cup of coffee, watching him.
“Can I have some?” she asks.
Will gives her a look over his shoulder. “I don’t know about that one, El. It’s really bitter and
it’s super caffeinated and I don’t think you’d like it.”
“I would like some anyway.” she insists.
Will sighs and shrugs at the coffee machine. “Well, if you want.” he says.
He pours some coffee into another mug, which she takes from the counter as she silently
comes up next to him.
She takes a sip and immediately scrunches her face. El makes some noises that sound a lot
like ‘bleck’ as she shakes her head and puts down the mug, which makes Will laugh.
“Well, you didn’t give me a chance to put in sweetener! That’s black coffee, El, it’s a lot more
bitter. I’ll put in some sugar and creamer and see how you like it, huh?” he asks.
She makes another face and hands him the mug, which he wastes no time pouring an
exorbitant amount of sugar and half-&-half into. When that’s done, he gives it back to her,
and she sips before just looking down into the liquid.
“It is better this way.” she nods. “Not good, but better.”
Will laughs as he takes another sip of his own.
“Why do you drink the bitter?” El asks.
“Well, I just like it that way.” he lies.
Will actually really hates black coffee. When he first started drinking it about a month after
Starcourt, he would pour in a ton of sugar and milk to cut the flavor while still getting the
caffeine. But when he realized around mid-November that he was drinking over eight
hundred calories a day in coffee because of the sweetness, he forced himself to start drinking
it black. Eight hundred to maybe ten calories - big difference. So even if he hates black
coffee, he’ll drink it for the promise of both energy (which he’s always lacking) and getting
the perfect body faster.
“Why?” she asks, making a face at him.
Will tries to think of what to tell her. “Well, it just means fewer calories in exchange for more
energy. Besides, I’m used to it. I don’t need all that sugar.” he eventually says.
“What are calories?” El asks.
“Don’t worry about that.” Will tells her. He doesn’t need for her to get obsessed with calories
and her weight. Will loves her too much to let her suffer like that. She deserves to enjoy food
and clothing and be able to look in the mirror and like what she sees. El deserves the world,
and that means that Will won’t let her think about food like that. He won’t let her get the idea
that she isn’t pretty enough, because she truly is. “Just enjoy the sweeter coffee.”
She drinks the mug, and he finishes his third before it’s time to leave.
On the way to the airport in Argyle’s van, with Jon and Argyle in the front and El and Will in
the back, it takes all of Will’s strength to not kick his feet or be loud and to just sit there as
they go to pick up Mike.
It’s a couple miles to the airport, during which the van is quiet except for Argyle’s music and
chatter, and Will’s smiling so much that his cheeks hurt. As they walk through the airport to
the correct gate, Will honestly feels like he’s floating, and when they find a seat to wait for
Mike’s arrival, he ends up bouncing in his, so happy and excited that he has to express it
somehow.
“Flight 623 just landed from Indianapolis and will be arriving at gate two.” the announcer
says after a while. As Mike gets closer to the gate where the Byers are waiting, Will’s
practically vibrating in his seat in excitement, beaming so much that his face hurts. He’s
missed Mike so, so, so much. He can’t believe that he’s about to see him again, and he’s so
excited and terrified and thrilled and a bunch of other emotions in a messy but bright splatter
that’s taking over his entire brain.
“Flight 623 at gate two.” the announcer says again.
As Mike gets off of the plane, he scans over the crowd before seeing the Byers, whom he
walks over to with a smile after a minute.
Will’s struck by how different and good Mike looks. He’s gotten so much taller, and his dark
hair is longer and curlier now. His face is more angular, and he looks so different from the
last time Will saw him. He’s always been good-looking, but it’s almost like Mike’s growing
into features that were never out-of-place.
Mike’s also wearing the most ridiculous outfit Will’s ever seen, though, which detracts from
Mike’s natural attractiveness. The yellow button-up, visor, shorts, sunglasses, and flip-
flops… man, Mike’s lucky that Will would love him no matter what he’s wearing, because he
looks fucking stupid.
Still, though, it’s Mike, and Will’s so thrilled to see him.

-
Mike gets off the plane, wincing as he stretches his legs. Fun fact: economy is not fun when
you’re tall, especially on a six-hour flight.
He looks around for the Byers in the seats. El had said that it was Jonathan, her, and Will
coming to pick Mike up, so he’ll have to find them-
He sees them, taking up seats a little ways away from the gate.
El looks nice, with her hair in a long style with bangs just like Joyce’s and wearing a flannel
shirt underneath a dress patterned with blocks of color. She’s grown a lot, and she looks more
grown-up and feminine than the last time Mike saw her. It’s a different look, but in a good
way.
His thoughts go in a panicky spiral of holy shit when he sees Will, though.
He’s gotten a lot taller, and he looks really handsome, even in the lighting of the airport. Even
from about a dozen yards away, Mike can see that Will’s got a sharp jawline, cheekbones,
and a more prominent brow ridge now. His olive skin dotted with freckles and moles looks
fantastic, made to look darker by the lighting, his blue flannel, and his dark brown hair. He
looks amazing.
Above all, what makes him look so good, though, is how damn happy he is. Will’s absolutely
beaming, and that smile that’s always been enough to light up a whole room is on full
display.
Will’s gone from a short, squishy-cheeked kid to a genuinely gorgeous teenager over the past
six months, and Mike really doesn’t know how to handle this. Not only is his smile
infectious, but combined with how good he looks, Mike is trying and failing not to start
blushing right now.
Mike tells himself to get a grip and stop looking at his best friend like he’s- like he’s some
girl to check out. It’s gross and wrong and predatory to look at Will like that, and he needs to
quit it unless he wants to make the next week very hard for himself (and probably Will and
El, too).
He smiles and walks over, toasting with the bouquet he brought (what the fuck was that
movement? Jesus, he’s a mess) and waving.
“Mike!” El smiles, immediately running over and kissing him. She’s your girlfriend, kiss her
back, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to if she does-
Mike smiles at her the second she pulls away. “Ah! Oh, careful, careful, careful, you’re
squishing your present!” he says as she pulls him into a hug.
He hands her the bouquet, and he sees her face fall as she looks at the tag. Mike winces
internally. He knew it was a bad idea. “It’s a gift. I, uh, I handpicked those for you in
Hawkins. I know you like yellow, but now I’m realizing it’s too much yellow. I know you
also like purple, so I got purple as well. So I kinda did, like, a 70/30 split kinda thing.” Mike
rambles.
“They’re perfect. Thank you.” El says with a smile, turning away.
“Oh!” Mike says as Will comes at him with his smile and his arms out for a hug, and holy
shit, holy shit, holy shit, he’s hot, oh no, what’s he going to do, what is he going to do-
“Hey, how ya doing?” Mike asks, giving Will a side hug with several bro taps and an arm
punch.
Well, Mike doesn’t know what he wanted to do, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Will looks so dejected, and Mike’s filled with so much guilt and self-hatred over it that he
just freezes-
“Hey, Mike.” Jonathan says.
“How you doing?” Mike asks.
“Yeah, good, man.” Jon says.
“Great. Uh, what’s that?” Mike asks, looking pointedly at the painting. Will has been painting
a lot, but he won’t show me what he’s working on. Maybe it is for a girl. I think there is
someone he likes, because he has been acting… weird.
“Um, it’s nothing. Just this painting I’ve been working on.” Will says with a noncommittal
movement.
“Cool.” Mike lies. As embarrassed as he is to admit it, he’s jealous and a little angry. Not
only is Will painting for a girl he apparently likes (which makes Mike more upset than he
cares to admit), but he brought it to the airport to pick Mike up, which is objectively a shitty
thing to do.
“That’s a rad shirt, man. Ocean Pacific?” a guy asks from next to Jonathan.
“Oh, hey, Mike. This is, uh, my friend Argyle.” Jonathan says.
Mike blinks. He thought that guy was a random weirdo, not a friend of the Byers. “Oh. Hey.”
The guy - Argyle - steps forward and wraps his arms around Mike. He stands there
awkwardly and tries to resist the urge to step away.
“Oh, no, no, no. No, it’s a shitty knockoff. Yeah. But don’t sweat it, I’ll get you the good
threads out here.” Argyle says. Then, after a minute, he says “I heard a lot about your sister.”
Mike looks at Jonathan, who now looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Uh. O-Okay. Um, should
we go?” Jonathan asks.
“Yeah, this is kinda awkward, man.” Argyle says.
“Yeah, so awkward.” Mike agrees.
“I really thought it was Ocean Pacific…” Mike hears Argyle mutter to Jonathan as he puts his
arm around El’s shoulders and walks away.
“I have our whole day planned. First, El Rodeo for burritos.” El says.
“What, really? Burritos for breakfast?” Mike laughs.
“Yes. Trust me.” El says.
“Yeah, no, I…” Mike catches Will’s eye and gets distracted from what he was saying before
looking back to ahead. There’s a look to Will’s eyes that Mike can’t quite place. “I trust you.
It’s just a little weird.”
“Then, after burritos, I want to go to Rink-O-Mania.” El says.
“Rink-O-Mania, okay. What’s Rink-O-Mania?” Mike asks.
“It’s the most fun place in Lenora. They have skating and games.” El tells him.
“Sounds awesome. Are your friends gonna meet us?” Mike asks.
“Friends? What friends?” Will says, looking over to El.
She practically whacks him in the chest with how forcefully El gives Will her bouquet. “You
know, Stacy and Angela.”
“Angela?” Will asks with a weird expression.
Oh. Angela must be the girl Will likes. If she’ll be at Rink-O-Mania, it would make sense as
to why Will brought the painting. Mike tries to hide his grimace at the way that jealousy rears
its ugly head again.
“You’ll meet them, I promise.” El says to Mike. “Just not today. I want today to be about me
and you.”
Mike sees Will wilt in the outskirts of his vision as he kisses El’s forehead. Mike tries to
think of why, but he can’t think of why Will’s upset. He’s going to be hanging out with El and
Mike all day, and he’s going to probably see the girl he likes today. Wait- what if Will figured
out that Mike’s a creep? What if he figured out that Mike picked yellow flowers because he
was thinking of Will while he was picking them? What if he figured out that Mike’s- Mike’s
pervertedness is why he couldn’t give Will a proper hug? What if he figured out that the
reason that Mike let the conversation lapse into silence over the phone was because he just
wanted to hear Will’s breathing because it made Mike feel safe? What if, what if, what if?
Mike shakes it off as they go and get into a pizza van, which El promises is very safe and that
it is just Argyle’s main method of transportation, nothing to do with pizza. He doesn’t see
how Will could have figured him out. He’s being careful to be a good boyfriend to El and
careful to suppress the disgusting part of him that has his feelings for Will… not… entirely
platonic.
As they’re riding in the van to the burrito place, Mike tries to figure out the look in Will’s
eyes
After a moment, he realizes it’s the same look that he sees in the soldiers on the news. The
guarded expression that both says and hides so much of what Will’s been through - what he’s
seen. His eyes look like he’s distant, here but a million miles away at the same time. His gaze
looks flat, like he’s looking right through everyone like they’re invisible. Will looks dead
inside. Empty.
It freaks Mike the fuck out.
They’re kids - they shouldn’t have that look. The weariness and vacancy of his friend’s eyes
shouldn’t contrast with the smoothness of his skin, wide eyes, and lack of wrinkles. Will
shouldn’t look like a forty-year-old war veteran trapped in the body of a 14-year-old.
It’s another thing that Mike compartmentalizes to think about later as they go in to get
burritos while Jonathan and Argyle use the drive-through to get their own meals.
El orders a Burrito Barbacoa (with beef, rice, corn, black beans, and pico de gallo), while
Mike gets a Burrito Especial (with beef, cheese, lettuce, sour cream, rice, and beans).
“Will? What are you getting?” Mike asks. The more he looks at Will, the more sure he is that
his friend needs to eat. Though Will’s oversized clothing hides it pretty well, Mike can still
see how thin he is. It’s even evident on his hands and face (which are the only body parts that
aren’t swallowed by Will’s clothes). Will’s bones in the backs of his hands stick out so
severely that the skin dips between them even when they’re relaxed as well as having his
fingers look like twigs, and Will’s sharp facial bone structure looks less natural and more like
the artificial product of being too thin the longer Mike sneaks glances.
“Hm? Oh, I’m not really hungry.” Will says.
“You didn’t eat breakfast yet.” El says. “You should eat.”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t skip meals, Will.” Mike agrees.
“I’m okay-” Will tries again.
“I’ll pay. Just get something to eat.” Mike insists.
Will looks extremely uncomfortable before sighing. “Okay, I’ll have, like, a salad or
something.”
“Come on! We’re at a burrito place and you’re getting a salad?!” Mike says. “Get a burrito,
dude!”
“It is known for its burritos.” El nods. “You should get a burrito.”
“Alright, fine! I’ll get a burrito!” Will gives, looking a little pissed off before schooling his
expression into a blank slate again.
“Great!” Mike says, trying to resist the urge to throw his hands up in frustration.
Will turns to the person behind the counter. “I’ll take a small of whatever he’s having.” he
says, nodding over to Mike.
The guy nods before turning away to go make the burritos as Mike gives a look to the back of
Will’s head. ‘Small portions’ in food joints means they’re really small, and Will’s too thin to
only eat tiny servings. Though Will tries to pay, Mike manages to convince Will to let him
get the bill after a minute of disagreeing.
El, Will, and Mike wait over to the left of the counter before their orders are called, and they
all grab theirs before finding a booth. Mike sneaks a glance at Will’s meal as they search - it’s
about half the size of Mike’s. He hopes that it’ll be enough for Will.
They all find a seat, and as they eat, Mike watches Will. As he eats his, he watches Will cut
his up into tiny pieces, spreading it all around his plate and only eating a few tiny bites. With
each one, he gives a small wince as he chews, and as they’re eating, Will keeps repeating a
pattern over his shirt: he touches his hip, squeezing at the bone, before tucking his fingers
under where his ribs are, rubbing over his collarbone and pushing at it, and making an armlet
around his lower bicep with two fingers before moving his hands to his lap below the table.
He does it not once, not twice, but nine times throughout breakfast.
Will eventually gets up from the table. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Will says before
walking away and looking at the signs over the doors.
Mike watches him as he leaves before looking back to where Will was sitting. As he looks at
Will’s plate, he realizes that he only ate less than a quarter of his already-small meal.
He frowns despite El’s content energy and looks back over to where Will disappeared to with
concern.
Well, that doesn’t seem right, but they’ve been separated for so long that Mike might have
just missed Will losing his appetite and becoming more obsessive than he used to. Still, it
seems odd.
God, Mike hopes that Will’s okay.
Will coughs over the toilet bowl again as he tries to get any last bit of food out of his system.
While he tries not to do this in public (the germs of public bathrooms and the smell of vomit
following him around is… not appealing, to say the least), he also tries not to eat in public,
but Mike had pushed so hard for Will to eat that he couldn’t get out of it without raising
suspicion or feeling guilty, so… here he is.
He leaves the stall rubbing his knuckles where he has marks from the couple dozen times that
he’s had to purge over the past six months and goes over to the sink.
Once he’s done washing his hands and gargling with the tap water to erase the taste and smell
of vomit, Will repeats his reassurance: squeeze at his hip to make sure that the bone still juts
out, tuck his fingers under his ribs to make sure that his stomach’s still concave and his ribs
are prominent, feel how much his collarbone sticks out and make sure that he can tuck his
fingers behind the bone, wrap his hand around his bicep to see if the can still do it and have
space between his connected fingertips and his arm, and then do the same thing with both
hands to his thigh. Just to make sure that he hasn’t somehow ruined his progress with the
seventeen small bites that he ate, to make sure that he’s not too fat, to double- and triple- and
quadruple-check that he’s still okay, that he’s still mostly bone, that he’s not too fat, that he
isn’t too ugly.
Once again, the bones still jut out, his fingers still fit around his limbs and behind his bones,
and he’s still not too fat.
Will sighs in relief, gives himself one more scrutinizing glance in the mirror, and leaves with
a fake smile carefully plastered onto his face back to his sister and his friend. It’s going to be
hard to balance losing the last 3.4 pounds in the next week with keeping his loved ones
happy, but if he just tries hard enough, maybe he’ll be able to. Will’s a good liar, after all, and
combine that with dedication, he can do it.
Just have to try harder.
Will walks back to their table, now with just three dishes (two completely empty, one still
mostly full, though messy) instead of food with another fake smile, and as he sits down, he
subtly pops a Tic-Tac into his mouth from his pocket. Mike wonders what it’s for before he
remembers that they’re going to Rink-O-Mania - Will’s probably making sure that his breath
doesn’t smell like burritos when he goes and talks to Angela. Mike rolls his eyes at the
thought, trying to bury the hurt that that it brings.
“Are you ready to go to Rink-O-Mania?” El asks.

“Sure!” Mike says with forced cheerfulness. Will doesn’t answer, but follows along as they
go back out to the van, where they ride over to the Rink-O-Mania. While El talks and Mike
occasionally replies to a question, Will sits in silence, looking out the window and twisting
the painting in his grip like he’s trying to break it in half.
As ashamed as Mike is to admit it, he’s watching Will more closely than he’s watching
Eleven. He’s acting weird, and it’s scaring Mike, even if it’s probably nothing.
They pull up to the Rink-O-Mania, which, in Will’s opinion, is kind of a sensory hell. The
music is loud, the sheer amount of people laughing and chatting is overwhelming, and the
flashing lights are migraine-inducing. He and El have come here twice, once for a party for
his mom’s work, once so that Will could finish teaching her how to skate, and both times
ended with Will crying because he got overwhelmed (which is embarrassing, but crying is
almost always his reaction to too much happening around him). So today’s going to be fun.
Will silently looks out the window, feeling alone. ‘Today’s going to be all about us’ confirms
what he suspected this morning: everyone forgot his birthday. He isn’t mad, though - just a
little sad and lonely. His mom’s too busy with work, and Jonathan’s too high, and El doesn’t
really understand birthdays in the first place, and his friends are either in Indiana or have
been so long that the day doesn’t matter to them (cough cough, Mike). Not to mention the
fact that the only attention that either Mike or El has paid him today was pestering him into
eating and that it’s become so obvious that Mike doesn’t care anymore, proved by that hug at
the airport.
The van squeals to a stop, and Mike helps El out. As they walk in, seemingly forgetting him
and leaving him in the dust, Will gets down carefully before walking after them.
“Hey, Will.” Jonathan calls from the van’s passenger seat.
Will turns to look at Jon with an empty expression.

“Have fun, okay?” Jon says with a forced smile and wave.
“Okay.” Will says flatly before turning back to join up with his friend and sister.
Inside, the lights are all blue, and Dead or Alive’s ‘You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)’ is
playing loudly. He finds Mike and El at the skate counter, where they’re in the process of
checking out some skates. Will gets some as well.
“Have fun.” the person behind the counter says.
“Thanks!” El says, grabbing hers and walking away with Mike by her side. “Bitchin’, right?”
she says to Mike.
“Yeah, bitchin’. Do you come here a lot?” Mike asks.
“Yes.” El says at the same time as Will says “No.”
“Will does not.” El saves. “But I go to parties here.”
“No-” Will tries.
“It’s a big party place.” El says over his objection.
As they sit down to put on their skates, El stops Mike from putting on his skates. “Oh, I
forgot. You need socks.” she says.
“Oh, shit.” Mike says.

“They- they sell them at the counter.” Will says, pointing past Mike to the counter, with his
fingers almost brushing Mike’s chin as he turns to look.
“Oh, okay.” Mike says, immediately getting up and walking over.
He and El sit in silence lacing their skates for a minute, before Will says “How’d you forget
about the socks? I mean, since you come here all the time.” He knows he’s being petty, but
she just keeps lying.
“I… I don’t know. I just forgot.” El says defensively.
“Riiight.” Will snarks. After a minute, he breaks the silence again. “Why do you keep lying?”
“What?” she asks.
“Why do you keep lying to Mike?” Will asks.
“I’m not lying.” El insists.
“You’re not?” Will questions. “You’re friends with Angela and Stacy and you come to parties
here?”
“I have been to a party here.” El says.
“For Mom’s work. That’s not what you implied.” Will insists.
“I have been helping both of us, Will. I told him that we are both popular here. I am
protecting you as well as me. And I know that you know about that because you talked to
Mike on the phone. It is unfair that you tell me he does not deserve the lies when you are
lying as much as me.” she says.
That makes Will shut up. “I just… I don’t think Mike’s going to like that you’re lying to him
so much. And he doesn’t deserve that. And when he finds out, he’s going to be mad.” Will
finally says.
Mike sits down with a smile and neon socks. Speak of the devil. “Okay, so I asked for vomit
green and I got vomit green! Isn’t that awesome?” Mike laughs. When neither Will nor El
laugh, though, his face falls, and he looks awkward and sad.
Once they’re done putting on their skates, they go out into the rink, where El and Mike skate
hand-in-hand while Will trails behind. He can’t see their faces, but he’s sure that they look
like the perfect, happy couple, with Mike laughing about how bad he is at skating while El
reassures him, both laughing and acting couple-y.
After a few near-misses where Mike almost falls, they stop skating and go over to one of the
booths off to the side, at which point Mike offers to get everyone food. Will wants to vomit
again. How on Earth do they fit it all in? How on Earth are they all not fat? Man, Will would
kill for such a great metabolism.
“Hey, I saw that they have milkshakes. What does everyone want?” Mike asks.
“Chocolate for me, thank you.” El says with a smile.
Mike waits for a minute, but Will doesn’t answer. “Will? What milkshake do you want?”
“Hm?” Will says, looking over at Mike with an expression like he’d been caught off-guard.
“Oh, I’m alright. Do you need money for you and El? I think I have a little bit-”
“No, I can take care of ours.” Mike says, cutting Will off. As he’s leaving, though, he stops.
“Are you- are you sure you don’t want anything? I think they also have fries and popcorn and
stuff-”
“I’m okay, Mike. I had a burrito this morning, remember? Thank you, though.” Will says. His
smile would appear genuine, but Mike knows Will, and he knows it’s fake.
“O…kay. Um, just let me know if you change your mind.” Mike says hesitantly, walking
away.
As he waits for the kid behind the counter to make the drinks, he frowns slightly as he thinks.
Something’s up, even if Mike doesn’t know what it is. The way that he’s practically drowning
in his clothes and how tightly his belt is drawn, the way that he’s eating so little, the way that
he’s touching his shirt in specific places over and over…
Mike pushes it to the back of his mind. He’s being ridiculous. Will’s probably fine.
But what if he isn’t?
Mike ignores his thoughts (man, he’s doing that a lot today), pays for and grabs the
milkshakes, and goes back to the table.
He sits down and places the chocolate in front of El’s and the vanilla in front of himself.
Mike takes a sip of the vanilla, and he and El trade for a sip.
“No, mine is definitely better.” Mike says before drinking his own again.
He glances over at Will. “Hey, you want any? I could get another straw or two-” Mike offers.
“No, I’m okay.” Will says. Mike goes from a little interest in Will to full, undivided attention
upon the sentence, as looking over at Will while Mike asked meant that he saw Will
twitching.
Mike watches Will through his bangs as Will’s hands twitch and tremble, his head rotates in
an awkward and painful-looking way, and he keeps grimacing over and over. After about a
minute of Will’s weird spasms, he clearly clenches his jaw, stiffens his neck, and presses his
hands against the side of the table. He’s still moving, but he’s also doing it in smaller and
more controlled movements, though they also look a lot more painful while they’re
happening.
“Will? You oka-” Mike starts to ask, but he’s interrupted by six teenagers coming over to the
table.
“Ooh, milkshakes? Yum.” one says with a smile. She’s a blonde girl with elaborate makeup
and hair in a half-up style, and she’s wearing an athletic set that honestly reminds Mike of
something his mom would wear to one of her aerobic exercise classes.
“Where oh where have you been hiding this handsome thing?” she asks El.
“Uh, Angela, thi… this is Mike, my boyfriend.” El stammers.
“Angela. Pleasure.” she says with a bleached smile.
“Heard a lot about you. It’s really cool to meet some of El- Jane’s friends.”
“Friends?” Angela laughs. “Yeah, it’s cool to meet Jane’s famous boyfriend.”
“You’re dating one of Will’s friends, too, right? Jake?” Mike asks.
The brunette boy that Mike had been looking at behind Angela laughs. “Yep, I’m Jake. Will
and I are the best of friends.”
Mike feels jealousy and anger mix with the uneasiness in his knot of emotions. Something’s
weird.
“Come on, best friend, let’s go!” says Jake, grabbing Will’s arm that’s still spasming and
shaking and pulling him away.
“Wait- wait, no, I want to stay-” Will says, eyes darting and head shaking. It hits Mike that
Will’s afraid.
“Come on! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Jake laughs. He continues pulling Will away, with the
rest of the group going along and laughing as Will weakly protests.
El grabs Mike’s bicep. “I- I am sorry, Mike.” she says.
Mike looks over at her and sees tears in her eyes. “What- why are you sorry? What’s going
on?” he asks.
“I- I have not been telling you everything. I have been lying.” El says.
“Wait, what? ” Mike asks. “Why would you do that?”
“Mike, listen!” she says, getting up from the booth. “Will and I, we have been having
problems!”
“Wha- okay, what kind of problems?” Mike asks, getting up as well.

El starts to answer, but is cut off by the song stopping and microwave feedback going.
“This next song is dedicated to Will Byers, the town faggot and local snitch!” comes over the
mic as ‘Wipe Out’ starts playing and the spotlight hits Will, looking terrified and alone in the
middle of the rink.
“Oh, fuck.” Mike whispers.
“Stay put.” Angela laughs, leaving Will and Jake as she skates away to the DJ’s area.
Jake laughs as Will tries to wrench his arm away. “Nu-uh. Nobody snitches on me, especially
not a weak little faggot. We’ve gotta teach you a lesson.”
Jake lets go and skates a few paces away as the spotlight is turned to Will, right as the music
stops and the microwave screeches. “This next song is dedicated to Will Byers, the town
faggot and local snitch!”
Will’s frozen in place as ‘Wipe Out’ starts playing and people start skating around him in a
circle, all laughing and calling out insults.
“Freak!”
“Faggot!”
“Christ-killer!”
“Go back where you came from!”

“Slut!”
“Jew!”
“Loser!”
“Queer!”
“Cocksucker!”
“Snitch!”
“Whore!”
“Crybaby!”
Will covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut as he begins to cry. Make it stop, make it stop,
make it stop, make it stop, please, God, make it stop, I don’t like it, please make it stop-
He’s forced back to reality by a vanilla milkshake being thrown at him. He slips and falls,
curling in on himself on the floor in that mess.
“Oh my God, it looks like he cummed on himself.” he hears Angela laugh.
The laughter and the insults still coming and the music-
Will quickly unlaces his skates with nimble but shaking fingers, and he kicks them off before
getting up as fast as he can and running through the crowd. It doesn’t matter where he goes as
long as it isn’t here.
Mike watches in increasing horror as Will’s insulted, belittled, and humiliated.
“FUCK!” he shouts, beginning to push his way through the crowd.
He gets to the DJ’s setup, where the DJ is watching and laughing.
“HEY! HEY, HEY, TURN IT OFF!” Mike shouts.
“Sorry, can’t hear you, dude.” the DJ says, pointing to his headphones.
Mike yanks them off and pulls at the record until it comes off of the player with a horrible
sound. “I SAID TURN IT OFF, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Jesus, alright!” the DJ says, immediately straightening up the station from Mike’s efforts.
Mike looks over to see Will covered in liquid, curled up on the floor as the people continue to
laugh and tease.
“I- shit, shit, shit-” Mike says, immediately leaving the station (with El trailing behind and
crying) to the rink. He tries to get through the crowd, but it’s so difficult. “Hey! Hey, let me
through! Move!” Mike yells at the people standing around and watching. “Will! Will! Let me
through! Will!” he shouts as he shoves people out of the way. By the time that he gets
through the crowd, though, Will’s gone, with his skates sitting in some of the drink on the
floor.
On his way back off of the rink, he turns to El. It’s not her fault, and Mike knows this, but
he’s so angry about both what just happened and the fact that he couldn’t protect Will, so
despite his best efforts, it’s bubbling over. “Look. We have to find Will. If we split up, we can
cover more ground. Okay?” he tells her icily.
“I really am sorry, Mike.” she says.
“We’ll talk about it after we find Will.” Mike snaps. “Just… just find him, okay?”
El nods and turns away tearily.
Mike stands there as he tries to think. He’s been Will’s best friend for ten years - he can
figure out where he would hide.
Mike turns and heads over to the bathrooms. Will would try to clean himself up immediately,
then try to get as far away from the place as possible.
He looks around and finds the bathrooms, and he goes into the men’s. Inside, Will’s standing
in front of the mirror, scrubbing at the front of his shirt with a handful of paper towels.
“Will?” Mike asks softly.
He sniffles. “It’s not coming out.”
“What?” Mike asks.
“The milkshake. It’s not coming out.” Will says, looking over at Mike with tears in his eyes.
His face has been scrubbed clean from the drink already, but the front of his shirt and pants
are covered.
“I’m so sorry, Will.” Mike says quietly. “I tried to stop it.”
Will doesn’t answer that time. He just keeps scrubbing at his flannel.
“Will, why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” he asks quietly.
Will’s head snaps up, and he glares at Mike. “You’ve made it super clear that you aren’t
interested in anything I have to say.”
“That- that’s not true.” Mike says.
“You’ve called once, Mike. You never called me back or answered my letters, even though El
has a whole book of letters from you.” Will snaps.
“Well, that’s because she’s my girlfriend, Will!” Mike says.
She’s my girlfriend, Will! She’s my girlfriend! But… I can’t. I can’t keep looking at you like
this. El loves me, and she’s my girlfriend, but I’m so focused on you and I’m so much of a
pervert that I don’t love her back like she deserves. Goddammit, Will, just stop. Just get out of
my head. It’s been months but I can’t stop thinking about you. I just can’t stop thinking about
you. I wonder what you’re doing, and what you’re thinking, and whether you’d like whatever
I’m doing, and I wonder if you met someone who you could be happy with who’s funny and
pretty and smart and someone who you need more than me, and then I hate myself for
thinking about you and wishing that you don’t meet someone who you would choose over me.
I’m going crazy. I want to send you letters but she’s my girlfriend so I have to write them to
her. I kept calling you but you never called me back and now you’re angry (god I wish you
weren’t) and she’s my girlfriend but I still want you, I still love you, I still need you, and I
can’t because that’s wrong, I can’t feel this way about a boy, least of all you, and I need to
love El, but I can’t make myself no matter how hard I try. Please don’t make this harder than
it already is, Will, can’t you see I’m hurting too?
“I get that she’s your girlfriend, and I get that she’s your priority! But would it really have
been that hard to just- just send me a letter once in a while? To call, like, once or twice a
month?” Will snarls. “And on top of months of radio silence, now that you’re finally here,
I’m just a third wheel! I’m just a nuisance!”
“Well- Well, maybe you should have reached out! Why am I the bad guy? If you want things
to go well, you should try harder!” Mike says, beginning to shout before toning his voice
down (he doesn’t want to scare Will, even if they’re fighting).
“Oh, yeah, I should’ve known everything would be my fault again.” Will laughs sarcastically.
“Because it always is, right?”
“Well, the common factor in all the shit in your life is you! So maybe it is!” Mike says. No,
no, take it back, take it back, how could you say that, take it back-
Will looks so lost for a minute before his face turns to a hurt yet stony mask of anguish and
resolve. “Well, good to know that we agree on something.”
Mike’s about to say something else - probably either backtracking (which he wants to do) or
more dumb shit (which he doesn’t), he doesn’t even know - when Will cuts him off. “What
even are we now, Mike?”
Mike looks at Will with a look that he hopes isn’t as filled with as much sorrow and pain and
longing that he feels right now. “We’re friends. We’re friends. ”
Mike isn’t sure whether he’s telling Will or himself.
“We used to be best friends, Mike.” Will says.
“Well… I don’t know. But… why is it on me?” Mike says.

“I don’t know. But it’s not fair that it’s on me, either.” Will says.
He goes to leave the bathroom, but Mike blocks the way.
“Why did you even lie, Will?” he asks softly. “We’ve been friends for so long. You could’ve
told me.”
“ I lied? El was the one who told you that we were popular!” Will says. “She's been lying to
you, Mike! Straight to your face ever since you got here! So don't blame me just because I
went along with it!”
“You still could’ve said something! And you still could’ve been happy! You don’t think I
noticed that you’ve been moping and rolling your eyes and barely talking?”
“You brought me along on your dates, Mike! I’ve been a third wheel all day! Do you know
what that’s like? I’ve been miserable!”
“That’s why you’re miserable? Not because of, you know, the fact that you were just publicly
humiliated?! No, that’s fine, but God forbid you aren’t the center of attention!” Mike says.
With that, Will gives him a tearful look, filled with both devastation and anger, and shoves
past him out of the bathroom.
“Will- Will, wait, I’m sorry-” Mike says, immediately trailing after him.
He continues following Will, whispering apologies under his breath and trailing after him like
a scolded puppy, only to almost run into Will when he stops.
“What’s wrong?” Mike asks.

Only to see El smack that girl Angela square in the nose with a roller skate.
Both Mike and Will speed towards her until they stop, one on either side.
“Holy shit, El! El, what did you do?! What have you done?!” Mike asks in shock as he
watches Angela cry and scream in pain.
There are people crying around them, and someone’s run off to call 911, and the girl is
screaming and raising a hand to her busted-up nose, and Will’s still standing there with a
shocked expression, wearing his milkshake-stained clothes and only socks on his feet, and El
looks scared for a minute before seeming calm and collected.
“She hurt Will.” El says levelly. “She deserved it.”
She walks away, and Mike isn’t sure whether he should follow her or stay with Will, who’s
staring in shock at the scene before walking over hesitantly and picking up a video camera
from next to Angela.
He’s about to stay with Will, but a girl wearing a pink blouse, white skirt, and turquoise
jewelry runs over to Will, putting her hand on his shoulder and asking if he’s okay.
Mike turns and follows after El, since apparently, Will doesn’t need him anymore.
“Angela!” El shouts, walking towards the group of boys and girls who hurt her brother.
They turn, all laughing. “Oh, look who it is.” Angela says.
“She looks upset…” one boy says.
“You ruined my brother’s day.” El says. “And mine. And you need to apologize.”
“Oh no, did we hurt his wittle feelings?” Angela says mockingly.
“Why would you do that?” El asks after a second of collecting her thoughts.
Jake steps forwards with a smile. “We were helping him. You see, your brother… he’s not
right.”
“What?” El asks.
“People like him… they’re dirty. They’re perverts and child abusers, and they’re disgusting.”
he says.
“Jake, be nice.” Angela says before turning to El with a mean smile. “You see, his kind
shouldn’t exist. They’re a crime against nature. We’re trying to help your brother not be a
queer or a creep anymore by scaring him. It’s too late to change him, but we can keep him
from spreading his disease. We want to help Will not be a mistake and a crime against nature.
You can understand that, right?”
That cannot be right, El thinks. Will is the person who has kept me safe. He taught me how to
dance and skate and paint and speak and dress, and he helps me with my homework, and he
makes me waffles and snacks, and he always hugs me after I have a bad dream. He is the best
person I know. How can he be a mistake and a crime against nature when he is so kind and
when he loves everyone so much?
As they walk away, laughing and replaying the video camera and watching her brother’s
humiliation once again, El sees red.
“Angela!” she calls, grabbing a roller skate from a bystander and walking towards them.
As Angela turns, El raises the skate and hits her square in the nose with it with all her might,
earning a satisfying crack and crunch.
As Angela falls backwards until she’s sitting on the floor, people asking if she’s okay, the
split in her nose where El broke it turns red before blood starts to seep from it.
Angela starts to scream as Mike runs up to her and asks her what she did.
El feels bad for a moment, but then she looks over at Will, still covered in the drink that they
threw on him and with tear tracks on his cheeks.
It was worth it. She loves her brother, and that means that she is willing to do whatever it
takes to protect him like he has protected her.
“She deserved it.” El says, letting the justification and pride that she feels at having finally
hurt the person who has hurt both her and her brother show in her voice. “She hurt Will.”
With that, El walks away, her boyfriend following her as Will’s friend Lucie tries to talk to
him.
“Oh god, Will, are you okay?” Lucie asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. Will flinches at the
physical contact, as ashamed as he is to admit it, and he turns to look at Lucie. “I’m so sorry,
Will, I didn’t realize what she was going to do, and when I figured it out, I tried to convince
her to stop, I swear-”
Will nods. “It’s fine.” he lies.

Lucie looks devastated. “I- 911 is on the way. I think you should stay to talk to the police. If
you and your sister and friend all explain what happened, I don’t think that Angela can get
you in trouble. I’ll vouch for you, and you can show them the video as well as having four
witnesses-”
“Today’s my birthday.” Will whispers with tears in his eyes. It’s not important or even
relevant, but it feels important to Will. Of all days, they did this on his birthday.
“I- oh god, Will, I’m so sorry.” Lucie says, and- is she crying? “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so
sorry.”
Will nods, saying some reassurance (he doesn’t know what he’s said, everything just feels
like a bad dream, maybe he’ll wake up) before walking away and sitting down, curling his
knees to his chest and hugging them. When he’s upset, he always hugs his knees. It makes
him feel safer.
He presses his forehead to his thighs, and he stays like that until a hand comes on his
shoulder.
“Son?” an adult asks, and Will looks up into the face of a man wearing a police uniform.
“Are you alright?”
Will nods. “Are you here about what happened to Angela?” he asks, noting that Angela had
apparently already been removed to a hospital.
“Yes. My name is Officer Sanders. Do you know what happened?”
“My sister went to talk to her and hit her in the face with a roller skate.” Will says. “Angela
and her friends, they were… mean… and E- Jane was mad at them for me.”
“What did they do?” the officer asks.
Will grabs the video camera from next to him and hands it wordlessly to the officer, who
rewinds it and watches Will’s humiliation.
When he’s done, he walks away to hand the video camera to another officer before coming
back. “Okay. This seems like a pretty clear-cut case. The victim and her friends were bullying
you, and then your sister attempted to protect you. I doubt that charges will be pressed, but
we may need you and your sister to come down to the station to give statements later. Sound
good, son?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Will says.
The officer pats his shoulder in a manner meant to be comforting before walking away to talk
to the other officer.
Will checks his watch. It’s 5:58, which means that Jon and Argyle are probably outside. He’s
glad. He wants to leave. It doesn’t matter if he hates the yellow room or if it doesn’t feel like
home, because it won’t be here. It’ll be safe.
He sits up and looks around until he finds El and Mike over at their booth, sitting in silence.
Will goes over and gets them wordlessly before leading them outside, where the pizza van is
pulling up.
“Hey, brochachos! I- whoa, dude, what happened?” Argyle says.
Will shakes his head no and gets into the van, leaning against the window as his friend and
sister get in next to him and they drive the way home.
He ignores the others in the van as they go, with Jon and Argyle rambling about ice skates
and skate attacks and saying ‘blip blip blip’ over and over while the younger teens sit in
silence.
When they get back to the house, Will immediately goes upstairs into his room, ignoring
Murray in the kitchen, and grabs a change of clothes from the top of his drawers. It’s a gray
striped button-up and jeans, and Will might make an effort to get long sleeves, but he decides
against it. He’ll just wear a hoodie or something over it. He doesn’t have the emotional
energy to choose something else.
He goes into the bathroom and does what he does best: cuts twenty or thirty lines onto his
ribs and stomach, takes a boiling shower to both wash the rest of the drink off and inflame the
cuts, paints another coat over his arms to hide the scarring and scabbing, and puts on his
change of clothes.
Once he’s done, he leaves the bathroom, only to find Mike waiting outside.
Will blinks at their sudden proximity. Why was Mike waiting outside the door like that?
“Hi. Um, I- I was wondering if you were still okay sharing your room with me?” Mike asks
meekly. Will realizes that Mike’s holding a suitcase behind him.
“Sure. Knock yourself out.” Will says monotonously.
“Will, I-” Mike starts.
“I’ll get you the air mattress.” Will says. “Be right back.”
He goes down the stairs and retrieves it from the office, with Mike following closely behind.
Will leads Mike to the yellow room, and Mike looks around as Will sets up the mattress.
“This room looks, uh…” Mike says.

“Yellow?” Will supplies.
“Yeah.” Mike says, giving a chuckle. “Lots of posters. It looks different than what I would
have thought.”
“What did you think it would look like?” Will asks, half passive-aggressive, half genuinely
curious.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d get rid of your shark bedspread, though.” Mike says.
“It was childish. We have to grow up sometime, right?” Will says, thinking of their fight last
summer.
“I-” Mike says before stopping and taking a deep breath. “Will, I’m really so sorry for what I
said. Both last summer and at the Rink-O-Mania.”
“Forget it.” Will says, stepping back as he finishes making the bed. “It’s not a big deal.”
Mike looks hurt, and Will feels the guilt hit him like a truck.
“It’s a big deal for me.” Mike says quietly.
“I- I know. I’m sorry, too. And I’m sorry that I’m being kind of a jerk, I’m just tired. Okay?”
Will says. “Can we- can we maybe talk about this later? Because I don’t know about you, but
I’m exhausted.”
A look that seems like a mixture of sadness and warmth crosses Mike’s face. “I- yeah, yeah,
of course. Of course. I can’t imagine how tired you must be. I think Murray’s going to be
done with dinner in a few minutes, though, so maybe wait to go to bed until after we eat?”
Will grimaces at the thought of dinner. “Yeah, sure.”
Mike gives Will a soft smile before setting his duffel bag down next to the mattress and going
over to the door. He looks around the room one more time before leaving, leaving Will alone.
He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, standing there for a minute like that before going
downstairs.
Murray’s plating up dinner as he goes down. “Hey, kid. Ya like risotto?” Murray asks
cheerfully.
“Sure, risotto’s good.” Will says.
Will sits at the table next to El while they eat (well, Will mostly just pushes stuff around on
his plate, though he does eat two pieces of broccoli and steals a piece of cauliflower from El’s
plate). He’s too tired and upset to really be paying attention, but first his mom announces that
she’s going to Alaska (which- what?!), then Mike antagonizes El (really, Mike? Really?).
Eventually, Will gets sick of both pretending to eat and the bullshit happening at the dinner
table, so he gets up and leaves a minute or two after El. He gets his lighter from the
nightstand before sneaking out the back door as quietly as he can, leaning against the side of
the house as he looks at the stars starting to appear in the night sky.
“Happy birthday to me, I guess.” Will whispers, giving a broken, bitter laugh as he raises the
lighter to the underside of his forearm and turns it on until his skin is blistering and hot in a
circular burn.
He touches his fingertips to the burn, wincing and hissing when it hurts his fingers to touch.
Will quietly tucks away the lighter into his back pocket and goes back inside, managing to
make it to his room without alerting anybody to his presence.
Will really must be tired, because he falls asleep only a minute or two after his head hits the
pillow after he gets ready for bed, even though it’s only about eight at night.
Mike gets tired of the TV and the Byers family drama around 11, at which point he sneaks
into Will’s room, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy on the bed, takes a pair of pajamas
and his toiletries out of his bag, and goes to the bathroom, where he showers and gets ready
for bed.
When Mike goes back into the room, he quietly lies down on the mattress, where he stays for
about five minutes until a whimper wakes him up.
Mike sits up, looking around in an attempt to discern where the noise came from. He realizes
that it’s from Will when a quiet cry comes from the bed and Will shifts twice in just a few
seconds.
Mike gets up off of the mattress and takes the few steps over to Will, at which point he
hesitates before grabbing Will’s shoulder. “Hey. Hey, Will, wake up.” he says.
Will mutters something before crying out and thrashing again, and when his long-sleeve
pajama shirt’s arm rolls up, Mike can see a burn on the underside of Will’s arm.
Oh, shit. Is this a nightmare or is it his True Sight? Is the dream actually hurting him?
“Will!” Mike says louder. When he still doesn’t wake up, Mike grabs both of Will’s shoulders
(what the fuck? When did he get so thin? Mike can feel every bone in Will’s shoulders) and
shakes him hard enough to wake Will with a gasp.
The second Will’s eyes open, blood starts pouring out of his nose, and after just a second of
eye contact with Mike, he tilts his head back and cups one hand to catch the blood while
pressing on the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, shit.” Mike says, immediately grabbing some tissues and handing them to Will.
“Tanks.” Will says stuffily. “Sorry I woke you.”
“No, you didn’t.” Mike says, handing Will more tissues.
Will gets up and walks out of his room over to the bathroom, still pressing on his nose. Mike
follows, and he sits on the lid of the toilet as Will sits on the edge of the tub.
“How long have the nightmares been happening again?” Mike asks softly.
Will looks at Mike out of the corner of his eye. “This was a one-off. Wasn’t even about the
Upside Down. Just a normal, person dream.”
“I- okay.” Mike says. He doesn’t believe it (Will wouldn’t be so composed and acting so
normal if it really were a one-off), but he won’t push if Will doesn’t want to share.
“Will, there’s- there’s a burn on your arm. Are your dreams coming into the real world
again?” Mike asks after a minute.
“No. I burned myself the other day with a hot glue gun in art class.” Will says.
Mike knows that’s bullshit too. Will’s always been careful with hot glue guns and knows how
to handle them. Mike’s always been the one that would get burned with the glue when they
did art projects together.
“Okay.” Mike says.

They sit quietly for another minute before Will breaks the silence. “It’s late. I’ll be done in a
minute if you want to go back to bed. I’ll be back in the room in a minute.”
“Okay…” Mike says, getting up and walking out. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He goes back to bed, and even though he waits for about half an hour for the sounds of Will’s
soft footsteps creeping on the carpet, they never come.
Despite the fact that Mike wakes up several times during the night and looks over, Will still
isn’t in his bed, and Mike can hear the sounds of the TV from the living room.
Mike looks at the ceiling in the dark and tries to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut that
something’s very, very wrong with his best friend.
Chapter End Notes
Alright, before I get any shit, I did want to establish that I have been called similar
things as Will was in the past and they serve a narrative purpose. I'm not just throwing in
racial insults, I wanted to make that clear.
They also called him a slut and a whore because Jake and Angela spread the rumor that
he's hooked up with dozens of guys and got AIDS because of his supposed promiscuity.
Also, the reason they know Will's Jewish is because he and El were talking about
Chanukah in the school hallway and someone overheard and spread the information.
Let me know what you thought, and leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it!
Also, what did you think of the split POV and Mike’s thought process? Should I
continue it?
Arrest
Chapter Notes
Hello! I wrote this chapter (all nine pages) last night and ended up going to bed around
4am. I hope you enjoy and appreciate the product of my sleep-deprived brain!
(Also, I think I'll wait to post again until January 1st so that I can, you know, get a good
night's sleep. I've gone 4 nights in a row with about 3 hours of sleep because of writing
and homework, and I'm starting to crash and burn. I'll get right back on writing on the
29th, promise.)

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, Ngalu, ToBeLonely, and CloudcoreHanual for giving me
the motivation to write this. Hope you read this and think it's good.

Trigger warnings:
- Disordered eating
- Fighting between a couple
- Cops (honestly its own trigger warning in this modern age tbh)
- Internalized homophobia
- Suicidal thoughts
- Insomnia
- Language
- Slurs
Will’s been up since about 11 last night in the living room watching TV. He would normally
draw during that time, but Mike’s in his room, and if he’s asleep, Will doesn’t want to disturb
him. Besides, he’s too embarrassed to talk to Mike again - the nightmare, nosebleed, and burn
make him feel far too exposed. Over the past eighteen hours, Mike’s seen him far too
vulnerable, and Will’s not okay with that. The way that Mike was looking at him in the
bathroom - like he was seeing right through Will’s carefully-constructed facade straight into
Will’s soul and mind. He doesn’t like Mike seeing through him like that. It makes him feel
on-edge, like he’s on the verge of being in danger, even if he trusts Mike.
He’s just dozing off around six in the morning when he’s startled awake by a soft thumping
sound.
Will immediately is up off of the couch, on his feet and ready to do whatever he has to do to
protect himself and his loved ones.
However, as he looks around and listens intently, he realizes that it’s just his mom, trying
(and failing) to quietly bring her suitcase down the stairs.
As she’s finishing lugging down her suitcase, he goes up, waits until she’s set it down, and
tackles her, almost knocking her over in a giant bear hug.
“Whoa! Whoa, hey, are you okay?” his mom asks, giving a slight laugh when he first hugs
her before her tone turns to concern when he doesn’t let go.
His eyes start to tear up as he realizes that if everything goes to his plan with Mike, the
painting, and his death, and she’s still in Alaska in a few days, this is going to be the last time
he ever sees his mom, the last time he ever gets to hug her.
“Will? Will, hey, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks, pulling away from him to look into his
face. She puts a hand on his cheek, and he leans into the touch, as much as he’ll deny it later.
For a moment, he wants to tell her. He wants to tell her everything about the Upside Down
and Lonnie and what happened to him, wants to tell her about what he’s been doing to
himself, wants to tell her about the bullying at school, wants to tell her that he really is a
faggot, wants to tell her about how he’s not going to live past the end of the week. For a
moment, he wants to open the floodgates and tell her everything.
But he looks into her eyes and sees how concerned she is, remembers the pain it would bring
her both to have him keep living and to try to share his burden with her, and he smiles instead
of letting the tears fall.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just going to miss you a lot. I love you, Mom. So much.”
“I… love you so much and am going to miss you, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. Good luck in Alaska. I love you so much.”
“Okay…” she says, still looking concerned.
She picks up her suitcase and moves it towards the door before she stops and turns back to
Will.
“Will- Will, if you’re not okay, you can tell me. I’m your mom and I love you. Besides, I was
a teenager once, and even if we’ve had very different life experiences, I’ll still do anything I
can to help, and I won’t get mad or judge you. Okay? I just want to help.” she says.
Will fights to keep the tears in his eyes. “Okay. But I’m really okay, Mom, I promise. Just
focus on work while you’re in Alaska, okay? Everything’ll be fine here. I love you so much.
Have fun, okay?”
“Okay… love you too. See you soon.” she says, clearly still concerned but not going to
mention it.
It only occurs to Will after his mom’s left in the car with Murray that his promise that he’s
okay and that everything’ll be fine might hurt her once he’s dead and she learns that he was
lying.
Instead of thinking too hard about that, though, he goes and sits on the couch and watches
TV.
After a few minutes, Jonathan comes out of his room. “Hey, morning.” he says. “Mom
already gone?”
“Yup.” Will says. “How much you wanna bet that she forgot something?”
Jonathan laughs as he sits down next to Will and puts his feet up onto the coffee table, which
Will does as well after some hesitation. “Ten bucks?”
“You’re on.” Will says.
“Wait, no, I’m not taking that bet. We both know how it ends.” Jon says.
“Too late.” Will says, making himself laugh. He needs to keep smiling. Even if he’s still
hurting from yesterday (which, even though the hurt is burying itself deep enough that Will’s
only thinking of it every minute or two instead of constantly, is still hard), he can’t let that
show. He needs to be happy, normal.
They watch TV for a few minutes before Will gets up and makes waffles. (He figures that
El’s going to be upset after what happened yesterday and the drama from dinner, so maybe
her favorite will help cheer her up).
As the waffles are cooking, Mike comes downstairs, yawning and clearly half-asleep. His
hair’s a mess, and his pajamas are rumpled from being slept in. He’s not even wearing any
shoes.
Will smiles as he looks at the waffle iron instead of at Mike. He’s so adorable. Will’s lucky
that he has self-restraint, because if he didn’t, he would probably have kissed Mike and
smoothed his hair before tucking it behind his ears… made Mike a cup of coffee and given
him a plate along with a kiss on the cheek…
Will shakes it off with a deep sense of shame. It’s not okay to daydream about his sister’s
boyfriend. Mike’s off-limits, no matter how cute he is when he’s a sleepy mess in the
morning.
Once the food’s all done, Will sets out four plates (three with two waffles, one with one -
guess whose that one is?). Mike, Jonathan, and Will all sit down (El won’t leave her room,
according to Mike), and Will smiles at his plate as he chops up the waffle into little pieces
and spreads it around, still thinking about how cute Mike is and glancing up at him
periodically as they eat.
Will somehow manages to balance the guilt and the happiness that comes from his glances at
Mike and his daydreams of a happy life of just the two of them as they finish breakfast
(somehow, Will manages to not eat a single bite).
Mike comes downstairs around six forty-five in the morning, with sleep still in his eyes, his
hair still messed-up from a disturbed night of sleep, and still wearing just his T-shirt and plaid
pajama pants, not even wearing anything on his feet.
Upon going into the main intersection of the downstairs area, Mike sees Jonathan watching
TV in the living room, and Will-
His hair’s slightly mussed, just like Mike’s (though it looks more like he was running his
hands through it than sleep), and the way that the early morning light is hitting it makes the
loose strands look like a halo around Will’s head. When Will turns to look from making
breakfast over to Mike with a relaxed smile, Mike can see Will’s collarbones peeking out
from beneath the collar of his shirt along with the sun illuminating Will’s features, making
them even more beautiful than usual.
“Good morning, Mike.” Will says, still with that lovely smile, and Mike has to remind
himself to breathe as his heart stops before fluttering like crazy. Christ, he’s so gorgeous.
Mike sits at the counter instead of in the living room like he had planned. He doesn’t want to
leave Will - not only is he worried, but he just wants to bask in the aura of peace and warmth
that Will brings.
Will smiles as he makes waffles, and God, his smile makes the world so much brighter. One
flash of Will’s teeth, and Mike just feels so safe and content. It’s amazing, and so strange at
the same time.
It’s hard to describe how Mike feels in these moments, where the shame seems just far
enough that it can’t reach him and he can just focus on Will. But he’s had six months of
loneliness and sadness to think about it, and he has a pretty okay way to say how he feels
(though it’s never quite good enough to truly express how beautiful he feels Will is, no matter
how much Mike tries).
To Mike, Will’s an oasis in a desert. Every smile is a shining light in the darkness, every
laugh a breath of fresh air. He’s a symphony of colors, perfectly balanced and so, so
beautiful. He’s a vision of loveliness, almost too good to be real. Will is a masterpiece, a
work of art, a shining light that’s so bright that Mike’s world revolves around him instead of
the sun. He’s everything. He makes Mike’s heart sing. He’s a calm amidst the storm, the air
in Mike’s lungs, the one who is both able to bring Mike to life and rip his heart to shreds.
He’s Mike’s everything.
And… here comes the guilt.
Mike winces as his mind goes from singing Will’s praises to pointing out his own flaws.
What are you doing? You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend and you’re talking about
how beautiful another boy is. What’s wrong with you? Why are you like this? Why are you
such a freak?
He’s pulled out of his head by a light touch to his forearm by his friend’s fingertips as Will
passes by, quietly padding in socked feet on the tile. “Breakfast.” Will says, and as Mike
fights the butterflies and warmth and electricity from the simple touch, he gets up and goes
over to the dining table, where Will’s setting out plates with two waffles each on the table.
Mike notes that Will’s plate only has one.
Mike sits across from Will so that he can both keep an eye on Will as he eats (to watch his
intake) and so that he doesn’t have to look away from Will’s beauty.
As they eat, Mike watches Will, waiting for him to take a bite and prove that Mike’s worried
over nothing. It never comes, however, with Will just cutting up his singular waffle into
smaller and smaller pieces, leaving it in a pile of tiny waffle chunks in a puddle of syrup with
not a bite taken.
Mike frowns and takes another bite. It’s clearly not the quality of the food, as these waffles
are damn good and Will’s done it several times even though the food itself has been of
varying categories and qualities. Something’s definitely wrong, though it wouldn’t seem it,
with Will smiling and humming to himself a little bit as he wrecks his plate (which also
seems off with what happened yesterday - Mike knows that if he were the victim of that, he
wouldn't be so cheerful). Mike can’t quite place it. It’s that feeling where something’s there in
your mind, but just far enough that you can’t name it. It pisses Mike off - he knows that
something’s wrong with Will, and he knows that he knows what it is, but it’s just misty
enough of an idea that Mike can’t use it. Tip of the tongue and all that.
Well, whatever it is, Mike’s gonna figure it out, and then he’ll make sure that it’s fixed and
that Will can be happy. He deserves it. Will deserves everything.
After they’re all done with breakfast (Will throws his food away, which makes Mike frown
even more), he decides to bring El her waffles. Does she like syrup? Apparently she does, as
Will had put the bottle next to El’s plate.
Mike grabs the plate in one hand and the silverware and the syrup bottle in the other before
going up the stairs, trying to remember where El’s room is before remembering that it’s the
next one to the left from Will’s.
He knocks on the door, slightly opened, before pushing it open with his shoulder. “Hey, El.
Will made waffles, so I brought you some, even if they’re getting kind of cold.” Mike says to
the girl sitting hunched over at the desk as he sets the food down next to her elbow.
She doesn’t respond, too busy painting something in a Reebok’s shoebox. Mike realizes that
it’s a diorama.
“Oh, that’s cool. Hop’s cabin, right?” Mike asks.
When El still doesn’t answer, he sighs. “So… um… are we not going to talk about it?”
“About what?” she asks flatly. The way she said it was eerily similar to the way that Will
speaks when he’s hurt or doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
“I don’t know, just maybe, like, about yesterday, or… everything.” Mike says.
“There is nothing to say. They hurt Will, so I hurt them.” El says.
“I- I guess. But, um… I guess I’m, uh… I guess I don’t really understand. Why didn’t you
tell me what was going on? I mean, you know that I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity back home.
I mean, you’ve seen it. I’ve been bullied my entire life. And if you told me that they were
picking on you and Will, I would’ve gotten it, you know?” Mike says.
“No, you would not.” El says. “You do not understand.”
“Okay.” Mike says. “Okay, then help me understand. Why wouldn’t I have gotten it?”
“They think Will is a mistake.” El says. Mike’s heart breaks a little at that, but he isn’t sure
whether it’s because someone as perfect as Will could never be a mistake, or because he
knows that Will’s thought that was true before, or because it’s the same old thing that he’s
heard aimed at Will a million times. “They say that he is a crime against nature and a pervert
and a… bad word for gay. They hit him and tell him horrible things and embarrass him, and
he pretends that it is fine, but he is so quiet and sad. I watch him suffer, Mike, and you have
not seen him go through this here. He suffers and I can do nothing.”
Mike wants to cry at that, because he does get it, he’s watched Will get hit by Lonnie and be
bullied and his body pulled from the quarry and possessed, he does understand that feeling of
watching Will suffer and knowing that no matter how much he wants to protect him, there’s
nothing he can do. Mike does understand that. He understands that helplessness better than
anybody.
“And they think I am a freak. They think I am stupid. They think I am a monster.” El says.
“They talk to me like I am stupid. I am not stupid. They think I am stupid because I cannot
speak or understand as well as them, and they think I am stupid because I do not know how
to be around people.”
She finishes her efforts on the diorama. “Will and me, we do not belong.”
“Here in Lenora?” Mike asks.
“Anywhere.” she says. “We do not fit anywhere.”
“El- El, come on, you can’t actually believe that.” Mike says.
“They all looked at me like I was a monster.” El says.
“El, they just don’t know you. If they were your friends-”
“You think I am a monster too.” she says.
“I- what?” Mike says in shock. He loves El (even if it’s not in the right way), and even if she
can be slightly terrifying at times when her powers go haywire, she sure isn’t a monster.
She’s a kind, smart, unique person, and she’s a genuinely good, lovely friend to have. Mike
sure doesn’t think she’s a monster.
“Yesterday. The way you looked at me. You… you were scared of me.” El says.
“No. No.” Mike says, scoffing. “No, no, that’s not… that’s… that’s not true. I was just
surprised.”
That’s a lie. For a second, Mike really was scared, but it was more of the fact that he felt like
he didn’t know El or Will anymore and that they were both in danger and hurting.
“I was a little upset in the moment, but, I mean… I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what to do
about Angela. I mean, it was just so crazy, and it happened so fast. But when you defended
Will, it didn’t change anything. I care for you so much.” Mike amends.
“‘Care’. But you… you don’t love me anymore?” El says, turning to look at him for the first
time during the entire conversation.
Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, she can’t find out. She can’t figure him out. She can’t know about
his… his gross little fixation … on Will. Her BROTHER. God, she would hate him. Honestly,
so would Will.
“What… Who… Who said that I didn’t?” Mike says. He wants to facepalm. Way to go,
Wheeler.
“You never say it.” she says.
That’s true. She’s right.
“I say it.” Mike says. Good job, Mike, you’re gaslighting her. Great idea. Christ, what’s
wrong with you?
“You can’t even write it, Mike.” El says, getting up and grabbing a stack of letters. Oh no.
“From Mike. From Mike. From Mike. From Mike. From, from, from, from.” she says,
pulling letter after letter from the pile and throwing them onto the floor.
“Okay, okay. Eleven, you’re being ridiculous.” Mike says. No, she’s not, what are you doing,
what’s wrong with you, why are you being such a horrible person right now?
“What, like, what is this? You know what I think of you. You’re the most incredible person in
the world.” No, you think the most incredible person in the world is Will, you dirty fucking
liar.
“And you can’t let those mouth breathers ruin you. Ruin us.” What? What is he even saying
at this point?
“I mean, they’re nobodies. They’re nobodies, and you’re a superhero.” Again with calling her
a superhero? She’s so much more than that. She’s a wonderful person and she’s more than her
powers.
“Not anymore.” she says with tears in her eyes.
You've ruined everything. Why would you do that?
They sit in silence, just looking at each other, before they’re interrupted by a doorbell and the
sound of Will pleading.
The doorbell rings, and Will looks over from the kitchen sink where he’s doing dishes (he got
dressed in the same clothes he was wearing last night and then decided to clean up) to the
door. “I got it.” Jon says, getting up from the couch.
Will figures it’s just a salesperson, but no, of course it isn’t.
“Hi, does Jane Hopper-Byers live here?” someone asks.
That gets Will’s attention, and he turns off the water and dries off his hands before walking
over to where he can see. In the doorway are two police officers. Oh no.
“Uh, yeah. Um, what’s this about?” Jon asks.

“Is Jane’s father or mother around?” the officer asks.
“Uh, no. No, her mom’s out of town. I’m her brother. Um, stepbrother. But, uh… I’m sorry,
what is this about?”
“You may or may not be aware of an incident involving Jane at the Rink-O-Mania.” the
officer says.
“That was an accident. It- it wasn’t El’s- Jane’s- fault.” Will says from behind Jonathan.
“A warrant says otherwise.” he says, looking straight at Will.
“A- a warrant? ” Jonathan asks. “Come on, that’s crazy, that doesn’t need to happen-”
The officers walk right by Jonathan and Will, straight to the stairs.
As the officers go up the stairs, Will tries to talk to them, getting ahead of them on the
staircase and trying to block them from getting to El. “Look, it- it wasn’t her fault. I was
involved in the incident, too, you can take me in for questioning or arrest me or whatever, but
please, just leave Jane alone- There was an officer there at the Rink-O-Mania yesterday,
Officer, uh… Officer Sanders, there’s evidence that it wasn’t her fault, please just double-
check or ask him, it wasn’t her fault, she shouldn’t go to jail- look, you can arrest me instead,
just please leave her alone-” Will pleads. They ignore him.
They walk into El’s room, where they confirm that she’s Jane Hopper-Byers and start reading
her rights as they put handcuffs on her. Will watches with wide, terrified eyes, still pleading
that they don’t take her in.
They take her downstairs, both Will and Mike following and trying to talk to the officers.
“Are the handcuffs really necessary?” Mike asks as Will tries to convince them to take him in
instead.
“Can you please tell us where you’re taking her?” Jonathan asks as they put her into the back
of a police vehicle.
“Eleven. Eleven, listen to me, okay? Eleven, will you please look at me? Everything’s gonna
be fine. I am going to fix this, okay? Just… just stay calm and everything’s going to be fine,
okay? Just… all you have to do is just trust me. I promise. I’m gonna get you out, I promise!”
Will hears Mike shout to El through the window as the cops start to drive away.
“Has Mom’s flight left yet? Shit!” Jonathan says, putting his hands around the sides of his
face.
Will stares after the cop car trying not to cry.
This is all his fault. If he had never gone to that party back in November and told Lucie, then
he never would have been bullied, and if he had never been bullied, El wouldn’t have hit
Angela, which means that she never would have been in trouble. This is his fault. He’s a
horrible brother and a horrible person and how can anyone stand him when he hurts everyone
he loves?
He fails, and he starts to sob in the middle of the road.
This is all his fault.
Chapter End Notes
Byler being gay disasters, hella drama, and both happy and sad moments in one chapter?
What?! Let me know what you thought in the comments and leave a Kudos if you're up
for it! See you soon!
Drawings
Chapter Notes
Hey, guys! I tried to put off posting this until New Years, but I'm like a shark: if I don't
keep moving and post my work the second it's finished and get validation, I'll die.
Enjoy this chapter! I have a feeling it'll make some of you screech. Let me know in the
comments if you do.
Also, thank you for all of your support! We're now over 80,000 words, and this is
officially novel-length, even though the plot hasn't even reached its peak yet and we're
less than a fifth of what it will be in the end.

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, Ngalu, ToBeLonely, and CloudcoreHanual for giving me
the motivation to write this. Hope you read this and think it's good.
Overall rating: PG.

- Eating disorders
- Implied body dysmorphia
- Mild violence
- Body horror
- Language (damn)
The rest of the day after El’s arrest is a blur, with the Byers brothers and Mike going and
talking to the police at Lenora’s station, where the only thing they learn is that she’s going to
be transferred to a ‘detention hall for juveniles’. Will and Jonathan try to figure out a way to
help her on the way back to the house, while Mike just rides quietly in the car.
However, when they pull up to the house, with a car that none of them recognize parked in
front of it, Mike gets out of the car while it’s still moving, causing both Will and Jonathan to
shout after him, but Mike doesn’t care. Are they more cops?
He skids to a stop outside of the door, looking at the handle, which seems locked and he
doesn’t have the key to.
“Hold on.” Will says from right behind him, which makes Mike jump. Will doesn’t sound
winded at all, even though Mike ran and Will would have had to as well to get here just after
Mike. Not to mention, when did he even show up? Mike didn’t hear him coming at all.
Will pulls a set of keys from his pocket, but his hands are shaking, and he can’t get the key in
the lock because of the severe movement.
“I- okay, okay, hold on.” Mike says, holding out his hand for the keys and attempting to look
Will in the eyes (though Will doesn’t look at him). “I can do it.”
Will hesitates before dropping the keys into Mike’s hand. As Mike turns the key, he murmurs
a ‘you okay?’ over to Will, though Will pretends not to hear as he wraps his arms around his
own shoulders and looks over at the neighbor’s house.
Mike pushes the door open cautiously, unconsciously putting an arm out in front of Will as
they both step into the room. There’s a light on in the living room, even though there
shouldn’t be.
Mike wants to shove Will behind him and protect him from whoever’s inside as they creep
into the living room, where two men are sitting on the couch.
“Who are you?” Mike asks, stepping in front of Will the second he sees that they have guns
in holsters at their waistbands. “What are you doing in this house?”
“We’re from the government.” one says, and Mike wants to scoff - as if after everything
that’s supposed to make him trust them? “We were sent to protect you while Eleven’s at
Project Nina.”
“What?” Mike hears Will ask as he steps out from behind Mike to stand shoulder-to-shoulder
with him. “Where’s El?”
“At Project Nina.” one says.

“That means literally nothing to us.” Jonathan says, coming into the living room.
“Why don’t you sit down?” one says, almost looking bored, moving to one of the chairs
across from the couch.
Mike sits down cautiously, glad when Will sits down next to him instead of next to Jonathan
(even if he feels ashamed of that relief).
He listens as the agents talk, and it’s so hard not to take Will’s hand, which is resting in his
lap, as they talk about horrible things happening in Hawkins.
He wishes he could hold Will’s hand. Mike just knows it would make him feel better.
“I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble understanding all of this.” Jonathan says after the agents
have finished talking. Will sure agrees with that. “I mean, what exactly is going on in
Hawkins? What’s doing these killings?”
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.” one of the agents says.
“Where is El, like, right now?” Will asks.
“For her safety, it’s best you don’t know.” the agent says.
“This is insane! This is insane!” Mike says, getting up and flailing his hands like he always
has when he gets upset or stressed.
“So this training to get El’s powers back, how long is it going to take?” Will asks quietly.
“Could take weeks, could take months.” one says.
“Months?!” Jonathan says.
“Until then, we’ll stay with you. Agents Harmons and Wallace.”
Will does not ask which is which, though he kind of wants to.
“We’re not in danger. Our friends live in Hawkins. My family lives in Hawkins.” Mike says.
“Other officials are containing the situation until Eleven is ready.” the agent says. “In the
meantime, it is of vital importance you do not speak to anyone about this.”
“No. No way.” Mike scoffs.
“I know this is difficult to understand-” the agent attempts.
“It’s not difficult, this is impossible!” Jonathan snaps.
“There are factions in our government who are working directly against Eleven, who are, in
fact, searching for her as we speak. We can’t risk contact. If they learned about any of this, it
would jeopardize Eleven.” the agent says, clearly annoyed and tired. “And if Eleven is
jeopardized, so are your friends. And so is your family.”
“So, what, we’re just supposed to trust that you’re the good guys?” Mike scoffs. “Whoever
you are?”
“We’re friends of Owens.” the other agent says, speaking for the first time. “Eleven trusted
us. Now we’re asking the same from you. For you.”
Both Will and Jonathan sigh at nearly the same time.
All of them treat the agents with silence as they all get up and go their separate ways,
Jonathan in the dining room, Will at the counter, and Mike still holding onto the back of the
couch looking upset.
The agents eventually move to recline in the chairs and put on the TV, watching it in a way
that reminds Will of two suburban dads on Thanksgiving.
Eventually, he gets up from the counter and starts walking around, which gets their attention.
“Where are you going?” the more talkative agent asks.
“I’m just getting something to drink. Is that allowed, or… how does this house arrest work?”
Will snarks.
“You’re not under arrest.” the agent sighs.
“Riiiiiight.” Will says with an eye roll. “No, no, you’re here to protect us. And… watch TV,
apparently.”
They ignore him that time.
As Will gets a glass of water with shaky hands, he sees Mike go upstairs out of the corner of
his eye.
He decides that he’ll go and try to comfort Mike in a bit. He’ll just give him space for now.
Mike goes upstairs, not even sure where he’s going or caring. As long as he isn’t downstairs
right now.
He goes into El’s room, where he finds a neatly-folded note on the bedspread that says ‘Mike-
I have gone to become a superhero again. From El.’
Mike huffs as he puts it in his back pocket, angry at himself far more than he is with El. He
messed up, and he gets why she’s mad, but God, he didn’t apologize for being a shit person
and boyfriend before she got arrested. And now he won’t get to apologize until she has her
powers back, and that might be months.
As soon as he’s calmed down, he leaves and goes back into the hallway, looking around and
deciding where to go before going into a different room.
Mike steps into Will’s room, looking around it for the first time in the light of day. The walls
are a dark yellow, though much of the paint is covered by posters. There are movie posters
and music posters, as well as prints of famous works of art and seemingly random prints.
He walks over to the dresser and picks up the photo frames on the top, smiling as he looks at
each one. There’s a drawn picture of a tiger, a picture of Will and Jonathan and Mrs. Byers, a
picture of the Party that was taken over the summer, a picture of the Party on Halloween,
and… just a polaroid of Mike?
Mike pauses as he looks at the polaroid clipped to the top of the Halloween frame. It looks
like it was taken about a year ago, and it has Mike in a green button-up with a smile on his
face as he looks over to the left, showing his birthmark. His hair’s much shorter and
straighter, and he looks… genuinely happy.
Mike takes a deep breath and sets it down, trying not to think of the fact that Will has a
picture of him - and specifically him - in his room in a place of honor. It’s not even in a
frame, meaning that he took the time to clip it to the corner of another picture (which also had
Mike in it). Even though that doesn’t mean anything, and there’s no way that Will could ever
feel the way that Mike feels, it makes his heart race.
He continues looking around, noting the wooden bed with the panels above it and several
blankets as well as a reddish-brown duvet, the stereo system sitting on top of a piece of
furniture that’s absolutely stuffed with records and has cassette tapes littered over it, Will’s
nightstand - with surprisingly little sitting on top of it, empty but for a lamp and a Walkman
sitting on top of it, closet doors which are slightly ajar, the mattress Mike slept on, a painting
easel, and a desk a few feet away from the bed, with a spinning desk chair, trashcan, and two
pencil cups, one filled with pencils and pens, the other filled with paint brushes. Papers litter
the surface of the desk, some smooth, some crumpled, and there are a few in the trash can.
Mike walks over to Will’s easel, smiling as he looks over the paint marks that cover the wood
and the half-empty paint tubes.
Mike picks up one that's completely empty, a blue color that Mike wouldn't normally be a fan
of, but it’s apparently one Will likes, and that means Mike likes it too. He smiles at the fact
that it's next to the full ones even though it’s empty - he’s sure that Will had just been so
caught up in painting that he had forgotten to toss it out.
He touches some of the paint marks on the easel with light fingers, feeling the bumps of
bright paint that Will must have forgotten to clean off. He can almost see it: Will painting in
the corner on this easel, too focused on creating to clean up or to throw away the empty paint
tube, quietly humming or singing along to whatever music he had put on and looking with a
discerning eye at whatever masterpiece he was making, the light from either the sun or the
lamp bathing him in a warm glow as he worked.
Mike smiles again at that, setting the paint tube back down where it was and continuing on
his look through Will’s space.
After a minute, Mike walks over to the desk and starts looking through the papers, smiling at
the drawings, which he immediately starts to smooth out and begins stacking. There are some
of El, of his family, of Will’s own hands, of animals and plants that Mike assumes Will sees,
of characters on TV, of buildings, of random patterns and doodles…
Mike organizes the drawings by topic into neat stacks, separating the art materials such as
pastels, colored pencils, and drawing pads from the mess as well, frequently pausing to
admire his friend’s drawings.
Will never appreciates his own art, and it annoys Mike. Every drawing is a beautiful creation,
made even better by the fact that they were made by Will, and it’s so frustrating when Will
treats them like garbage, leaving them around or even crumpling them up. So, even if Will
says to throw one away or decides that it isn’t worth finishing, Mike’s always saved them. To
him, they’re pure gold, and he would never harm or let anyone harm Will’s art. They’re too
precious, as is Will’s gift for it.
Even though Mike knows that he probably shouldn’t, he crouches down next to the trashcan
and pulls out those papers with a small smile. It’s more than likely they’re Will’s art that he
deemed not good enough, and if they aren’t, he can just throw away the paper again.
He frowns as he sees that the bottom of the trash can is charred and blackened. Did Will start
smoking or something? He doubts that’s something Will would do - or something that Mrs.
Byers would be cool with. Maybe it was an accident with a candle or hot glue gun or
something. It’s probably nothing.
Mike begins to uncrumple the papers, but as soon as he sees the contents, he freezes.
He had started with the biggest ball, which was a crumple of a few drawings, which he
started to take apart in layers.
The first drawing is of a figure. It’s a boy in his underwear, and you can see muscle and bone
under the skin. The boy in the drawing is thin, but not very - just an average person with a
fast metabolism. It’s scribbled out.
Mike uncrumples the second one, the layer right above the first, and it’s another scribbled-out
figure. It’s the same boy (or so Mike thinks - Will never finished the faces), but this figure is
a lot skinnier. This one is skin and bone, looking gaunt to Mike’s eyes. It’s scribbled out as
well. He can appreciate the skill and work that went into these, evident in the detail and
black-and-white near-realism, but… why?
He opens the last one. It scares Mike, even more than the other ones. The boy in the drawing
is so thin that it’s almost grotesque, with bones jutting severely in places they shouldn’t be.
The drawing looks like, if it were real, it would have died of malnutrition long ago. This one
isn’t scribbled out, but it has water stains on it. Mike wonders if it was from Will crying.
Why would he be-
‘No. No no no no.’ is all Mike can think as the pieces fall into place. The way Will hasn’t
really eaten since Mike’s gotten here, the way he’s so thin, the way he’s isolating himself, the
way that his hand goes in patterns over his clothes (oh god, is he trying to feel his bones
when he does that?), the way that he immediately left for the bathroom at the burrito place…
it lines up too closely to that special they did on 60 Minutes on eating disorders.
Would Will- would he- would he really? Would Will starve himself so that he could look like
the boy in the third drawing? Did he draw that because it’s what he wants to look like? Oh,
God. Would Will really do that to himself? Is that what’s happening? Does- does Will have
an eating disorder?
Mike takes a deep, shaking breath and folds the three papers, stashing them in his pants
pocket in case he needs them to prove something’s wrong or prove to Will that he knows
what’s going on. How is he supposed to bring this up? How is he supposed to ask? Just walk
up to the boy who might hate him after six months of radio silence, who’s his favorite person
in the world, and go ‘Hey, Will! I think that something’s very wrong with you! Do you
happen to be starving yourself so that you lose weight? As a sidenote, how’s life? Why are
you shaking so much? I’m asking because you’re acting weird and I’m pretty sure that you’re
lying about, like, 99% of the stuff you say is fine. Also, I think your PTSD is back and really
bad even though you say it’s fine!’? No! And besides, if Will’s weight loss and habits and
drawings are all just a coincidence, he might get really offended that Mike would think that
he would intentionally do that to himself.
‘ Okay. Okay, gotta think of a game plan. ’ Mike tells himself. He tries to think of something,
anything, to do about the fact that Will might damn well be really sick with an eating
disorder.
Mike decides that he’s not gonna say anything for a while, but he’s gonna push harder for
Will to eat. If Will keeps acting so weird and resisting all efforts to get food into his system,
Mike’ll bring it up calmly and with lots of evidence. But in the meanwhile, he’ll just keep
watching Will and make sure that he eats.
With his head whirling from the new, horrible information, Mike uncrumples the other
papers. They’re all dark, near-disgusting images, with figures ripping off their own limbs and
into their abdomens, carefully-drawn dead bodies surrounded by cursive words that Mike
can’t quite read but has a bad feeling about, and one that’s a surprisingly haunting drawing of
a butterfly made of cobwebs. They all scare him. Why is Will drawing these? Mike adores
Will’s art and talent, but these are all honestly horrific.
He looks at them on the table, unsure of what to do. He loves Will’s art and doesn’t want
them to get thrown away forever (as they’re all beautiful in a haunting, disturbed way), but…
Christ, he doesn’t want to look at or keep them, either. What is he supposed to do with them?
Mike takes them and tucks them gently into the front pocket of his duffel bag. He can decide
what to do with them later, but for now, they’re safe.
He’s startled by Will knocking at the doorframe. “Um… everything okay?” he asks softly,
and Mike wants to say no, Will, everything’s not okay, I think you’re putting yourself in
danger and it scares me, I can’t lose you, that thought scares me more than anything else in
the world, please just tell me if I’m right and you’re starving yourself, I just want you to be
safe and happy, I won’t be upset, just please be okay.
“Oh. Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” Mike dismisses. “Just, uh…” Thinking that Will’s
mentally ill? “...El left me a note. It says she’s gone off to be a superhero again.”
“Mm.” Will nods. “Well, it means that she’s okay, so at least there’s that.”
But are you okay, Will? Because I don’t think you are.
Mike sits down on the end of Will’s bed as Will starts pacing. “You know, I… I mean, I really
don’t think they’ve thought this through. If this goes on for a month, or months, and people
can’t get ahold of us, they’re gonna totally freak out. And meanwhile, my mom’s probably
having a panic attack or something.” Will rambles, gesticulating wildly with his arms that
keep folding and unfolding and bobbing head. “And what about Hawkins? They’re supposed
to keep it contained. Like you can contain any of this without El. I mean…”
“Yeah.” Mike agrees, staring at El’s note while thinking of Will’s drawings and their
implications.
“If you keep staring at that, it’s not going to change. You know?” Will says more gently.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Mike says, crumpling it.
Right then, Mike makes a bad choice. He doesn’t love El like that, and he can’t keep fighting
with her. If he could just get Will’s blessing-
“Before the cops came, me and El, we… we had a bad fight. We never fight. I mean, we
fought before, but just, like, silly fights, stupid fights. But, I don’t know, this one just felt
more adult. Like, it… it felt more real. Like, a fight you can’t come back from. Maybe I
should’ve said something, and if I would’ve said that thing, then maybe she’d want me there
with her, wherever she is.” Mike says.
“No. Look, Mike, you’re gonna see her again, and whatever you didn’t say, you can say it to
her then. Okay?” Will says.
Mike feels so ashamed at the disappointment he feels that Will didn’t tell him to break up
with El.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Mike says.
“She’s gonna be okay. She’s not in Hawkins. That’s what we should be worrying about.” Will
says.
“You don’t trust Owens?” Mike asks when it occurs to him what Will’s saying.
“I- no. I- I don’t know. I mean, he’s been good to us and good to El, but he- he wasn’t able to
protect me. That was you guys that saved me. That was you guys.” Will stumbles.
Memories of Will screaming as a monster from another dimension possessed his frail body
flit through Mike’s mind for a second.
Mike sighs. “Looks like it’s gonna be up to us again.”
“It always is, isn’t it?” Will smiles as he sits next to Mike.
Mike looks down at his lap, where he’s twisting his hands so that he doesn’t try to reach out
and touch Will. He glances back up, first to Will’s lips - no, Michael, stop that - then up to
Will’s eyes before back to Will’s lips again. Michael James Wheeler, stop it! he thinks to
himself.
“And that’s why we can’t stay here.” Jonathan says, stepping into the doorway.
Jonathan’s sudden interruption makes Mike very, very glad that he didn’t kiss Will like he
was thinking about doing.
Jon grabs Will’s spinning desk chair and pulls it up, sitting with his leg on either side of the
back. “Listen. Let’s assume these friends of Owens are telling the truth. We can’t call
Hawkins without alerting the military, putting El in danger. Alright, fine: we just go to them.”
he says.
“Go to Hawkins?” Mike asks.

“How?” Will asks, finishing Mike’s thought. God, he’s amazing.
“What are you worried about? Ponch and Jon out there?” Jonathan asks. “They’re half-asleep
watching golf.”
“No, Jonathan, I mean that we don’t have a car or money.” Will snarks. (God, Mike loves it
when Will’s snarky. It’s hilarious and so cute)
“Then we’ll hail ourselves a ride. A cheap one.” Jonathan says, handing them a flier for
Surfer Boy Pizza.
They all look at each other, and as Mike’s dark brown eyes look into Will’s hazel and
Jonathan’s light brown, he knows that they’re going to figure this out and they’re going to get
out of here.
Chapter End Notes
MIKE FIGURED IT OUT, GUYS! HE DID IT! WOO!
Also, what did you think of him being so protective of Will?
We love a bit of snarky Will, too.
Also, in this fic, Mike has a birthmark on the side of his face like in the original script.
He's very self a conscious about it.
Next chapter is when things get messy, so stay tuned!
Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Shootout
Chapter Notes
Hello, happy New Years and happy 2024! I hope you like this chapter, and I'll try to get
the next one up on Saturday or Sunday! Let this kick the new year off on a good foot!

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, Ngalu, ToBeLonely, TooGayForYourDrama, and
CloudcoreHanual for giving me the motivation to write this. Hope you read this and
think it's good.
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Violence
- Guns & gunfire
- Blood
- Death
- Language
- Fear
- Going into shock
“Excuse me, sir?” Will asks, standing on the stairs next to Mike and holding their ticket out
of here.
The agents ignore him, too caught up in watching the TV.
“Excuse me, SIRRRRRRRR.” Mike says, glaring bullets at them. It takes all of Will’s effort
not to laugh.
One sighs and looks over. “What?”
“We’re hungry.” Will says, holding out the flyer.

They see the word ‘pizza’ and seemingly forget everything else. “I could eat.” says one.
Jonathan makes the call and tells Argyle to get down here (and orders two pizzas to distract
the agents), and Will and Mike go upstairs to pack up. Mike goes into the bathroom first
(presumably to get his toiletries), and Will immediately goes into the yellow room.
He looks around, trying to decide what to take. There are so many things that he’s attached to
here, and he doesn’t know when or if they’ll be able to come back.
Will decides that he’ll take the things he needs, like clothes and a toothbrush and stuff, his
walkman and tapes, some of his art supplies, and Bobert the Plant. And some pictures he
doesn’t want to leave.
He immediately starts grabbing things and shoving them into his backpack, which he empties
onto the floor next to his dresser. When (if) he gets back, he’ll clean up the mess, but right
now, he just needs a place to bring everything.
Will goes over to his desk to grab his sketchbook and some pencils, both colored and not, for
the road, but as he grabs them, he freezes and looks over the wooden surface.
Huh. His desk is way more organized than before. Did Mike- Did Mike clean it up?
Something dawns on him, and Will looks over at the trash can, which is now empty. Oh, no.
Did Mike see the drawings that were so dark and painful that he wouldn’t keep them?
He gulps at that thought. Okay. So there were the four bloody ones and the moth and the three
ritual ones, and… oh, crap, Mike must’ve seen the thinness drawings if he saw the others,
too. Oh, God. How’s he going to explain those away?
Will decides that, if Mike asks, the drawings were all scenes from a horror novel that he’s
been reading. The thinness drawings were the main character, the other ones were moments
from the book that Will found so impactful that he wanted to draw them.
Okay. If Mike asks, he’ll have an excuse.
Will puts the pencils (three plain and a box of colored) into his front khaki pocket and tucks a
small sketchbook (only about 4” by 6” - small enough to carry with him in case he gets
nervous and needs to draw at school - and with only three pages used) into his back pocket,
where it sticks out just below the hem of his tucked-in yellow flannel shirt. Better to save
room in his backpack and keep them from getting lost.
Will then goes over to his nightstand and table, where he gets his Walkman and some of his
favorite tapes.
As he moves on from grabbing his music and all his other non-necessities (except Bobert,
who he’ll grab on the way out) to his clothes, getting down on the floor and kneeling so that
he can get inside his dresser, Mike comes in, toiletry bag in hand. He puts it into his duffel
bag, zips it up, and hefts it onto his shoulder.
“You’re packed already?” Will asks, glancing over from where he’s trying to fit clothes into
his bag.
“Yeah. I mean, I never really unpacked.” Mike pauses for a second. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?” Will asks, hardly looking over his shoulder. He’s serious - what did he do that
warrants thanks while Mike’s been here?
“For knocking some sense into me over these past few days. I was being a total self-pitying
idiot.” Mike says.
“Well, I didn’t say it.” Will says, smiling over his shoulder at Mike, who’s now sitting on the
end of his bed.
“You didn’t have to.” Mike says, smiling in return (and- wait, did he look at Will’s lips?
There’s no way. Will’s probably projecting. He should not do that). “Hey, also, about the last
few days-”
“You don’t have to say anything. I- I was being a total jerk by ignoring you and I deserved
everything that happened.” Will says, turning back to the dresser.
“No.” Mike disagrees, shaking his head when Will looks over. “No, no, no, no. You didn’t
deserve anything bad.”
“Listen, the truth is, the last year has been… weird, you know? And I mean, you know, Max
and Lucas and Dustin, they’re… they’re great. They’re great. It’s just… It’s Hawkins. It’s not
the same without you. And I feel like I was thinking too much about El this whole time,
and… I don’t know, it just feels like I lost you or something. Does that make sense?” “I have
no idea what’s going to happen next. But I think that, whatever it is, we should work together.
I think it’ll be easier if we’re… if we’re a team. Friends. Best friends.” Mike says, coffee
eyes softened as they look into Will’s, who can’t keep himself from smiling and feeling
hopeful.
“Cool.” Will smiles awkwardly.
“Cool.” Mike agrees (did he glance down again just now? Maybe Will’s lip is cracked or
something, because Mike keeps looking at it. Or maybe it’s just his imagination. All Will
knows is that Mike definitely isn’t thinking what he’s thinking).
Will’s thought process involving Mike and their lips (which is hard not to start blushing to) is
interrupted by the sound of tires screeching outside.
“That was fast.” Mike mutters, eyebrows furrowed.

“Thirty minutes or less.” Will jokes.
“Alright, you guys ready?” Jon says, ducking into the yellow room.
“Yeah.” Will and Mike both say at nearly the same time. Will hesitates for a second, but then
he grabs the two paintings in his left hand. He doesn’t want to leave them behind, even if he
might not be able to give them to Mike.
The doorbell rings, and they hear the agent guy say from the living room “Pizza time. I got
it.”
As the doorbell rings again and again (which is weird, Argyle usually just rings twice), the
agent guy says “Yeah, I’m coming, hold your horses, Jesus Christ- hello-”
There’s a popping sound and then a thud, and Will’s lived through enough that he knows
what that means.
“What the hell was that?” Mike asks.
“Oh, shit.” Will says. He’s not dumb - he knows the sound of someone being shot.
“Stay here!” Jonathan says, clearly knowing what that means as well, holding up a flat palm
and jogging out to the living room.
Will looks at Mike in fear, while he looks at Will in confusion and anxiety.
There’s rapid-fire popping sounds, and Will hears the sound of gunfire and shouting before
Jonathan appears in the doorway again, pure panic on his face.
“What’s going on?” Mike asks, going to lean his head out the door, and when Jonathan
practically shoves his head back in and says ‘Get back!’, he clearly gets it, his face going
slack in terror.
“Listen, we gotta go right now!” Jonathan shouts, grabbing them and pulling them out into
the hall after giving it a quick look.
“SHIT! SHIT!” Mike shouts, clearly panicking. Will can’t blame him. He’s panicking too, if
the sudden lack of air isn’t any indication.
“GO! RUN!” Jonathan shouts as he pushes them through the hallway and down into the
living room, where they all press against the wall next to one of the agents as he shoots at
whoever’s attacking them. Will squeezes his eyes shut as he pants, too terrified to move or
think or do anything. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, please please please don’t let us get shot,
I’m so scared, please, God-
He feels pressure against the front of his body, and when he looks, he sees Mike throwing
himself in front of Will, leaning heavily on him as he covers Will’s body with his own, while
Jonathan tries to pull Mike away and back against the wall.
The agent guy gets shot one, two, three times, and they keep running through the living room
as the gunfire intensifies.
Eventually, even though the agent guy is shot and bleeding like crazy, they get out to the
driveway in a blur, where Jonathan slams a hand on the window as he shouts at Argyle to
stop the car.
“The hell is going on?” Argyle shouts as they open the door and struggle to get the agent into
the backseat.
“Gogogogogogogogo!” Jonathan shouts.

“Whoa, is that real blood, man?!”
“DRIVE!” Mike, Jonathan, and Will scream in unison.
“Okay, okay, alright!” Argyle says, starting to kick the car into gear.
“But… OH MY GOD WHY IS THAT GUY HOLDING A GUN?!” Argyle screeches as a

gunman starts approaching the van with his machine gun raised.
“DRIVE!” they all scream again.
“OKAY!” Argyle shouts, speeding away right as the gunman fires, denting the van door. Will
throws his arms over his head before he can think to do anything else.
As they keep going full-speed away from the Byers house, Will comes to his senses,
immediately starting to press on the agent’s wounds. “Mike! Jon! Help! He’s gonna bleed
out!” Will says over the agents pained cry at the pressure, his hands becoming warm and
sticky.
“I- shit, shit, okay.” Mike says, immediately scooting over to help.
“OH, SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!” Argyle shouts from the front seat.
Jonathan also comes over, helping to press on some more of the gunshot wounds. “Keep
pressure on it!” he snaps at Will, whose hands are shaking so much that he’s having a hard
time keeping them down.
Will feels like he can’t hear right. It’s like the sound of the gunshots and the body hitting the
floor and the shouting is ringing in his ears and echoing in his head, the horrible sounds on a
loop as he tries to stop his hands and voice from shaking so that this agent, who protected
them and is now bleeding to death from over fourteen gunshot wounds to his torso, won’t die.
“I know! I know!” Will says, panicking as he tries to will his limbs to be steady enough to
help this guy.
“Oh, God. Oh, God, it’s not slowing.” Mike says.
“Just put more pressure on it! Keep putting pressure on it! Get the napkins!”
“Come on!” Mike cries, looking so, so scared.
“MIKE! NAPKINS!” Will snaps. He feels bad for his tone, but Mike gets up and grabs some,
so at least his outburst did something helpful.
“Shit!” Mike cries.
“Argyle! Get us to St. Mary’s!” Jonathan shouts up to the front.
“I don’t think praying’s gonna help that dude!” Argyle shouts.
“No, you idiot! St. Mary’s Hospital!”
“No… no…” says the agent on the floor.
“What?” Will asks as gently as he can with his voice and hands still shaking. He needs the
gunfire in his head to stop so that he can hear what the agent’s saying.
“No hospital…” he says weakly.

“We’re gonna get you to the hospital.” says Jonathan, coming back over from where he had
gone to yell at Argyle.
“You need to warn… O… Owens…” the agent says, gurgling slightly as blood starts to fill
his mouth.
“Okay. Okay. Owens.” Will says, moving a hand from the agent’s wounds to his arm,
squeezing in some approximation of comfort. He’s not dumb. He knows that the wounds are
too many and that he’s lost too much blood. Will isn’t dumb. He knows that the agent is
dying. All he can do is offer comfort and an ear.
“The girl. She… she’s in danger.” the agent says.
“Okay. How… how do we find Owens?” Jonathan asks.
“Nina. Nina.” he says.
“Nina. Who’s Nina?” Mike asks.
“A pen! Okay, a pen!” Will says, seeing the agent’s gesture and grabbing the pen from the
agent’s shirt pocket, placing it in his hand. “Okay!”
“Shit.” Mike says in a strangled voice.
“Here’s the number.” the agent says weakly, holding the pen.
“Number. Number.” Will repeats, and he doesn’t know why, it’s such a small thing to repeat,
but he’s scared, and it’s helping him process and calm down. “Number. Okay. Number.”
“He wants to write something.” Mike says. “Will, Will, get a magazine or something. Will,
grab something.”
Will pulls his sketchbook out of his pocket and pulls out a page, leaving bloody fingerprints
on the paper he pulls out and the covers, but he doesn’t care.
“He’s really bleeding a lot…” Argyle says.
“Right here.” he says, handing over the sketchbook paper.
“Come on. Hey. Write the number. Hey! Look at me! Hey, come on! Hold on!” Mike cries as
the agent’s hand grows weaker.
“Oh, shit.” Will registers Mike saying as the agent’s hand falls away, leaving the pen in
Mike’s grasp.
He looks in a daze at the man who gave his life to protect them, who is now lying dead on the
floor. Whose blood is everywhere and who died in agony. The man who died to keep them
safe, even though Will didn’t know his name.
He hears Jonathan and Argyle arguing as he looks at the agent’s body, and he gives a shaking
exhale. He wants to press his hands into his eyes, but he’ll get blood on his face. The dead
man’s blood.
As Will leans back from the body, going to crouch on his feet and look at his hands stained
and glistening red with the dead man’s blood and trying not to freak out, Mike seemingly
loses it, as he stares at Will’s chest for a minute before diving at him, clawing at the fabric.
“Mike?! What-” Will tries as Mike starts unbuttoning Will’s flannel shirt with shaking hands
and a determined ferocity.
“Were you hit?!” Mike shouts as he practically tears the fabric with his hurry to get it off of
Will’s chest.
“What?!” Will asks, looking down at his own body for the first time. He almost faints when
he sees the blood running down the center of his shirt. “Oh my God!”
When he gets the flannel shirt off enough to expose Will’s undershirt, Mike blinks and
breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back when he sees that Will’s long-sleeve gray shirt that he
was wearing under the flannel only has a little bit of blood on the collar where it was
exposed, apparently satisfied that Will wasn’t shot.
He then looks at Will’s face. “Will- Will, your nose-”
Will touches his face and finds that his nose had apparently started bleeding during the
shooting.
“Oh.” he says, not sure what else to say.
“Are you okay?!” Jonathan asks in a panic.
“I’m fine.” Will says in a daze. He feels like he’s underwater. Nothing seems real, not the
blood, not the guns still echoing in his ears, not even him. “I’m okay. Just a nosebleed.”
He looks at his hands again, still so bloody, and looks over out the window, trying not to cry.
In the back of his mind, he registers that his two paintings are sitting on the floor of the van.
Apparently, he held onto them throughout the shooting and put them in as they helped the
agent in.
As Will looks out the window, he sees black vans in the distance.
“Get off the road.” he says, staring out at them.
“What?!” Mike asks, looking at the vans, too. “Oh, shit.”
“Get off the road!” they say in unison.
When Jonathan realizes and starts shouting at Argyle too, he swerves, getting them off the
road and away from the people who want them dead.
“I know somewhere we can go!” Argyle shouts.
Mike grabs his toiletries from the bathroom as he takes deep breaths, trying to get the nerve
to talk to Will again before they leave.
After standing outside of the bedroom door for what’s probably, like, three solid minutes,
collecting himself and planning out what to say, he goes into Will’s room, closing the door
behind him as he enters.
“You’re packed already?” Will asks, glancing over his shoulder at Mike.
“Yeah. I mean, I never really unpacked.” Mike says.
As Will focuses back on his dresser and Mike sits down on the end of Will’s bed, Mike
definitely doesn’t sneak a look at Will’s ass (and he even bites his lip, oh dear god what is he
doing), which his khakis make look really good. Wow, Michael, pervert much? his brain
supplies, and he tells it to shut the fuck up because Will’s really easy on the eyes (which his
brain then makes fun of him for saying).
He pauses for a second, fighting a blush, and smiles at Will. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?” Will asks, turning to pay more attention to Mike, who nearly dies when he sees
how attractive Will’s facial side profile has gotten.
“For knocking some sense into me over these past few days. I was being a total self-pitying
idiot.” Mike says.
“Well, I didn’t say it.” Will smiles.
“You didn’t have to.” Mike says, smiling and nodding and looking at Will’s lips again what
the fuck is he doing- “Hey, also, about the last few days-”
“You don’t have to say anything. I- I was being a total jerk by ignoring you and I deserved
everything that happened.” Will says, turning back to the dresser.
“No.” Mike says, and he wants to cry, how could Will think that he deserved anything that’s
happened over the past two days? He deserves so much more than that. “No, no, no, no. You
didn’t deserve anything bad.”
Will looks back over, and Mike decides what he needs to say.
“Listen, the truth is, the last year has been… weird, you know? And I mean, you know, Max
and Lucas and Dustin, they’re… they’re great. They’re great. It’s just… It’s Hawkins. It’s not
the same without you. And I feel like I was thinking too much about El this whole time,
and… I don’t know, it just feels like I lost you or something. Does that make sense?” Will
nods, and as he looks at Mike like he hung the moon and stars (why’s he looking at Mike like
that? Is he really so happy to have the confirmation that Mike and Hawkins care about him?),
Mike continues. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next. But I think that, whatever it is,
we should work together. I think it’ll be easier if we’re… if we’re a team. Friends. Best
friends.”
“Cool.” Will says, nodding his head and smiling like crazy. Jesus Christ, he’s absolutely
adorable.
“Cool.” Mike nods, looking at Will’s lips yet again, he needs to knock that off-
Mike’s thoughts about kissing Will are interrupted by the sound of tires screeching outside.
“That was fast.” Mike mutters, eyebrows furrowed.
“Thirty minutes or less.” Will jokes.
“Alright, you guys ready?” Jon says, ducking into Will’s room.
“Yeah.” Will and Mike both say at nearly the same time. Mike sees Will hesitate for a
moment, then grab two paintings from next to his dresser in one hand.
The doorbell rings, and they hear the agent guy say from the living room “Pizza time. I got
it.”
As the doorbell rings again and again, the agent guy says “Yeah, I’m coming, hold your
horses, Jesus Christ- hello-”
There’s a popping sound and then a thud, and Mike knows that’s not good, but he doesn’t
know what, exactly, that sound is, even if it’s eerily familiar.
“What the hell was that?” Mike asks.
“Oh, shit.” Will says. Mike looks over at Will - if Will’s swearing, that means that they’re in
serious shit.
“Stay here!” Jonathan says, holding up a flat palm and jogging out to the living room.
Mike looks at Will in confusion and anxiety, and Will looks at him in terror as he grabs onto
Mike’s arm with his free hand, which is clearly trembling. What does he know that Mike
doesn’t?
There’s rapid-fire popping sounds, and Mike hears what sounds like a combination of
fireworks and popcorn and shouting before Jonathan appears in the doorway again, pure
panic on his face.
“What’s going on?” Mike asks, going to lean his head out the door, and when Jonathan
practically shoves his head back in and says ‘Get back!’, he gets it, and he can feel his face
going slack in terror.
Holy shit. Holy shit, those are gunshots.
“Listen, we gotta go right now!” Jonathan shouts, grabbing them and pulling them out into
the hall after giving it a quick look.
“SHIT! SHIT!” Mike shouts. There’s no way out except THROUGH THE GUNFIRE, oh
dear God, what if they get shot-
“GO! RUN!” Jonathan shouts as he pushes them through the hallway and down into the
living room, where they all press against the wall next to one of the agents as he shoots at
whoever’s attacking them. Mike stays against the wall for a second, but when he realizes that
the shots are getting closer to where they are, he throws himself in front of Will in a panic
and ignores Jonathan trying to pull him back, knowing that whatever happens, he isn’t going
to let Will get hurt.
The agent guy’s back starts to become stained with red as he keeps firing and crying out as he
gets shot, and they keep running through the living room as there are more and more shots
fired.
Eventually, even though the agent guy is shot and bleeding like crazy, they get out to the
driveway in a blur, where Jonathan slams a hand on the window as he shouts at Argyle to
stop the car.
“The hell is going on?” Argyle shouts as they open the door and struggle to get the agent into
the backseat.
“Gogogogogogogogo!” Jonathan shouts.
“Whoa, is that real blood, man?!”
“DRIVE!” Mike, Jonathan, and Will scream in unison.
“Okay, okay, alright!” Argyle says, starting to kick the car into gear.
“But… OH MY GOD WHY IS THAT GUY HOLDING A GUN?!” Argyle screeches as a

gunman starts approaching the van with his machine gun raised.
“DRIVE!” they all scream again.
“OKAY!” Argyle shouts, speeding away right as the gunman fires, denting the van door.
Mike flies backwards in an attempt to keep himself safe, and he sees Will throws his arms
over his head and squeeze his eyes shut.
As they keep going full-speed away from the Byers house, Will goes over and starts to press
on the agent’s wounds. “Mike! Jon! Help! He’s gonna bleed out!” Will says over the agents
pained cry at the pressure.
“I- shit, shit, okay.” Mike says, immediately scooting over to help and trying not to think
about the feeling of the agent’s heartbeat and blood seeping through his fingers.
“OH, SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!” Argyle shouts from the front seat.
Jonathan also comes over, helping to press on some more of the gunshot wounds. “Keep
pressure on it!” he snaps at Will, whose hands are shaking so much that it looks like he’s
having a seizure.
Mike feels like he can’t think, like he’s frozen in time, half in the Byers living room getting
shot at and half in the van keeping the agent from bleeding out.
“I know! I know!” Will says, and Mike wants to snap at Jonathan for making Will more
upset, but they don’t have time, he’s bleeding so much, he’s going to fucking die-
“Oh, God. Oh, God, it’s not slowing.” Mike says, trying not to start crying.
“Just put more pressure on it! Keep putting pressure on it! Get the napkins!” Jonathan says.
“Come on!” Mike shouts, and he’s scared, he can’t think, it’s like he’s frozen-
“MIKE! NAPKINS!” Will snaps, and the fear and stress in Will’s voice is enough to snap
him out of it, and he goes up and finds some napkins in the glove compartment.
“Shit!” Mike cries as he brings them back over as fast as he can.
“Argyle! Get us to St. Mary’s!” Jonathan shouts up to the front.
“I don’t think praying’s gonna help that dude!” Argyle shouts.

“No, you idiot! St. Mary’s Hospital!”
“No… no…” says the agent on the floor.
“What?” Will asks gently, clearly attempting to compartmentalize his own panic for the
agent’s sake.
“No hospital…” he says weakly.
“We’re gonna get you to the hospital.” says Jonathan, coming back over from where he had
gone to yell at Argyle.
“You need to warn… O… Owens…” the agent says, gurgling slightly as blood starts to fill
his mouth.
“Okay. Okay. Owens.” Will says, moving a hand from the agent’s wounds to his arm and
squeezing, leaving a bloody handprint on the white sleeve.
“The girl. She… she’s in danger.” the agent says.
“Okay. How… how do we find Owens?” Jonathan asks.
“Nina. Nina.” he says.
“Nina. Who’s Nina?” Mike asks. They can find El. They can find El and run and get back to
Hawkins and save themselves.
“A pen! Okay, a pen!” Will says, apparently recognizing whatever the agent’s doing with his
hand and grabbing the pen from the agent’s pocket, handing it to the agent. “Okay!”
“Shit.” Mike says in a strangled voice. This guy’s dying in the back of a pizza van and they
just got shot at, Jesus Christ-
“Here’s the number.” the agent says weakly, holding the pen.
“Number. Number. Number. Number. Okay. Number.” Will repeats over and over.
“He wants to write something.” Mike says as it occurs to him. “Will, Will, get a magazine or
something. Will, grab something.”
Will pulls a sketchbook out of his back pocket, ignoring the blood he’s leaving on it, and rips
out a page.
“He’s really bleeding a lot…” Argyle says.
“Right here.” he says, handing over the sketchbook paper.
“Come on. Hey. Write the number. Hey! Look at me! Hey, come on! Hold on!” Mike cries as
the agent’s hand grows weaker. No. No no no, he can’t lose Eleven. He’s so close, just write
the number.
“Oh, shit.” Mike says as the agent’s hand goes slack and limp, leaving Mike holding the pen.
Mike stares at the agent. He was so close to writing the number and he didn’t. Why didn’t he?
What if there’s no other way to find El ever again? He doesn’t want to lose his (girl)friend.
Mike looks up from the agent’s body, desperate for anything to look at but the corpse, when
he sees blood down Will’s shirt in a dark streak.
No. Oh, God, please, no, please don’t let him have been shot, oh, God-
Mike all but throws himself at Will, tearing at the fabric over Will’s chest as he desperately
tries to get the shirt open to look for a gunshot wound.
“Mike?! What-” Will tries to say as Mike starts unbuttoning Will’s flannel shirt with shaking
hands and a determined ferocity. Mike doesn’t care if his feelings about Will are wrong and
he’s afraid to take advantage of Will by touching him without telling him about what he is,
but he doesn’t give a shit, Will could die-
“Were you hit?!” Mike shouts as he practically tears the fabric with his hurry to get it off of
Will’s chest.
“What?!” Will asks, looking down. “Oh my God!” he says upon seeing the blood.
When he gets the flannel shirt off enough to expose Will’s undershirt, Mike blinks and
breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back when he sees that Will’s long-sleeve gray shirt that he
was wearing under the flannel only has a little bit of blood on the collar where it was
exposed, meaning that it wasn’t Will who got shot, only the agent guy.
He then looks at Will’s face, pale and with a stream of blood from both of Will’s nostrils.
“Will- Will, your nose-”
Will touches his face and apparently finds that his nose was bleeding.
“Oh.” he says, swaying as the van bounces.

“Are you okay?!” Jonathan asks, a terror in his eyes that Mike understands better than
anyone.
“I’m fine.” Will says in a weirdly even tone, still bouncing along with the movements of the
van. “I’m okay. Just a nosebleed.”
Will stares at his hands with a blank expression, looking at the blood that covers them like a
latex glove before looking out the back window for a second, still holding his hands out in
front of him.
“Get off the road.” he says quietly.
“What?” Mike asks, looking out the window too, where he sees the black vans in front of the
Byers house following behind. “Oh, shit.”
“Get off the road!” they say in unison.
When Jonathan realizes too and starts shouting at Argyle along with them, the van swerves
with Argyle’s jerky movements, getting them off the road and away from the people who
want them dead.
“I know somewhere we can go!” Argyle shouts.
Chapter End Notes
Nobody:
Literally nobody:
Not even Erica:
✨ ✨✨ ✨✨
before they get shot at: ass lips ✨
Michael ‘My Inner Demons are Homosexuality’ ‘Dumbass’ Wheeler literally right
”he’s easy on the eyes” *insert about a
dozen subsequent gay panic attacks here as they’re about to fucking die*
But really, what did you think about the points of view on the shootout? I had Will go
into a bit of a dissociative episode there and had the sound echo in his ears to show how
it affected him, but I wasn’t sure if his choice to stop trying to give medical care and
instead offer comfort in the agent’s dying moments seemed like it was something Will
would do. Let me know what you thought!
Also, did you catch Will’s echolalia? What do you think about Will’s nosebleed?
Leave a comment or Kudos if you’re up for it, and see you next time! Happy 2024!
Junkyard
Chapter Notes
Hi! I posted this earlier than I said, but I don't think you guys'll mind. Hope you enjoy!
(Also, sorry if it sucks, it was kinda hard to balance the rollercoaster of emotions in this
chapter).
Shoutout to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, Ngalu, WalkinInHawkins,

ToBeLonely, Quinn, A1exies, and madysjn for giving me the motivation and ideas to
write this chapter. Extra credit to Ngalu, as they helped me write Will's experience with
shock and the aftermath of a shooting much better. Thank you so much and I hope you
enjoy this.
Overall rating: R.
- Blood
- Violence
- Language
- Guns
- Burials
- Self-consciousness
- Self-hatred
- Mentioned disordered eating
As Will and Mike sit silently in the backseat, both with hands covered with blood from the
dead body on the floor, Argyle still panicking in the driver’s seat, they drive off the road to
some mysterious destination that Argyle promises is safe.
“Will?” someone asks, but Will can’t answer or move to look at who’s asking. He’s stuck.
The guns are still deafening, and he feels so, so cold and he can’t feel his feet or hands, and
his whole body is just shaking and trembling, and it’s like he can’t force any noise out of his
mouth except for whimpering. He knows that it’s over, but oh, God, is it really over? Or are
the guns and the blood and the shouting just going to come back the second he blinks one too
many times?
“Will, hey-” someone tries to touch his arm, but he just jerks away in response. “Sorry…” the
person says, withdrawing their hand.
“I’m gonna take the long way so that we won’t be followed, alright, dudes?” Argyle says (he
thinks it’s Argyle? His ears are ringing, he feels like he can’t think straight, his mind’s
moving too fast but still going in circles…).
Will doesn’t answer as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take deep breaths (why is it so
hard to breathe, are his lungs giving out like they did years ago?). He’s been through worse.
This isn’t vines being forced down his throat, this isn’t a monster controlling his body, this
isn’t his father coming at him with fury and fists raised, this isn’t being trapped in another
dimension with a monster hunting him. He’s been through so much worse than a few bullets
fired. So why is he freaking out?
He’s startled by a blanket being gently placed around his shoulders, tucked carefully under
his chin. “Here. I- I found this under Argyle’s seat. Your skin’s really cold. I don’t want you
to go into shock.”
Will wants to say thank you to whoever’s taking care of him, but he can’t talk or move, he’s
still stuck, his head is still underwater and filled with cotton and his chest is too tight and his
lungs are too small-
Someone touches his shoulder, and even though he flinches away, the hand doesn’t move.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” they say, and he feels fingers on his throat. “Whoa, your pulse is really
fast.”
The fingers drop from his pulse point to a palm over his chest. “Okay, deep breaths.
Everything’s okay, alright? We’re okay now. Deep breaths. Move my hand.”
Will takes one, two, three, four deep, shuddering breaths, gaining praise from whoever’s
touching Will. “Okay, you’re doing great. Keep breathing. Everything’s okay. We’re okay.
Alright, I’m gonna get you some water. Do you think you can drink?”
Will manages to nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
The person disappears, and the blanket is tightened around his shoulders again with murmurs
of comfort.
A bottle of water is lifted to his lips, and Will feels so embarrassed, he’s acting like a helpless
child when he can take care of himself, what’s wrong with him-
Will lifts his arm and takes hold of the bottle over someone else’s warm hand, and he drinks
of his own accord.
“Alright. You okay now?” comes the second that he lowers the water.
Will nods. He still can’t open his eyes or speak or think straight or stop shaking, but he feels
a little bit better.
“Do you have your pills? Have you taken them today? Xanax might help.” the person says.
Oh, no. Oh, no no no. He doesn’t have any of his medications.
Will shakes his head and goes to cover his ears because covering his ears always makes him
feel better but oh, God, his hands are still covered in blood.
Will makes a sound that’s caught somewhere in a weird place between a wail and a whimper
and a scream as he flaps his hands and shakes his head over and over and over. I want my
hands to be clean, no blood on them, get it off get it off get it off GET IT OFF GET IT OFF-
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, calm down-” the person says, trying to grab his wrists, but
don’t touch him he can’t-
Will makes an unholy screeching sound as he jerks his wrists, which surprises the person into
letting go, which then allows him to keep flapping his hands as fast as he can.
“Will.” comes a different voice, so quiet that he almost can’t hear it. “I know. I know it’s
scary but everything’s going to be okay. What’s wrong? What do you need?”
Will shows his palms as he keeps moving his hands, showing the blood that he knows is still
there.
“Is it the blood? Is that what’s wrong?” the person asks in the same soothing tone.
Will nods as best he can with his head still shaking.
“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna need you to stop moving for just a minute so that we can clean it off,
okay?”
Will takes as deep of breaths as he can as he slows his hands, trying to stay calm and not start
flapping his hands again even though he wants to. He settles for shaking his head even more
in response.
“There you go. It’s okay. It’s okay.” they say as a wet piece of… something (paper or fabric,
Will can’t tell) gently wipes over and over at his hands, leaving a lack of stickiness where it
scrubs.
“All done.” they say. “No more blood. There’s still a little bit on your face, though. Do you
want me to wipe that off, too?”
Will nods. His face feels sticky with the warmth too, he doesn’t like that, but it’s still better
than on his hands, he can breathe better but his chest and lungs are still too tight, his mind is
still moving too fast, his head still hurts-
They wipe under his nose and over his lips and chin, carefully getting all of the blood from
his nosebleed off. “Okay. Okay. All done. No blood. Better?”
Will nods as he takes deep breaths. He feels a little bit better, and he can’t feel okay with a
dead body that he doesn’t know the name of on the floor, but he feels a bit better, and he can
sit here without having to flap or shake his head, so he’s probably doing better than he was
before.
After a minute or two of sitting hunched over and stock-still on the floor, he opens his eyes
with much effort, blinking at the light.
“Hi.” Mike says from in front of him with a soft smile, and Will can’t tell if it’s sad or
nervous, but it’s safe. It’s Mike, and Mike feels safe. “Hi there. Are you feeling any better
now?”
Will nods, still not able to get any words out.
“Okay, good. We still have a bit until we’re at wherever Argyle’s taking us, so you have a bit
to finish feeling better, okay? There’s water on the floor next to you, the blanket’s still on
your shoulders, and your sketchbook is on the floor. Do you have pencils?” Mike says
quietly.
Will nods.
“Okay. Just take your time and do whatever you have to. It’ll be okay.”
Mike moves away and sits down about three feet further away, showing Jonathan kneeling
behind him with a furrowed brow. “I- I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have touched
you, I should know better than that when you have one of your moments, I’m sorry-”
Will wants to tell his rambling brother that it’s okay, he knows that Jonathan never knows
what to do with Will during one of his moments and that Will isn’t mad at Jonathan, but he
still can’t quite talk, so he just reaches out and gently squeezes Jon’s arm instead.
Jonathan squeezes his hand back before shifting to get up. “Okay. Are you okay now? Do
you still need me here? Or are you okay if I go and sit near Argyle?”
Will moves his head in a gesture that he hopes gets across the message of ‘I’m fine, Jon, go
be with Argyle if that’s what you want to do.’, and apparently it does get the point across, as
Jonathan gives a shaky smile before getting up and going over to crawl into the passenger
seat.
Will holds his hands out in front of him and looks at both the fronts and backs. Apparently,
they did a good job getting them clean, as only a slight red stain in the deeper grooves on his
palms is left behind as proof that blood had once covered his hands.
Mike comes over again and gently pulls the blanket up over Will’s shoulders and covers the
top of his head. “It fell off.” he says in way of explanation. He tucks two edges of the blanket
into the neckline of Will’s gray undershirt. “It won’t fall again that way.” he says simply,
leaning back and sitting down again. With the blanket covering his back, falling over his
front, and covering his hair, leaving only his face truly visible, Will thinks he probably looks
like a small Italian grandmother.
He realizes that his yellow flannel has a lot of blood still on it, from both his nose and from
the agent’s body, and he unbuttons it the rest of the way from where Mike had gotten it about
halfway down. Will shrugs the shirt off and moves the blanket so that it’s more of a cape with
a hood as he balls the shirt up and sets it aside.
Will realizes that Mike’s staring at Will’s torso, now in just a thin, gray long-sleeve shirt, and
he gives Mike a look that he hopes is saying ‘What are you even looking at?’.
Mike snaps out of it and looks back at Will’s face, looking extremely awkward. “Sorry. I, uh-
sorry.”
He turns away, looking out the window as he turns a little bit red and fidgeting with his
hands, which are still as bloody as Will’s were.
Will moves over (the blanket trails behind him like a cape, which he would swish
dramatically if he hadn’t just watched someone die), grabbing the water bottle next to him
and getting some on one of the unused napkins before lightly taking Mike’s wrist, pulling his
hand (and attention) over to his lap, and starting to gently and quietly clean the blood off.
“I- oh. Uh, thank- thank you.” Mike says, watching Will work as his face turns bright red.
Will decides not to overanalyze that reaction and instead just finishes wiping down Mike’s
hands until both boys are clean again.
Once that’s done, he goes back over to the other corner, choosing to look at Mike instead of
at the agent’s body on the other side of the van. Mike still has the coloring of a tomato, and
he’s fiddling with the pocket on his shirt as he looks out the window. The pocket is sideways,
and it has a triangular gray flap. It looks like an envelope. It’s a very strange shirt.
“What’s up?” Mike asks, looking over at Will.
Will shakes his head and gives a small smile, grabbing his sketchbook from the floor (and
wiping it off with another napkin to reduce the bloody fingerprints to light pink circles) and
pencils from his pocket and starting to sketch. It calms his nerves, and it makes his body go
from shaking to still. He could probably even speak if he tried to after about twenty minutes
of drawing soothing circles.
“Alright, dudes, we’re here!” Argyle says.
Will looks up and finds that they’re… in the middle of a junkyard?
He’ll roll with it, he thinks as he sets down his sketchbook. What other choice is there?
-
Mike gets down from the van, stretching his tense legs as soon as he’s down from the door.
His whole body hurts, like his muscles are all like the strings on his guitar back home and
about to snap. Apparently, that’s how his body has decided is the best way to protect against
bullets.
“Alright, what’s the plan?” he asks, looking over to the front seat as he offers a hand to help
Will out of the van.
Jonathan gets out and sighs, looking away and looking disturbed. “First, we bury the body.”
Mike glances over at Will, who’s taking off the blanket and setting it in the van. After his
moment (as they’ve called them since he was little, as he’s had those periods of hand-
flapping and other movements for as long as Mike’s known him - but then again, Mike gets
them too, so he can’t judge), he’s worried about Will’s capacity to do this. He doesn’t want
Will to get upset again.
Will looks over and gives Mike a steady smile, seemingly mostly recovered from his earlier
shock and earlier moment.
“Will you be okay?” Mike asks softly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Will you?” Will asks.
“Yeah.” Mike says, nodding. He looks at Will’s shirt again and inhales sharply before looking
away. Will’s undershirt is very thin and very tight, and it shows Will’s abdomen with a lot of
detail, which… definitely isn’t making Mike feel things when combined with how good
Will(‘s ass) looks in khakis.
“I think there are shovels somewhere around here.” Jonathan says, starting to climb over cars
as he goes. Apparently, he and Argyle have been here before.
It’s not long of standing around (during which Mike sneaks a few more glances at Will’s
torso - sue him, Will apparently has abs and that’s really hot, okay?) before Jonathan comes
back over with shovels, handing one to both him and Will (though he pauses before giving
one to his brother, probably as worried about Will’s moment happening again as Mike is).
After he hands over the tools, he leads a panicking Argyle away.
Will looks over at Mike. “We need to find a good place to bury him.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re right. Where do you think-”
“Somewhere quiet and peaceful.” Will says. “We’re not just shoving him under a car, we’re
giving him a grave. That means that it needs to be a solid area that’s mostly undisturbed and
is able to be dug deeply into.”
“I- okay.” Mike says, following after Will and using his shovel as a walking stick.
Eventually, Will stops in a smaller area, a plain patch of dirt circled by rusting, broken cars.
He pats the dirt with his shovel and nods, apparently satisfied. “Here. Here’s okay.”
Will starts digging, breaking ground by driving the shovel blade into the soil with his heel,
and Mike soon follows next to him. Before too long, the sun starts beating on Mike, and he
takes off his blue shirt to reveal his white T-shirt under. That doesn’t make him cool enough,
though, and he pulls his dark curls off the back of his neck and puts them up with a hair
elastic that he keeps on his wrist for such occasions.
He begins digging again after laying the shirt on a nearby car hood, and when they’re about a
foot deep into a six-foot-long, three-foot-wide pit, he notices Will staring at him.
“What? Do I look bad?” Mike asks, resting on the shovel and self-consciously touching his
bun and birthmark (oh no, what if it’s getting redder with the heat? God, Mike hates that
stupid birthmark. It’s so ugly and it takes up pretty much half of his face and it makes him
look so different from everyone else. He knows how ugly it looks, how ugly he looks, does
Will think he’s ugly? Oh no, if it’s turning darker with the heat does Will think he looks bad?
Mike doesn’t know what he’d do-)
“No!” Will hurriedly says, and- is he blushing? It’s probably the heat. “No, no, you look
good. I’m just not used to seeing you with your hair up is all. You’ve always had shorter
hair.”
“Oh.” Mike says, and he suddenly feels very stupid for being so worried about Will thinking
he’s ugly. This is Will he’s talking to, who would hold Mike’s hand and hug him tight on days
when Troy and his friends were especially cruel, tell him as he cried that his birthmark is part
of what makes him special, that he wouldn’t be fully Mike without it, that it makes him look
even prettier (Mike still blushes a little at the memory of an eight-year-old Will telling him so
earnestly that Mike was really pretty even with his birthmark). He wouldn’t think Mike was
ugly even if his birthmark was getting darker.
Mike hopes, anyway.
Another foot or two deeper, he looks at Will, who is currently driving the shovel into the
dusty ground with a foot on the blade, and starts to stare at his torso. While the… the
attraction… plays a part in why he keeps staring at Will while his upper body is covered by
just a thin gray undershirt, so does the concern. The tightness of the shirt doesn’t just outline
his chest, abs (seriously, when the actual fuck did Will get abs???), and muscles, but it also
outlines his ribs, his protruding collarbones, how small his waist is, and how terrifyingly thin
he is. The longer Mike looks at Will, the more sure that he is that his theory about an eating
disorder has merit. Will shouldn’t be so thin. He looks like a skeleton. He looks like he’s
absolutely starving.
Honestly, Mike just wants to sit Will down and make him eat until he doesn’t look like his
bones are going to break with a single touch.
Will meets his eyes, and as Mike looks Will up and down (damn, he has nice legs, even if
they’re twigs) once, twice, three times before licking his lips (oh lord what is he doing) and
goes back to shoveling the soil (he just did a triple take, what on Earth is wrong with him?),
Will apparently does the same, staring back at him before shoveling dirt out of the sandy hole
that’s getting deeper and deeper.
‘Well, that was questionable on both ends.’ Mike’s brain supplies. He tells it to shut up. It
was probably just Will copying because Mike was making him feel weird. He hopes that he
wasn’t being too creepy. He hopes Will isn’t uncomfortable.
“Hey, you guys need any help?” Jonathan asks, carrying in a shovel. Argyle’s carrying… a
pizza box and a Sharpie?
“Yeah, that… that would be great.” Mike says, still trying to figure out what on Earth Argyle
is doing.
“Does anyone know the guy's name? I'm making a gravestone.” Argyle says.
“I- Argyle, we're hiding his body!” Jonathan argues.
“I’ll just put down ‘Unknown Hero Agent Man - Saved Jonathan, Argyle, Will, and Mike
From Certain Death.’” Argyle says, starting to write.
Mike and Will exchange ‘you seeing this shit?’ glances, just like they have ever since they
found out that the world was full of dumbasses.
“I- you know what? Fine. Do your thing, dude.” Jonathan says, starting to dig along with
them.
Argyle colors on the pizza box (Mike guessed that he was a stoner as soon as he saw him, but
Jesus, how much pot does he have to ingest to be so… just generally weird?) as they all dig,
and as the day gets warmer and warmer, Will starts flagging, panting as he fights to keep
shoveling.
Jonathan shakes his head. “Okay, just- You and Mike go catch your breath on a car or
something. I can finish it up. The grave is almost deep enough.”
Will starts to object, but Mike talks over him. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, man.”
There’s honestly no need for Will to get heatstroke or collapse of exhaustion (because Mike
knows that the last time Will slept was for about two hours the night after Rink-O-Mania), so
they can leave Jonathan to take care of it instead for, like, ten minutes.
Mike then walks over to sit on the top of a car that’s a little ways away, and after a moment of
hesitation, Will follows, sitting next to him with a soda can between them.
Mike hunches over so that he can be on Will’s eye level as he pulls the agent’s pen out of his
pocket and looks at it.
“If that guy would’ve lived one more second, ONE more second, we… we’d know where she
is.” Mike says after a minute. “Why… why didn’t he just say the number? Write it?”
Will nods, looking at him with undivided attention. Mike… finds that a welcome change
from most people. In the months separated from Will, he’s forgotten how much he missed the
way that Will would actually listen to Mike instead of just ignoring what he says like most
people.
“I should’ve explained myself.” Mike says. “Maybe Eleven would’ve taken me with her and
things would be different, but-”
“No.” Will objects gently.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know what to say.” Mike finishes. That’s a lie. He knew exactly what to
say. But he just couldn’t make himself lie like that.
“Sometimes…” Will starts. “Sometimes, I think it’s just scary to open up like that. To say
how you really feel. Especially to the people you care about the most. Because what if…
what if they don’t like the truth, you know?”
Mike nods. That hits a bit too close to home. But… what’s Will talking about? He doubts it’s
about the same reason Mike’s relating so much.
He opens his mouth, about to say something - he isn’t sure if it’s a confession, or telling Will
he knows about the eating disorder, or even just saying ‘I know, I understand’ - but is cut off
by Jonathan shouting.
“Hey, we’re almost done with the hole!” he says.
“Okay!” Mike shouts back.
He looks back down at the pen and something clicks. “Wait- Will, do you have paper?”
Will digs through his pockets before producing a scrap, and Mike scribbles on it. The pen
doesn’t write.
“Why would he give me a pen that doesn’t work?” Mike asks, immediately unscrewing the
tip.
A small roll of paper falls out.
“Holy shit!” they say at the same time.
Mike looks at Will with a wide smile, and Will smiles back as well.
He unfurls it and excitedly shows his best friend what it says.
“The number!” Will says, and he looks like he’s over the moon.
“We’ve had it this whole time!” Mike exclaims.
“GUYS!” Will shouts to Jonathan and Argyle. “WE HAVE THE NUMBER!”
Jonathan walks over quickly, and Argyle slowly meanders over, still doodling on the
cardboard headstone.
They talk for about five minutes and plan on what to do, and they finalize it: they plug the
number (which is a phone number) into a payphone, and then they get answers from whoever
picks up. If nobody answers, there’s probably going to be a voicemail (right?), and they can
use that to figure out where Nina is.
“Alright.” Argyle says, going to walk back over to the van.
“Wait- we still have to bury him.” Mike says.

Jonathan looks over at the van. “I- yeah, alright. I’ll be over to help carry him in a minute.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike sees Will start to reach for his arm (is it his hand or his
wrist? Mike doesn’t know) before apparently deciding not to (Mike wishes Will had decided
to, he knows it’s wrong but he just wants to hold Will’s hand), instead just saying a quiet
‘Come on, let’s go’ to Mike.
Mike follows him back to the van, though Will’s a fast walker and is there far before Mike.
As he picks up the pace to get to the van (which Will has already reached and is inside
despite the fact that Mike’s still about twenty yards away), he idly thinks that Will walks with
his hips. Mike had never noticed that before.
After he reaches the van, he stands there for a second, wondering whether to get into the
backseat or not.
He pokes his head in and sees Will pulling on the agent’s limp arm.
“Help me get him onto the blanket.” Will says, trying to pull the agent onto the blanket
previously around Will’s shoulders.
“We might need that. Will-” Mike starts to argue.

Will whips around to give him the look he’s always given when he disagrees with someone
and is ready to fight. “He died to protect us - some kids who didn’t even know his name. The
least we can do is bury him with respect.”
Mike feels ashamed at that. The agent really did give his life to protect them, even though
they didn’t know him or his name and were kind of jerks. He was a hero, and Will’s right - he
deserves a better burial than his body rotting as sand fills his mouth. A shroud is the least
they can do.
“Alright.” Mike gives, going over and grabbing the agent’s leg as Will pulls on his arm. They
manage to pull him onto the blanket with much effort, and though Mike’s about ready to just
call Jonathan and Argyle to help them carry the body to the grave, Will’s apparently not done.
Will starts to arrange the agent’s limbs, moving his legs to be straight and not awkwardly
bent and moving his arms to fold his hands over his chest. He smooths the agent’s hair,
makes sure his eyes are closed, and straightens his clothing. It makes Mike choke up and his
eyes water a little; it doesn’t feel as much like a goodbye as a ‘thank you, I won’t forget what
you did for us’.
“Okay.” Will says, stepping back from the body and wiping his eyes hurriedly with the back
of his hand. “Okay, he’s ready to go now. Help me get him over.”
Mike waves Jonathan over, and the three of them all take hold of part of the blanket and
heave, managing to take small steps and getting him over to the grave. They lower him into
the sloping walls, and though Mike immediately grabs the shovel, Will stops him with a
touch to the arm.
Will slides down into the grave along with the body and repeats the ritual he just did, making
sure that the agent’s body is dignified and peaceful.
Before covering the agent with the makeshift shroud, getting out, and filling the grave with
soil, though, Will pauses before taking the holster off of the body’s shoulders and taking
round replacements from the left pants pocket after some searching.
“What are you doing?” Mike asks.
Will clicks the leather holster onto his waist through his belt loops, ignoring the shoulder
design in favor of a belt. “If El’s in danger, we’re gonna need weapons.” he says calmly as he
puts the rounds into his own pocket before climbing out of the hole, coming to stand next to
Mike.
“I- Will, I don’t think any of us can shoot a gun.” Mike says. He looks over at Argyle and
Jonathan. “Right? None of you can shoot?” They both shake their heads and say variations of
‘no’, though Jonathan nods his chin towards Will, who’s looking at the soda can on top of the
car.
Out of nowhere, Will pulls the gun from its new position on his hip in one fluid motion,
cocks it, and fires at the can on top of the car where they were just sitting, hitting it dead-on
with a bang and sending it flying.
“Correction: you, Argyle, and Jonathan can’t shoot a gun.” Will says with a small smile as he
lowers it to his side. “I, however, am a fair shot.”
Holy fucking shit.
“Holy shit, dude.” Argyle says, and Mike would be inclined to agree with that. “Dude, why
didn’t you tell me your brother was a freakin’ sharpshooter?”
Jonathan looks at Will with something between sadness and pride. “It’s not something we
talk about much.”
Will looks the gun over with a murmur of ‘Model 29, nice’ and checks it again before putting
it back into its holster, and as he covers the agent with the blanket and begins to shovel the
dirt over the body with Jonathan, Mike feels frozen.
Okay. Alright. Will can shoot a gun. Why is his heart beating so loud and fast that his blood’s
roaring in his ears?
Oh, wait, because he thinks that’s really fucking hot for some unknown reason.
‘Okay. Okay, Will can shoot a gun. That is normal and YOU WILL BE NORMAL ABOUT IT.
It is a valuable life skill and you should not get hot and bothered about it, understood? It
doesn’t matter if the holster on his hip looks super hot and badass right now or- oh fuck-’
Mike tries.
Will rubs his forehead with the back of his hand and leans on the shovel as Jonathan pats the
grave down, and that pose makes him lean to one side and stick his hip (made to look even
more prominent with the gun resting on it) out, and excuse you, Will, he is trying to ignore the
fact that you are extremely attractive and your clothing choices and movements and fighting
abilities and general existence are making that very very hard, stop it.
Will nods to himself as Jonathan finishes up before getting off of the shovel, wiping off the
handle on his khakis (probably to get rid of fingerprints) and sliding it through the broken
window of a nearby rusting car shell into the backseat. “Next things next, we need to find a
phone booth. We need to get some answers and find El.” he says.
As they all follow Will’s example, putting the shovels into the same car and heading towards
the pizza van, Mike feels like the darkness ahead is cut through with a glimmer of hope.
Chapter End Notes
Will Byers: *exists*

Michael Wheeler, local homosexual: EXCUSE YOU SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO
BE STRAIGHT HERE >:(
But really, what did you think? It was hard to have soft Will, happy Will, meltdown
Will, grieving Will, and BAMF Will in the same chapter, but I did try my best. Also, this
whole chapter was pretty much just Mike being a gay thirsty disaster, so I hope you
enjoyed that.
Also, yes, Will was having the not-so-happy flappies and a borderline meltdown earlier
in the chapter, and he did go nonverbal for a bit. (Sorry if other autistic people don't
think that my depiction was accurate, I based it off my experience with bad things
covering the hands).
Next chapter will be a mini one, so look out for it later this week. Leave a comment or
Kudos if you're up for it and see you soon!
Idea
Chapter Notes
Hey! Sorry this is so short and took so long, I didn't know what to write. I've been
writing ahead for the Nina Project and Vecna, and I'm more excited to put that out than
the current, slower stuff; however, I needed Will's little singing moment from the show
in here for my own sanity and happiness. So enjoy this happy, short little chapter!

write this chapter. Hope you enjoy.
Overall rating: G.
Trigger warnings: none.
“Pull over! Pull over, there’s a payphone!” Jonathan says.
The tires screech as Mike and Will are almost thrown in the backseat with the force of which
the van turns. As much as Will likes Argyle, dear God, he shouldn’t have a license.
They’re on the ground as soon as the van’s stopped enough to open the door, with Mike and
Will practically running over to it.
Will puts in the quarter that the phone requires with twitching and shaking hands (they’ve
been ticcing nonstop ever since they left the junkyard, and it’s honestly pissing Will off) and
putting in the number that Mike hands him on the slip of paper.
But when it gets through, it’s just a weird beeping.
“Here, listen to this.” Will says, holding out the phone for the others to listen to.
All of their brows furrow as they try to place the sound.
“It sounds like a busy tone, maybe?” Mike suggests.
Will shakes his head. “I- maybe, but it sounds weird.”
“Does this remind you of anything, then?” Mike asks, and he’s holding the phone to Will’s
ear, and his heart is racing because Mike’s hand is over his, they’re holding hands, oh God oh
God oh God-
“No, you’re right, I think it’s a busy tone.” Will says, trying to save the fact that he’s probably
blushing and oh, god, is he acting weird? Oh no-
“So a dead end.” Jonathan says.
Mike sighs and nods. “Shit.” he says.
“I- alright. Let’s just go back to the van and try to think of something else to do. There has to
be some way to reach the Nina Project.” Will says.
They all go back, and they gather around the doors of the van as they look at maps, trying to
figure out where to go. “So- 209, that’s a California area code- or they could be using a fake
number that routes back?” Jonathan suggests.
“There’s no way it’s in California. The government isn’t that dumb.” Mike says.
“Not in California.” Will says, mulling it over in his mind as everyone talks about what to do
next.
Suddenly, he gets an idea.
“Oh my God.” he says, putting his hands on the side of the head as he smiles.
“What? What’s ‘oh my God’?” Jonathan asks.
“I know who we can go to.” Will smiles.
“Who?” Mike asks.
“Turnnnn arounddddd… look at what you SEEEEEE…” Will sings, swaying side to side as
he does. He can practically hear the eye roll from Jonathan.
“Suzie!” Mike says, and he sounds as overjoyed as Will feels. “Oh my God, Suzie!”
“Who’s Suzie?” Argyle asks.
“Our friend Dustin’s girlfriend. She’s a total genius and a computer whiz. If we could get to
her, she could get us the information on the Nina Project.” Mike explains.
“Oh, sweet. Where does she live?” Argyle asks.
“Utah.” Will says.
“Where in Utah?” Jonathan asks.

“Um…” Will says, looking over at Mike, who looks back at him with about the same mix of
feelings.
“We’ll figure it out. We can get a Yellow Pages in Utah and find her house.” Will suggests.
“We just need to get to Utah.”
“I can do that.” Argyle says. “I can get us to Utah, dudes, we just need to pick up some
supplies.”
“Okay.” Mike says. “Okay. So we stop at, like, a convenience store and then hit the road to
Utah.”
“Yeah, man. Should be good. Get there in about a day.” Argyle nods.
“Great.” Will says, and it probably sounds sarcastic, but he’s being genuine. He just wants to
find his sister and make sure she’s safe, and if Suzie can help, he’s all for a visit.
“Alright, I think there’s a store a few miles down the road. I saw a sign.” Jonathan says. “So
let’s just get back in the van, get the supplies, and go to Utah.”
They all get in the van, and though Will’s becoming less confident in the Suzie plan the more
he thinks about it, he chooses to have faith and maintain his hope of getting to El.
If they can just get to Suzie, they can get to El.
Chapter End Notes
Nothing sold siblings like Will's little song and dance and Jonathan's exhausted-older-
sibling reaction in the show. Hope you liked this chapter and see you soon! Please leave
a comment or Kudos if you're up for it!
Convenience Store
Chapter Notes
TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY! Sure, they only amount to, like, seven pages between
them, but still! :D
Anyways, please enjoy! We'll be at Salt Lake City (which is where I live! :D so happy)
in the next few chapters. (And then we hit rock bottom and hella suffering and angst
happens as shit hits the fan but you know what don't worry about that yet)

write this chapter. Hope you enjoy.
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Self-harm
- Disordered eating
- Implied body dysmorphia
- Blood
- Language (f*ck)
It’s about five minutes of sitting in the van before they pull up to a short building, standing
out in the desert with its white exterior walls, green roof, and large sign (that Will can’t read.
When he hasn’t eaten or slept in a few days and he’s had something - like the shooting - mess
with his head, his eyes won’t focus enough to register the words).
They all get out, and even though they were out of the car less than ten minutes ago, Will still
is glad to be on solid land. Seriously, Argyle should’ve had his license revoked by now.
“Alright, dudes. I’m gonna fill up the gas tank and can while you go inside. Get me gummy
bears.” Argyle says. “Or… any candy in general. Candy’s life, brochachos. You should all get
some.”
Will sees Mike give Argyle one of his patented ‘Mike Wheeler’s What The Hell’ looks,
which makes it hard for Will to not smile.
“We’ll get you some gummy bears.” Will promises as he starts to follow Jon and Mike where
they’re going into the store. “Promise.”
Argyle gives a thumbs up and a smile, and he shouts “You’re the best, Little Byers!” after
Will.
He gives a thumbs-up back before going into the store, where they’ve already split up.
Will shrugs it off, grabbing a basket and starting to grab necessities. He starts by grabbing a
bag of gummy bears for Argyle before wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he
thinks they might need.
Will passes through the personal care aisle, grabbing the toothbrush and toothpaste and other
toiletries he was supposed to bring, before he passes by the razors, and the temptation’s too
strong.
He quietly opens a box towards the back, taking out a few of the flat, straight blades that are
wrapped in plastic before closing it again. He feels a little bit bad about stealing, but him
buying razors would raise suspicion by Jonathan, who’s already watching him like a hawk -
at least, that’s what it feels like.
Will tucks them in his pocket and continues grabbing what he’ll need over the next few days,
and when he’s done, he goes to look for his brother and friend, who are both in the food aisle.
Mike’s basket is full of chips and granola and candy and water and soda, and Jonathan’s is
about the same, though with some other random supplies like toiletries.
“Hey, Will, what food do you want?” Mike asks, looking over at him.
“Uh…” Will says, trying to think of what to say. Even if they’re busy finding El, he’s not
going to use that as an excuse to get fat again. He’s so close to being a good weight, he can’t
mess it up.
“Chips, candy, granola bars, what?” Mike asks patiently.
“I’ll, uh… I’ll just eat some of what you’re already getting.” Will says. “I… get carsick, so I
doubt I’m going to be really hungry.”
Mike’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks like he’s about to say something, but as he opens his
mouth, Will cuts him off. “I’m, uh, going to go to the bathroom before we hit the road, so,
uh… can you check out my stuff too? I’ll pay you back later.”
Mike closes his mouth and nods, blinking a few times before looking at Will with a soft yet
concerned expression. “I… sure. Here.”
He takes Will’s basket from his arm and puts the stuff from it in with his own. “But- you
won’t know how much I owe you?” Will says.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mike says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’ll be, like, five
bucks for your stuff. I can get it.”
Will goes to object, but from the way Mike’s standing, Will knows that the avenue of
conversation is over. So he just turns away and looks for the bathroom, and he finds them on
the other side of the store. Will goes inside, and when he’s safely locked in a stall, he takes
one of the razors out of his pocket and does red lines up the side of his thigh. Maybe his own
blood coating his hands can cancel out the agent’s, make his hands truly clean again.
He keeps going until he’s done thirty or forty stripes against the side, dripping dark red in a
pattern reminiscent of a tiger’s fur with the alternating red-and-skin pattern. Once he’s
satisfied that he’s bled enough for now, Will presses some of the toilet paper against the cuts
until they’ve slowed their bleeding, and he wipes up the blood haphazardly before pulling his
pants back on and leaving the stall.
As he washes his hands, watching the water turn orange-red as it takes the blood off his
hands, he breathes for what feels like the first time since the shootout. Now, he’s at least
partially atoned. He can’t ever make up for it entirely, but hopefully if he hurts enough, he’ll
be forgiven. He isn’t sure whether he seeks forgiveness from the people who he’s failed -
who are dead because of him - or from God. He’d be happy with either.
Will leaves the bathroom and goes to the checkout, where his brother and friend are waiting.
He doesn’t smile - he’s too exhausted to fake one right now - but he does make an effort to
keep his face smooth and calm.
Mike holds out the bags to let Will look inside. “I, uh, I got you some extra snacks.”
“Thank you.” Will says, and with the words he does fake a smile. He doesn’t want to seem
ungrateful, even if it’s a waste to buy food that he’d rather die than eat.
Mike makes a beeline for the food aisle once they’re in the store. It’s been a long day (even
though it’s literally only four in the afternoon, Jesus Christ), with lots of stress and manual
labor, and Mike’s absolutely starving. He only ate, like, half of dinner last night, and as good
as the waffles this morning were, they weren’t meant to be filling enough for a full day,
especially one that involved so much shoveling.
He starts grabbing pretty much anything that strikes him as possibly good or interesting, and
he ends up with three large bags of chips (barbeque, sour cream and onion, and jalapeno),
full-size bags of M&Ms, Skittles, Starburst, Sour Patch, jelly beans, gummy bears, and a box
of granola bars. If it’s colorful and/or looks appetizing, Mike’s getting it. He literally does not
care at this point.
Once Mike’s satisfied that he’s gotten enough junk food, he goes over to the drinks, where he
picks up some Coke (two six-packs of the original, not the new stuff Lucas likes, it’s absolute
shit) and water (because that seems smart to have in the desert).
When he puts them in the basket, he looks at the food and realizes that he should probably
get something that’ll actually be filling and healthy.
He goes back over to the snack aisle, and after some debate, he grabs a couple things of nuts
and some more granola bars.
Jonathan’s also browsing in this aisle, and when Mike sees toiletries in his basket, he
considers getting some of his own, but then he remembers that he’s the only one who actually
had managed to get his stuff out of the house, including toiletries. He’s fine.
Will walks in, looking around before standing next to Mike, his basket full of basic
necessities and… gummy bears?
“Hey, Will. What food do you want?” Mike asks. While it’s great that Will’s gotten gummy
bears (which is kinda weird, though, he’s always preferred chocolate over any other candy),
he wants to make sure that Will gets something that’ll be filling, too.
“Uh…” Will says, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, hazel eyes wide.
“Chips, candy, granola bars… what?” Mike prompts gently. He’s trying to balance pushing
Will to get food and not scaring him away, which is a hard thing to level out, but he has to do
it, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try.
“I’ll, uh… I’ll just eat some of what you’re already getting.” Will says with a nervous blink
as he looks around. “I… get carsick, so I doubt I’m going to be really hungry.”
Mike feels his eyebrows furrow as he looks at Will. He’s never gotten carsick, not once in his
life. He used to read and draw in the backseat as they were driven around by their respective
mothers.
He opens his mouth, probably to say ‘You don’t get carsick. I think I know why you’re lying,
and I know for sure that you’re not eating. Please just choose something. It doesn’t have to be
big, it doesn’t have to be healthy - hell, I’ll pay for it - just please, please, please eat
something. You’re starving to death and it scares the shit out of me’ , but Will cuts him off.
“I’m, uh, going to go to the bathroom before we hit the road, so, uh… can you check out my
stuff too? I’ll pay you back later.” Will says.
Mike closes his mouth and nods, blinking a few times before looking at Will
“I… sure. Here.” he says, taking the basket from Will’s arm and putting the stuff (toothbrush,
toothpaste, floss, mouthwash, Advil, Tic-Tacs, band-aids… literally just basic things except
for the gummy bears) in his own basket along with the food.
“But- you won’t know how much I owe you?” Will says, looking nervous.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mike says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Like hell is he letting
Will pay him back a tiny amount for basic necessities. “It’ll be, like, five bucks for your stuff.
I can get it.”
‘Will, I literally have a trust fund. My parents have millions in savings. I can swing a couple
tens here and there. Don’t worry about money, I can take care of it. I can take care of you.’
Mike thinks.
He turns back to look at the shelf, trying to make it clear that this isn’t an area that Will can
fight him on, and his best friend clearly gets the message, as he turns and walks away.
Mike looks around the shelf. Will didn’t actually give him an answer on what he wanted to
eat, so he’ll just go with a decade of knowledge about Will’s likes and habits.
He ends up getting vanilla wafers (Will’s liked them for years, but Joyce was never able to
afford them when they were kids, so he always convinced his mom to buy them so that he
could give them to Will), a bag of popcorn, and Reese’s Pieces (always his favorite candy).
Unfortunately, he can’t get Will his favorite foods (chicken nuggets - not animal shaped,
though, because little Will would cry because he was worried about hurting them by eating
them - with ketchup and Kraft mac’n’cheese. When Mrs. Byers’ paychecks shrunk and she
had to put in more hours, they would eat the cheapest, easiest meals that she could put
together, and even though Will grew up between when they were five and when they were
thirteen, his tastes didn’t really change. Mike wonders if it’s still Will’s favorite meal) due to
the need for a kitchen to make them, but he does pick up some stuff to make sandwiches, too,
and if he slips one of those single-serve mac’n’cheese cups into the basket for Will later if
they end up with access to a microwave, he doesn’t say anything.
Mike hefts the now-much-heavier basket and goes over to the register, noting that Jonathan
shoves some more snacks into his basket and follows close behind.
They wait in line for a minute or two before Mike’s up and Jonathan’s next.
Mike puts all the stuff on the belt, and when the total of $27.41 comes up, he hears a sharp
breath from behind him.
“I- hang on, I think I have some extra-” Jonathan says, starting to dig through his pockets.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.” Mike says, pulling out his credit card and handing it to the
employee. His parents got it for him in December (his dad said that if he had one, he might
stop bugging them for money), and it’s a nice change from the days of $3.50.
As the employee processes the payment, Mike worries about the maximum for a minute (he
spent, like, a hundred dollars on guitar equipment a week before he got on the plane to
California), but then he remembers that the maximum is at a thousand dollars, and he’s only
used it, like, four times, and it's paid off by his parents right now.
“Thank you for your purchase.” the employee says, looking dead inside.
Mike just grabs the three shopping bags and puts them on his arm, card still at the ready in
case Jonathan’s money is a little bit short.
It’s not, and as Jonathan’s payment is processing, Will walks over to Mike. In the fluorescent
light and with a moment away to reset Mike’s view, he looks so thin that Mike barely
suppresses his gasp. Jesus fucking Christ, he looks downright malnourished. He’s fucking
emaciated. How has nobody else noticed that he’s literally starving? Just look at him. He
doesn’t look healthy. He looks fucking sick.
“I… uh, I got you some extra snacks.” Mike says, holding out the bags. It’s all he can think to
do with his mind still focusing on how ill Will looks.
“Thank you.” Will says with a smile, and they may have been separated for a while, but Mike
knows one of Will’s fake smiles from a real one. When was the last time that Will actually,
genuinely smiled? Mike doesn’t know.
As they walk out (and Will gives the gummy bears - the one food that he chose himself - to
Argyle, which makes Mike so disappointed that Will wasn’t planning on eating them), Mike
looks at Will again, and he thinks to himself that he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get Will to eat.
He’ll hold him down and shovel chips in his mouth if he has to, but by God, William Byers is
going to get food in his stomach one way or another.
Mike may not know much about medical science, but he knows that Will can’t be that thin.
Will’s always been small, but he’s downright starving, and Mike won’t let Will do that to
himself.
He’ll do whatever it takes. Mike won’t let Will die, whether from the Upside Down or Lonnie
or his mental illness.
He loves his best friend too much to let that happen.
Chapter End Notes

WHAT?! MIKE JUST ADMITTED TO HIMSELF THAT HE LOVES WILL?! :O
Anyways, please leave a comment or Kudos if you enjoyed. If you want to read this
again, please bookmark, and if you want to get alerts when I post, please hit the
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Thank you for reading, have a great day, and see you soon!
Suzie
Chapter Notes
Hello! Here's Chapter 23.
Congratulations, everyone, officially at over 100,000 words! 6 digits feels pretty

awesome. Thank you all for your support and giving me the inspiration to get here.
Also, my therapist is now reading this, so Mark, if you see this, hi!!!

ToBeLonely, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, not_all_nerds_wear_glasses, and madysjn for
giving me the motivation and ideas to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy.
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
- Disordered eating
- Drug use (marijuana)
Mike yawns against the window as he unsticks his cheek from the glass before leaning back
on it and crossing his arms, trying to get in some more rest before the sun gets too glaring.
Will smiles at that. He’s so cute when he’s tired - and God, are they all tired. They’ve been
driving for twenty-six straight hours, only stopping for bathroom breaks and to refuel. A van
driven by a pothead who can’t drive isn’t the best place to sleep, and Will knows that the
night before El got arrested, he didn’t sleep well (and doesn’t think Mike did, either). So,
long story short: they’re all absolutely exhausted.
As Mike sits there, looking beautiful as he drifts in a light sleep, Will quietly flips his
sketchbook from the landscape he’s been working on to a blank page, on which he starts to
draw Mike.
His raven curls, so much longer than they’ve ever been and messy from leaning his head
against the window and seat.
His alabaster skin, dotted with freckles and with his birthmark on the left side of his face
(Will knows Mike hates it, but he honestly loves it. The birthmark is so unique, and it makes
Mike’s already-pretty coloring look even more distinct).
His eyelashes fluttered closed against his cheeks.
His cheekbones, so sharp and prominent.
The little scar on his chin and the slightly larger one against Mike’s nose on the right side
from last summer at Starcourt.
Will draws his best friend - his muse - as best he can, even though he knows that he’ll never
truly capture this moment and the way that Mike looks.
“What are you drawing?” comes a quiet, sleepy voice.
“Oh!” Will says, immediately flipping the page back to the landscape. “Just a- just a
landscape.” he lies.
“Mm… why? It’s just desert. It’s all joshua trees and cacti.” Mike says, sitting up and
stretching before looking at Will with the chocolate eyes that make his heart race.
“No, it really isn’t.” Will says, and that part is true. “It’s beautiful.”
Mike looks out the window before looking back over to Will with a skeptical look.
“No, I’m serious!” Will laughs, closing and putting down his sketchbook and scooting over to
sit next to Mike. “You see the dunes, right? Well, they’re all patterns. The wind blows the
sand in a way that… well, it’s kind of like waves. And with the way that the sun hits the sand
at this angle, it almost looks reflective. It’s just sand, but it’s also an ocean… like when the
sun hits the water just right, you know? And with the rocks and plants coming out of the
sand, it adds so much depth, like ships on the sea. And- well, the plants are a miracle in and
of themselves. There’s no water, and it’s so sunny, and there are so many temperature
changes, but they still grow, they still survive and thrive even though the world is against
them. And the plants give life to the animals, and even though the sand goes on for miles and
it’s so inhospitable, there’s still life. It’s not just sand, it’s a whole world of these strong,
beautiful organisms, and… well, I don’t know how that’s not beautiful.” Will says, trailing
off when he realizes that Mike probably doesn’t want to hear about how much he admires the
desert.
Mike just looks at Will for a minute after he stops talking, and Will’s getting nervous - does
Mike know what he was really drawing when Mike asked? - but then Mike smiles, in a way
so soft that Will’s heart melts.
“I don’t know how you do that.” Mike says, the softness in his face the same in his voice.
“Do what?” Will asks.
“You just look at things and see the beauty and the good in them. Even bad things or boring
things, you still see the best in them. It’s really amazing. Because, like, I see sand and some
ugly little trees…” Mike waves his hand around, clearly trying to think of what to say. “But
you, you see this beautiful ecosystem, and you see it as this amazing world that’s surviving
despite the odds, and you’ve always done that. You always look at people and places and
things that are kinda ugly or bad, and you find the good in them, even when nobody else can
see it. Hell, maybe it’s because you bring out the best in people, so people actually are good
when you’re around, but… it’s genuinely one of your best traits.”
“It’s part of why I…” Mike starts before he turns red and clears his throat, looking away.
“Part of why I like having you as my friend.”
Mike looks around, not meeting Will’s eyes as his face stays red. Will smiles and looks down
at his hands, sure that he’s blushing as well. He’s never thought of his positive outlook as a
good thing - in the end, all it does is make him easier to manipulate and more gullible. But…
if Mike thinks it’s a good thing, maybe it is. After all, he trusts Mike, more than almost
anyone else, even after everything.
Plus… he still likes having Will as his friend?
Will could giggle and kick his feet with joy at that.
They both just sit there for a minute, Will smiling like crazy, Mike looking around, before his
best friend breaks the silence.
“Oh, hey. We haven’t eaten in a while. Do you want anything?” Mike asks.
“No, I’m okay. Not really hungry.” Will says, scooting away and picking up his sketchbook.
He’ll actually work on the landscape this time. He can finish his drawing of Mike later -
besides, Mike isn’t in that pose anymore, so he’d have to do it from memory either way. Too
high risk, anyway.
Mike sighs and gets some food out of one of the plastic bags tucked underneath the front
seats. He eats a few chips before he turns back to Will.
“I- Will, I really think you should eat something.” he says, looking at Will with… is that
concern?
“I’m not hungry.” Will lies.
Mike pulls out the plastic bag and starts rifling through it. “We have vanilla wafers… chips…
popcorn… Reese’s Pieces… granola bars…”
“Mike-” Will tries.
“All sorts of candy. We have M&Ms and Starburst and jelly beans and gummy bears and
Sour Patch and Skittles-”
“Mike, I’m not hungry-”
“I could make you a sandwich?” Mike offers, looking earnestly over at Will.
Will sighs and takes a deep breath. “Mike. I legitimately am not hungry. The second I am, I’ll
eat something. Okay?”
Mike stares at Will, and it gives him goosebumps, because it feels like Mike’s staring into his
soul, seeing right through him and digging all of his secrets out of where he’s kept them so
carefully hidden.
“Will.” he says so quietly, and he sounds so sad and his voice is so small that it breaks Will’s
heart. “Please. Just eat something.”
“I-” Will says, feebly trying to think of an objection. “I, uh… I can’t eat. I’m… really not
hungry. Okay?”
Mike keeps staring at him, and the longer that Will disagrees, the sadder he looks, with his
face going from concern to looking like he’s about to cry. His eyes are wide and pleading, his
eyebrows are drawn tight, and his lips are in a soft frown, his mouth slightly open as he
worries his lips with his teeth as he stares at Will.
“Mike, please don’t give me that look.” Will whispers.
Mike just keeps giving Will that devastated expression.
“Please.” Mike whispers back after a minute. “Please, Will. Just eat one thing.”
Will steels himself, taking a deep breath and sighing before nodding. “Okay.”
He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t want to put on the weight. He doesn’t want to be fat. But
he can’t hurt Mike. No matter what he does, he’s not going to hurt Mike, and that means he’ll
eat. He would do anything, give anything, for Mike’s happiness, and if his fasting is hurting
Mike, he’ll eat.
Because, in the end, Will loves Mike more than he could ever hate himself.
Mike immediately seems more content, though still visibly upset, as he starts to prepare food
on a napkin. Will just works on the landscape drawing and tries not to think about the calories
that he’s about to eat.
“Here.” Mike says, passing a sandwich, a bag of popcorn, and the Reese’s Pieces to Will.
Will looks down at the food now in his lap, and his stomach is somehow growling and sick at
the same time, and his mouth is watering at the thought of food even though there’s a lump in
his throat and a pain behind his eyes as he thinks about the calories and carbs and the pouch
of fat on his stomach that he only just got rid of (will it come back? Oh, God).
He picks up the sandwich, which he sees is PB&J, and with a deep breath, he takes a bite.
Will chews and tries not to grimace as Mike watches him closely. After the first few bites
(which are miserable), though, he loses his inhibitions, practically inhaling the rest of the
food as his stomach wrests control from his brain.
He looks at the napkins and empty bags that he just ate all the food out of like a pig, and he
feels guilty and hates himself for a minute, but then he sees Mike all but beaming at him.
He gives a weak smile back as he folds the wrappers and napkins as small and compact as he
can. He may feel disgusting and piggish and fat, but Mike’s happy, and that counts for
something.
Will puts down the food wrappings and gets his sketchbook back out, working on shading
and coloring the landscape as they drive, grimacing every time that his stomach grumbles
contentedly.
After a while of Mike continuing to quietly eat his chips, he scoots over next to Will, resting
his head against the back of the seat as he watches Will draw.
“I- uh… yeah?” Will asks lamely, trying to understand why, exactly, Mike is so close to him
right now, because it is very hard to sit there and stay focused when Mike’s so close that he’s
practically resting his head on Will’s shoulder, so close that the sides of their bodies are
almost pressed together, so close that Will could turn his head and kiss Mike if he wanted to
(which he does, but he won’t).
“Just watching you draw.” Mike says, and when Will’s pencil remains still, he nods towards
the paper. “Don’t stop because of me. I just like to watch. I can’t draw for shit, so it’s really
cool to watch someone who can actually draw really well.”
Will tries to remind himself to breathe as he starts drawing again, trying not to blush at their
proximity or the compliments.
They’re just friends. Mike doesn’t mean anything by it, he just wants to watch Will draw, stop
making it weird. They’re just friends.
Soon enough, Mike’s asleep again, and Will freezes when Mike’s head drops onto Will’s
shoulder, tickling Will’s cheek and neck and ear with his hair.
After sitting there panicking for a moment, he just shifts, making his shoulder more level
with the seat so that it’s more comfortable of a pillow for Mike. He looks so exhausted, Will
can’t wake him up, even if his arm’s already going to sleep and he can’t draw much with a
boy passed out on his shoulder.
Instead of potentially disturbing him, Will quietly sets the sketchbook aside and instead looks
out the window, and as he gets more and more sleepy the longer they drive, it gets harder and
harder to resist the urge to smooth Mike’s hair or kiss his forehead or just turn and hug him
closer instead of simply letting him sleep on Will’s shoulder, though he does somehow
restrain himself.
With the weight of Mike’s head on his shoulder and the warmth of the boy next to him and
the gentle movement of the van, though, Will’s out like a light soon enough.
Mike’s half-asleep as the van starts to slow, enjoying the sunshine keeping him warm and the
feeling of being snuggled up to the sleeping boy that he has his head resting on and his arm
wrapped around, who’s so warm and comforting as Mike just feels him breathe evenly.
Oh, shit, there isn’t supposed to be a warm, comforting boy in his arms.
Mike opens his eyes and looks up, where Will’s resting against the window of the van as he
sleeps, his face calm and smooth as he takes deep breaths. His arm is slung around Will’s
stomach (which is so concave that Mike can practically feel Will’s organs, what the fuck?),
and his nose is smushed into the spot where Will’s shoulder meets his neck.
Mike, not wanting to wake Will up - not just because he knows that this is the first time in
over forty-eight hours that he’s slept, and even then it was two hours of nightmares, but also
because he thinks that anything that’ll ease the circles under Will’s eyes that are so dark that
he looks like he has double black eyes is great (and the fact that Will looks genuinely
peaceful and calm right now doesn’t hurt, either) - unwraps his arm from around Will and
slowly lifts his head off of Will’s shoulder, careful not to wake him, and Will stirs slightly
with the movement and frowns as he shifts and adjusts to Mike’s absence.
Mike then slides away to the other side of the van, looking out the window at the
neighborhood they’re driving through as he tries not to blush or dwell on how nice it felt to
be cuddled up to Will like that.
‘It doesn’t matter if he’s warm and huggable (even if he’s all bones) and cute, he’s your
girlfriend’s brother. YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND. It doesn’t matter if you- if you love him- if
you can’t be together. You can love him, but you can’t tell him or manipulate him (or cuddle
with him again) for your own selfish reasons. Don’t be a faggot. Just try to switch your
feelings for Will with your feelings for El, and everything’ll be fine.’ Mike tells himself.
He looks over at Will again, and his harsh train of thought softens as he looks at his sleeping
friend. Mike’s so glad that he got Will to eat earlier. He had started an unofficial stopwatch in
his head and done the math, and that was the first time Will had eaten since, like, two bites of
dinner the night before El was arrested and part of his burrito before Rink-O-Mania - so that’s
at least forty-six hours without food.
At this point, Mike’s 99.9% positive on his theory about an eating disorder, especially as he
thinks more and more about the signs Will’s showing. He’s so thin, and not only does he not
eat, but when he does, he eats so little (or, alternatively, he eats everything available, like he
just did with the sandwich, but then looks like he’s been slapped with how guilty and
depressed he looks afterwards).
And, as silly as it is, what Mike’s most worried about are the marks on Will’s knuckles - he’s
seen those on girls back at Hawkins High, on the 60 Minutes special about eating disorders,
on the pictures from the Health presentation by the school counselor. The marks on Will’s
knuckles are from his teeth, which means that he pushes his fingers down his throat, probably
to make himself throw up. The thought makes Mike want to be sick himself - how could Will
ever do that to himself?
But the reason that worries Mike so much is because that means that even when Will eats, he
might not actually be eating.
In the end, it doesn’t matter how many sandwiches Mike sad-puppy-dog-eyes Will into
eating, because if he just throws it right back up, he’s still going to starve. Not to mention, the
side effects of frequently forcing yourself to vomit (which they talked about in the assemblies
and in Health and on TV, and which freak Mike out to just think about) are really dangerous
and terrifying.
The more Mike thinks about it, the more worried and scared for Will he feels. He wants to
keep Will safe and protect him and take care of his best friend, but if this eating disorder is as
bad as Mike fears (and knows) it is, he doesn’t know how to fix it. All he knows is what he’s
heard from the TV or at school, and that was more about the dangers and signs than how to
help someone with one.
Mike resolves to get a book on mental health and read the section on eating disorders the next
time there’s a bookstore or library easily accessible. Maybe it’ll have ways to help Will.
Mike’s pulled out of his spiral of worry by the van screeching to a stop, which wakes Will up
with a little gasp as he shoots up, looking around in a panic.
“We’re here, dudes!” Argyle calls from the front.
Will blinks blearily before shaking his head like he’s shaking off the sleep (which definitely
doesn’t make Mike smile. That’s so fucking adorable) and starting to get up.
Mike looks out the window from Will again, and he sees that they’re in the driveway of an
absolutely massive brick house, with windows with black wooden shutters and an ornate door
frame. He knows that his family’s rich, and their home in Indiana sure isn’t small, but these
people either have a shit ton of money or a really big family.
He opens the door and gets out, leaving it open for Will, who stumbles a bit as he gets out.
Mike wants to help him out of the van and help stabilize him, be a gentleman and all, but he
can’t, he’s already pushed his luck sleeping on Will.
“Ugh.” Argyle says, getting out of the van and wincing. “I can’t sit that long. I can’t feel my
butt. Can you guys feel your butts?”
While Mike rolls his eyes, Will gives an awkward laugh. “I can feel my butt.”
“Alright, be on your best behavior.” Jonathan says, giving a pointed look to Argyle.
“Why are you looking at me when you say that?” Argyle asks.
“I didn’t.” Jonathan denies.
“They’re just really religious.” Mike covers.
“Yeah, and I’m super spiritual, dude.” Argyle says.
“...I think they’re spiritual, too, but in a different way.” Will says after a second, clearly trying
to keep the peace. Jonathan rolls his eyes at that, which almost has Mike bitching at him.
Will’s a good person with a kind and pacifist nature, and Jonathan shouldn’t be rolling his
eyes at that.
“I- you know what? Let’s just go talk to Suzie.” Mike says.
There’s a chorus of mumbled agreements, and they all start to go towards the front door.
Mike gets there first, and as they all gather behind him (Jonathan and Argyle to his left, Will
to his right - Mike wonders if he has to stand on tiptoes to see over his shoulder? He’s much
taller, after all (and with that, he can practically hear Will complaining that he’s not that short
and that it’s not his fault that Mike’s tall)).
He rings the bell and waits, and soon, there are footsteps and the door’s swinging open to
reveal… a half-naked child covered in mud? The fuck?
“Um… hey. Is Suzie here?” Mike asks, trying not to seem too thrown when he notices the
fake crossbow this kid’s holding.
The kid screams and fires the crossbow at Mike’s face, getting a yellow suction-cup arrow
stuck to Mike’s forehead.
“Ow!” Mike complains, raising a hand to the arrow as the child screams again and runs away
into the house, leaving the door open. Mike unsticks the suction cup and looks at the arrow in
his hand.
Well, that was fuckin’ weird.
The kid left the door open, though, so…
With a look around at Will, Argyle, and Jonathan, he cautiously steps through the doorway,
and the second he does, two children dressed in medieval outfits run past clamoring and
shouting at each other.
“Away, you starveling!” one shouts, brandishing a wooden sword and dramatically swishing
a blanket cloak.
“You elf-skin! You dried neat’s tongue!” the other screams, whacking the other kid’s wooden
sword with his own and starting a poorly-executed duel.
“This is my kind of party!” Argyle laughs. Christ, how much weed is he on?
“I’ve been bitten! Help! Help!” one of the kids in the medieval outfits screams as the duel
apparently turns to wrestling and biting. As he watches, Mike becomes even more sure that
he’s not a kid person.
He moves away and goes through the doorway to the left, where he sees a child covered in
blood choking on the floor, and though he notices that Will immediately starts towards the
kid, presumably to help, he stops when he sees another kid filming. “Beautiful performance,
Tabitha.” the kid filming says.
“I’m sorry, do you know where Suzie is? We’re looking for her.” Jonathan asks.
The child snaps his fingers at them with more rage than Mike has ever seen concentrated in a
being that can’t be more than four-and-a-half feet. “Can you not see that we are filming?” the
child snarls. “Come on! Alright, stay in it, Tabitha, stay in it, don’t break character-”
With strange looks from all of them, they move on through the jungle of children, eventually
going to the kitchen.
“Hi, we’re looking for Suzie.” Will asks the three children cooking and working there. How
many kids is that? Eight? Plus Suzie? So at least nine? Oh, sweet Jesus, this house is a
nightmare.
“Don’t know, don’t care. I- Peter! Peter, the salt! That’s too much salt, Peter! Father’s
kidneys! Father’s kidneys!” the oldest girl, who can’t be older than ten, says.
The power goes out as the same crossbow-wielding wild child from earlier messes with the
breaker on the wall.
“Cornelius!” an older person shouts, coming in and wrangling the child away from the circuit
breaker. Mike sighs in relief. Finally, some kind of adult supervision for these evil, chaotic
hellions.
The person turns around, and Mike was wrong, she can’t be older than Nancy. Do they not
have parents? Is there no adult around to keep them from being nightmares? “How many
times do I have to tell you? This is not a toy! Come on!”
“I’m getting Father!” calls another child.
“You make another escape, I’m gonna hunt you for sport.” the girl snarls at the child, who is
now hissing at her like a cat.
She looks over at them with narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“Argyle.” Argyle says, giving her major heart eyes.

“Uh, and you are?” Mike asks.
“Eden.” she says.
“Like the garden.” Argyle says, nodding while continuing to stare at her.
“Wow.” Jonathan mutters.
“We’re looking for Suzie.” Mike starts.
“Do you know where she is?” Will finishes.
“Third floor, second door on your left.” Eden says. “You make sure to give that selfish four-
eyed shit a nice little shove for me.”
“Absolutely.” Argyle says. “Eden, I… I will shove her for you. I will… I will do anything for
you.”
Mike tries not to roll his eyes. He understands being lovesick (of course he does, he’s in love
with his best friend, who’s not a freak like him and who he can never even tell that he’s in
love with him without losing him), but Christ, Argyle, get a grip.
Though his thought process starts as poking fun at Argyle as they go up the stairs, it soon
turns to the fact that yes, he’s in love with Will. He admitted it to himself in the van, and now
it’s a huge part of his thought process. It’s not just an infatuation or obsession. He’s in love
with Will.
And he can’t be. Fuck.

-
Will breathes a sigh of relief the second they’re safely away from the pure chaos of the ankle-
biters and in Suzie’s room. He loves kids, he really does, but dear God, this family makes
him glad that he’s decided that he’d rather be the cool, childless gay uncle than have any of
his own.
He looks around, noting the clutter of random trinkets though the room is still very neat and
organized. It’s an interesting contrast, and he appreciates it.
“Well, great. She’s not here.” Jonathan sighs.
What’s with Jonathan? He's been so sarcastic and rude over the past few days. He’s acting so
different.
Something out the window creaks, and Argyle laughs. “Give her a shove.” he says, shaking
his head as he chuckles.
They all walk hesitantly towards the window, and Mike sticks his head out first, after which
Will does the same through the other pane of the window, right behind Mike.
“Suzie!” Mike calls.
“Yeah?” she answers, looking over from where she’s adjusting an antenna. Her face quickly
switches from preoccupied to confused and stressed, though. “Who the heck are you? And
what are you doing in my room?!”
“Sorry, that… that’s fair.” Mike says.

“No, listen. We’re Dustin’s friends.” Will says.
“Yeah! And we really need your help!” Mike finishes.
“Okay, that’s a lot to process.” Suzie says, looking lost in her head once they’re done talking.
“I mean, that might seriously be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know. It’s hard to believe.” Will says.
“But it’s true. All of it’s true.” Mike lies.
“I dial into this computer and find a location, and at this location is… the Nina Project?” she
asks.
“Exactly.” Jonathan says.
“And the Nina Project is the code name for… a video game?” she says disbelievingly.
“No, it’s not just a video game. It’s a video game console.” Mike says. “It’s basically
America’s answer to Nintendo.”
“Americantendo.” Argyle chimes in.
Mike wishes that he could pick a fight with Argyle without Will getting upset, but he can’t,
so he just gives Argyle the bitchiest bitchface he can manage.
“That’s a stupid name.” Suzie says.
“You’re right, it is a stupid name-” Mike says, glaring daggers at Argyle “But… Suzie, it’s
16-bit.”
“Sixteen-bit?” she exclaims. “Why have I never heard of this?”
“Because it’s top secret.” Mike says.
“That’s why we’re doing this.” Will says.
“Yeah, right. It’s for the promotion.” Mike says. “The first people to find the secret location
receive an-”
“Americantendo.” Argyle prompts.
Mike sighs and tries to restrain himself from the thought of shouting at or smacking Argyle
upside the head. “Uh… an Americantendo.”
“So you drove 3,000 miles over your spring break so I can help you get a new video game
console nobody has ever heard of?” Suzie deadpans.
“Yes.” they all say in unison.
She scoffs, and Mike’s trying to think of another lie to tell her, but Will beats him to it (which
is surprising. Will’s always been a hesitant liar, never wanting to lie unless he had to. When
did that change?).
“But it’s not for us. It’s for Dustin.” Will says emphatically.
“Right.” Mike agrees, quickly backing up his best friend. “Exactly. It’s for Dustin. For
Dustin’s birthday, which is…”
“In two months, three days, and five hours.” Suzie says. Mike gives a glance over to Will,
who seems a bit sadder at his words. Why’s Will upset?
The door slams open, and Eden storms in. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I am not
spending my entire day babysitting. Pull your damn weight.”
“Language!” Suzie scolds, looking offended.
“Oh no, am I gonna burn in hell now?” Eden mocks.
“You tell her, Eden!” Argyle cheers. Seriously, Mike might kill him.
“Out of my room!” Suzie shouts, getting up and physically pushing Eden out the door.
“Don’t touch me, you little shit!” Eden shouts back.
Mike would never admit it, but their relationship is making him miss Nancy.
Once she’s slammed the door behind Eden, she sits back down.
“So can you help?” Jonathan asks.
“I would do anything for Dustybun-” Mike and Will exchange looks, both clearly trying not
to laugh at the petname “-but I’m afraid there’s been an unfortunate development. After I
hacked the school’s database and changed Dusty’s grade to an A, I was wracked with the
most awful guilt. Father could see my soul was tortured, and he wrenched a confession out of
me. Not only was I breaking the law, but I was dating an agnostic. An agnostic! I’ve never
seen Father so angry.
“Naturally, after learning the terrible truth, he confiscated my computer. And Father is not
one to change his mind. I’m as likely to see it again as I am my poor Dustybun.” she finishes.
No. No, no, no, they’re so close to finding El. They’re so close. They can’t fail now.
“Where is it?” Will asks, chewing the thumbnail on his right hand like he always does when
he’s stressed but trying to think.
“His study. He uses it for work now. And Father’s almost always working. His door is, like,
permanently locked.” Suzie supplies.
Will makes a noise between a ‘tsk’ and a scoff as he starts pacing and keeps chewing his nail.
“I’m really sorry.” Suzie says. “Truly. But it looks like you came all the way here for
nothing.”
The lights go out, and Eden’s cry of ‘CORNELIUS!’ and his responding shriek can be heard
from downstairs.
“Unless…” Suzie trails off.
“Unless?” Mike asks.
“There might be a way. But we’re gonna need help. And I mean a lot of help.” Suzie says.
“Alright.” Mike says. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Hey, kiddo, you want to play with the electricity?” Will asks Cornelius in the living room,
who was too busy playing with the crossbow to pay him much mind until he said the word
‘electricity’, at which point he whipped around to stare gleefully at Will.
“Come on! Come on, let’s play with the breaker!” Will says, walking quickly over to the
kitchen as Cornelius runs as fast as he can on short legs after him.
When he’s in the doorway, he steps aside. “Okay, Cornelius, you just play with the breaker as
much as you want. Just keep flicking the switch, okay, kiddo?” he instructs the mud-covered
child, who nods as fast as he can before running for the breaker.
Will watches from the hallway as Cornelius is given free access to the switch. That kid is
absolutely wild and probably insane, but he does have his uses. When he starts flipping the
switch on and off, giggling madly, there’s the sound of a door slamming open and heavy
footsteps on the stairs.
“Oh, shit.” Will mutters, hiding along the stairs as Suzie’s father runs down the stairs,
howling ‘CORNELIUS!’. Once her father is busy with his menagerie of children, he slips up
the stairs and almost runs head-first into Jonathan, who is walking quickly behind Suzie and
Mike as they make a break for a previously-closed door.
“Wait- wait, where’s Argyle?” Will asks.
“I don’t know, but we need to get the number before Suzie’s dad comes back!” Jonathan says.
Will’s hot on their heels as they get into the office and shut the door, Suzie immediately
sitting down in the chair.
“And three, two…” she says, turning it on.
“Oh my God.” Jonathan says as she gets the password in and opens up the computer.
“Way to go, Cornelius.” Will murmurs as he moves to stand behind her and watch the screen.
“And… we’re in.” Suzie says.
“Holy sh…” Mike starts to say one of his favorite words, but clearly remembers the company
they’re keeping at the moment. “Holy heck.”
“Holy heck, you did it.” Will says, trying to back Mike’s odd substitution up.
“Hold your applause, I don’t see an address.” Suzie says.
“‘Office’. Try ‘Office’.” Jonathan suggests.
“Maybe it’s hidden in the code?” Mike asks.
“What you just said makes no sense.” she says, shaking her head and typing furiously. “Hold
your butts. I’ll trace the IP.”
“The… The I-what?” Mike asks.
“The IP. The internet protocol address.” Will tells him.

“It’s a unique numerical label given to all information technology connected to the Internet.”
Suzie fills in.
“What’s the Internet?” Mike asks.
Will gives him the side eye as Suzie says “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing important, just,
you know, going to change the world.” For someone who’s so smart, Mike can be really
dumb sometimes. They were literally in the AV and computer science clubs - how does he
not remember this?
“What’s happening now?” Jonathan asks.
“I’m running the IP through a geolocation software. Basically a form of data mining.” Suzie
says.
It’s a minute of just the sounds of the computer before Suzie exclaims “Bingo!”
“Nevada?” Jonathan, Mike, and Will all say at the same time.
“Can you print this address?” Mike asks.
She turns and looks at Mike with a deadpan expression. “No, my skills end at IP
geolocation.”
Will tries to suppress his laughter as Suzie turns back to the computer and Mike mutters “Oh,
you were being sarcastic.”
“Yeah.” Suzie says with a sigh. “Yeah.”

-
“Dustin’s right. You’re a certified genius.” Mike says as the gang walks downstairs behind
Suzie, who’s decided to send them off.
“Dusty said that?” she asks, giving Mike a skeptical look.
“Yep. He also said that you’re amazing and the smartest person he knows and-” Mike
remembers that Suzie’s super religious and might not take kindly to being called hot, so he
changes Dustin’s wording a little bit “-prettier than Phoebe Cates.”
Suzie smiles like crazy before they go outside near the van, at which point she wrinkles her
nose (and Mike would agree, it smells horrible) and says “Ugh. I think we just spooked a
skunk.”
Jonathan opens the door to the back of the van, which releases smoke from the backseat and
reveals Eden and Argyle sharing a joint.
“Yo, dudes. Have any luck?” Argyle asks, clearly stoned out of his mind.
Suzie stares in horror at them, and before she can start yelling at her sister, Mike steps
forwards and starts waving the smoke out of the van. “Yeah, we did. And we’re in a bit of a
rush, so we really need to go.”
Eden gets out, stumbling as her feet hit solid ground again, and as the smoke finishes
disappearing into the air, they get into the backseat, shouting goodbyes and ‘it was nice to
meet you’s to Suzie, who waves and says goodbye and tells them to give a hug to ‘Dustybun’
for her (Mike’s never gonna let Dustin live it down) before they close the doors and drive
away.
It still smells super strongly of weed, and Will still has an eating disorder, and they’re still a
long way away from El, but now they have an address and a place to go, which is a damn
sight better off than they were a few hours ago.
Mike smiles at the piece of paper with the address printed on it before carefully folding it and
putting it in his shirt pocket alongside another important piece of paper. They find El and
figure it out from there - the important thing is that everything’s gonna be alright.
Chapter End Notes
1. Yes, when Mike said 'It's part of why I...', his thought was 'part of why I love you'.
2. In this, neither Will nor Mike are too interested in having kids, though Will does love
them (and kids just adore Will). And that is valid, as is the belief that they would
become parents (if that's your idea, good for you! I just don't share that headcanon lol).
Also, I wasn't joking earlier, my therapist Mark is reading this now. Everybody say hi,
Mark!
Alright. I hope you enjoyed this, because serious angst is coming up. Enjoy the time
when their biggest problems are internalized homophobia while you can. See you soon
and have a great day! Leave a Kudos or comment if you're up for it!
Painting
Chapter Notes
Three guesses what this one's about from the chapter title lol. Enjoy the sheer amount of
gay in this chapter, guys! (Also, two chapters in two days? What?! Crazy! I was just so
excited about this lol)
Shoutout to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, Ngalu, Eggosandnumbers,

WalkinInHawkins, ToBeLonely, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, not_all_nerds_wear_glasses,
Mississi, and madysjn for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you
enjoy, and please let me know what you thought.

Trigger warnings:
- Language (sh1t)
- Self-hatred
- Mentions of suicide
- Lying between friends
“Holy shit, dude, check it out.” Argyle says, pointing to a Surfer Boy Pizza place on the side
of the road. “I didn’t know they expanded into Nevada. Watch out, Domino’s, your dominoes
are gonna fall.”
It’s quiet for a minute until Will suddenly asks, “How far is Nina from Vegas?”
“From Vegas?” Mike asks. Will nods. “Um, as long as Suzie’s coordinates are right, about 90
miles. Why?”
“Well once we save her - El, I mean - we should stop on the way back.” Will says, smiling at
the thought. “With her powers, El could make us all, like, super rich. We’d never have to
work. We could just play D&D and video games for the rest of our lives.”
Oh. No, Mike doesn’t want that. ‘What did you think - that we were never going to get
girlfriends? That we were just going to sit in my basement and play games for the rest of our
lives?’ He doesn’t want that, least of all with you. Why did you say that?
“Yeah. Totally.” Mike says, nodding and giving Will a halfhearted smile. Will knows that it
could be because Mike’s just humoring him, but… maybe it’s because of El, too.
“We’re gonna make it, Mike. She’s gonna be okay.” Will says quietly.
“Yeah, I know. I- I know she is. But- But what if after all this is over, she…sh… she doesn’t
need me anymore?” Mike stumbles.
“Mike, no- of course- of course she’ll still need you.” Will says. “She’ll always need you,
Mike.”
“I keep telling myself that, but I- I don’t believe it. I mean, she’s special. She was born
special. Maybe I was one of the first people to realize that, but the truth is, when I stumbled
on her in those woods, she just needed someone. It’s not fate. It’s not destiny. It’s just simple
dumb luck. And one day she’s gonna realize that I’m just a random nerd that got lucky that
Superman landed on his doorstep. I mean, at least Lois Lane is an ace reporter for the Daily
Planet, right? But…” Mike huffs. “Sorry. I’m being annoying.”
“No.” Will objects immediately.
“No, i… it’s stupid, given everything that’s going on. It’s just… I… I don’t know, I just…
uh…” Mike tries.
“You’re scared of losing her.” Will says. Mike doesn’t know quite how much he understands
- Will’s always had that fear, fostered by years of being abandoned and bullied and left
behind (hell, even last summer - he lost his friends because he was stupid and wouldn’t grow
up).
Mike nods, his eyes looking between Will’s with a vulnerability and scrutiny that makes Will
both nervous and sad.
“Can I show you something?” he asks, and when Mike nods, he carefully removes one of the
rolled paintings from the door caddy where he stowed them.
He holds it in shaking hands, staring at it. This is his painting. This is his heart poured into
the brushstrokes, his planned confession, his love. Is he really okay with giving it to Mike and
saying it’s from someone else?
Will thinks of Mike’s face as he said that he was just some random nerd. Mike’s not a random
nerd. He’s amazing. He’s the leader, the soul of the Party - and Will’s soul too. He’s perfect
and beautiful and smart and funny, and he’s Will’s favorite person and muse and best friend,
and how can he not see that he’s worth more than all the stars in the sky?
Will loves Mike. And that’s why he’s making this sacrifice.
It’s worth giving up months of effort and work and saying his unconditional love is someone
else’s if it means that Mike’s happy. In the end, all Will wants is for Mike to be happy, even if
it means that he gives up his own chance at happiness.
With a deep breath, he hands the painting and his exposed, broken heart over to Mike.
Mike unrolls it, and he chuckles and smiles when he sees it. His face is just so lit up, and
Will’s heart is tearing and ripping itself to shreds, but Mike’s so happy, beaming at the paper.
It’s worth it.
“This is amazing.” Mike says, staring reverently at it before looking back to Will. “Did you
paint this?”
“Yeah.” Will smiles, getting lost in Mike’s smile for a moment before remembering what he’s
doing. “I- I mean, El… El asked me to. She commissioned it, basically. I mean, she told me
what to draw.”
He looks out the window for a second, gathering his thoughts and taking a deep breath,
keeping the tears in his eyes, before turning back and pointing to Mike’s shield on the
painting.
“Anyway, my point is, see how you’re leading us here? You’re guiding the whole party,
inspiring us. That… That’s what you do.”
Will takes another deep breath. “And see your coat of arms here? It’s a heart.”
‘I put a heart on your coat of arms because I- because you’re my heart. Because I- because
you’re more than my friend, Mike. I see you as more than my friend. You’re my favorite
person, too, and I- I love you. I love you more than everything in the world combined. I love
you more than I’ve ever found a way to say since I realized when we were thirteen. I know
you don’t feel the same way, but- but I do love you.’
That’s what he’d planned to say. That’s what he wants to say. That’s not what he can say.
“I know it’s sort of on the nose, but that’s what holds this party together: heart.” Will says.
“Because, I mean, without heart, we’d all fall apart.”
Even me. Especially me.
“Even El. Especially El.”
He’s in the lies up to his neck and sinking fast, and at this point, he’s ready to drown.
These past few months, I’ve been so lost without you. “These past few months, she’s been so
lost without you.”
I’m so different from everyone else, and I hate myself for it. I don’t belong, and I wish I were
dead. What people have told me my entire life has been true: I’m a freak. “It’s just… she’s so
different from other people, and… when you’re… when you’re different, sometimes… you
feel like a mistake.”
But even if I hate myself, I love you, and that makes me feel like I’m not alone. You give me
strength. “But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being
different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.”
I’m sorry that I’ve pushed you away. I was just scared and hurting, and I love you too much
to watch you walk away. “If she was mean to you or she seemed like she was pushing you
away, it’s because she’s scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her.”
And I don’t want you to leave me because I love you so much, but because I love you, I need
to let you go so that you can be happy. “And if she was going to lose you, I… I think she’d
rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
Goodbye, Mike. I love you, so I’m letting you go. I’m ripping off the Band-Aid right here,
right now. You don’t need me, even if I need you, and I won’t let myself be a burden. So go to
El. I hope that you love her as much as I love you.
“So yeah. El needs you, Mike. And she always will.” Will finishes, his eyes so blurry with
tears that it hurts and he can hardly see.
“Yeah?” Mike asks, looking at him with a soft and overjoyed expression, looking almost
drunk on happiness.
“Yeah.” Will smiles, and as the tears start to fall, he forces himself to turn to the window so
that Mike can’t see him fall apart and covers his mouth with his hand so that he won’t make
any noise.
One painting is a lie, and the other, he can’t give to Mike, because it would undo the lie of the
one of the Party.
As Will looks out the window, he squeezes his eyes shut as tears roll down his cheeks and he
sobs into his hand. It’s okay. Mike’ll be happy. That’s all that matters.
“Holy shit, dude, check it out.” Argyle says, pointing to a Surfer Boy Pizza place on the side
of the road. “I didn’t know they expanded into Nevada. Watch out, Domino’s, your dominoes
are gonna fall.”
Mike’s too stressed out to even dignify that with the usual eye roll.
It’s quiet for a minute until Will suddenly turns to Mike and asks, “How far is Nina from
Vegas?”
“From Vegas?” Mike asks. Will nods, and he tries to do the math in his head. “Um, as long as
Suzie’s coordinates are right, about 90 miles. Why?”
“Well once we save her - El, I mean - we should stop on the way back.” Will says, smiling
(and Mike’s heart leaps with the simple flash of his teeth). “With her powers, El could make
us all, like, super rich. We’d never have to work. We could just play D&D and video games
for the rest of our lives.”
Would Will really want that? Even after all the stupid shit he’s said and done? Even after he
made fun of that dream (that, honestly, was more his than Will’s) last summer?
“Yeah. Totally.” Mike says, nodding and giving Will a smile.

“We’re gonna make it, Mike. She’s gonna be okay.” Will says quietly, apparently picking up
on Mike’s worried energy. Jesus, the boy’s intuitive.
“Yeah, I know. I- I know she is. But- But what if after all this is over, she…sh… she doesn’t
need me anymore?” Mike stumbles.
I don’t know what to do, Will. I’m in love with you, not El, and it feels so cruel to date
someone who I don’t love like I should, but… I do love her as a friend, and I like being
needed, and if we broke up, I don’t know if she would still want to be around me or need me. I
don’t want to lose her.
“Mike, no- of course- of course she’ll still need you.” Will says. “She’ll always need you,
Mike.”
“I keep telling myself that, but I- I don’t believe it. I mean, she’s special. She was born
special. Maybe I was one of the first people to realize that, but the truth is, when I stumbled
on her in those woods, she just needed someone. It’s not fate. It’s not destiny. It’s just simple
dumb luck. And one day she’s gonna realize that I’m just a random nerd that got lucky that
Superman landed on his doorstep. I mean, at least Lois Lane is an ace reporter for the Daily
Planet, right? But…” Mike huffs. Why is he saying all this to Will? It's not his problem.
“Sorry. I’m being annoying.”
“No.” Will says.
“No, i… it’s stupid, given everything that’s going on. It’s just… I… I don’t know, I just…
uh…” Mike tries, getting distracted by the clashing duality in Will’s eyes: softness and
fierceness, care and frustration, sadness and tenderness, peace and calamity.
“You’re scared of losing her.” Will says.
Mike just stares at Will for a minute, trying to figure out how, exactly, Will knows him so
well. How did he know what Mike was thinking?
He nods, looking into Will’s eyes and hoping that his own pose the question of ‘How do you
know me so well that you know my thoughts?’
“Can I- can I show you something?” Will asks, and when Mike nods, he retrieves one of the
rolled paintings that’s tucked into the door.
He holds it for a minute, just staring at it, before handing it to Mike.
Mike unrolls it cautiously, and when the beautiful, detailed painting of the Party in their D&D
outfits fighting a dragon is flat on his lap, he smiles and chuckles.
Holy shit. The painting was for me. The painting El thought was for a girl was for me.
Wait. Does that mean-?
No way. Will’s not like that.
Unless… what if he is?
The little voice in the back of his head tells him that he's a freak and disgusting and wrong for
thinking that, but Mike manages to get it to shut up. How can there be something wrong with
him if Will's like that, too? If Will's perfect, and he's- he's gay too- then maybe Mike isn't
disgusting for that. Maybe it's okay.
“This is amazing.” Mike says, staring reverently at it. He can see every brushstroke, and the
amount of care and time and effort that Will’s put in is obvious. It’s beautiful. And it’s his.
“Did you paint this?”
“Yeah.” Will smiles before sitting up straighter and looking away. “I- I mean, El… El asked
me to. She commissioned it, basically. I mean, she told me what to draw.”
…Holy shit. Holy shit, that’s a lie. El didn’t know what the painting was. He made this, and it
was just him. That means… the feelings behind it might be just his, too.
“Anyway, my point is, see how you’re leading us here? You’re guiding the whole party,
inspiring us. That… That’s what you do.” Will says, and as he points out Paladin Mike’s
shield, his wrist rests on Mike’s arm, and he has to fight from just tackling Will, he’s so
happy. “And see your coat of arms here? It’s a heart.”
Oh my God, that’s so on the nose. He- he does like me back. Holy shit, he likes me back.
“I know it’s sort of on the nose, but that’s what holds this party together: heart.” Will says.
“Because, I mean, without heart, we’d all fall apart.”
Oh my God. Oh my God, Will’s in love with me, too.
“Even El. Especially El.”
Shit. El. What would she think if he knew that Mike was so elated at being the object of Will’s
affection?
He’ll worry about that later. Right now… he’ll just let his thoughts focus on the boy they want
to focus on.
“These past few months, she’s been so lost without you.”
Oh my God, he’s talking about himself like he’s El.
So… ‘These past few months, I’ve been so lost without you’ is what he’s really saying.
I’ve been lost without you, too, Will, you’re not alone. I love you.
“It’s just… she’s so different from other people, and… when you’re… when you’re different,
sometimes… you feel like a mistake.”
‘It’s just… I’m so different from other people, and… when you’re… when you’re different,
sometimes… you feel like a mistake.’
But you’re not a mistake, Will, you’re perfect. And I would never change what makes you
special in a million years. I love you.
“But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different.
And that gives her the courage to fight on.”
‘But you make me feel like I’m not a mistake at all. Like I’m better for being different. And
that gives me the courage to fight on.’
You are better for being different, Will. I love you.
“If she was mean to you or she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s because she’s
scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her.”
‘If I was mean to you or I seemed like I was pushing you away, it’s because I’m scared of
losing you, just like you’re scared of losing me.’
I forgive you. I get it. I don’t want to lose you, either. I love you.
“And if she was going to lose you, I… I think she’d rather just get it over with quick. Like
ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“So yeah. El needs you, Mike. And she always will.” Will finishes, and Mike can see the
tears in his eyes.
I need you too, I love you I love you I love you I love you-
“Yeah?” Mike asks, and he’s sure that he looks as dopey and lovestruck as he feels right now,
but that doesn’t matter, because William Byers loves him back, holy shit.
“Yeah.” Will smiles, and as Mike can see the tears start to fall, he turns to the window, and
Mike can see his shoulders shake as he sobs into his hand.
He goes to touch Will, hug him, hold him so tightly that he can see how loved he is, tell him
that ‘I’ll always need you too, ‘El’”, but there are so many reasons why he shouldn’t.
First of all, he’s not going to cheat on El. When they rescue her, he’ll talk to her about it, and
when he’s officially single, he can tell Will.
Besides, Will probably needs some time. Giving that speech, making a veiled confession… it
can’t be easy, and Mike doesn’t want to overwhelm him.
Once they save El and Will’s had a bit to calm down, Mike can tell him.
But in the meantime, he’s just going to sit here, admire the beautiful painting that Will made
for him (for him! This masterpiece is for him! Holy shit!), and keep his cards close to his
chest.
They’ve stayed as best friends for an entire decade. They can wait another day or two.
Chapter End Notes

*sobbing but not sure if it's from sadness over Will's POV or feels from Mike's*
Anyways, the second painting of the swings will come back later, but not quite yet.
Also, don't get your hopes up, because Official Byler still isn't happening for a while
(some shit starts next chapter that delays their getting together).
Let me know what you thought in the comments, leave a Kudos if you're up for it, and
have a great day!
(Also, be prepared - the next chapter kicks some serious angst off, so watch out).
Nina
Chapter Notes
Hey! Here's a chapter that's going to either make you upset or go 'OH MY GOD!' Let
me know which it was!

WalkinInHawkins, ToBeLonely, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, not_all_nerds_wear_glasses,
and greenghast for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and
please let me know what you thought!
Overall rating: R
Trigger warnings:
- Langauge (sh1t, f*ck, hell, etc)
- Violence
- Death
- Blood
- Guns
- Mentions of past trauma
- Forced drugging
Jonathan drives the pizza van, knuckles clenched white on the steering wheel as they drive
towards a gray speck on the horizon. Less than five minutes until they get to Project Nina and
they save El.
Will forces himself to take deep breaths. It doesn’t matter if he’s terrified (and still hurting
from giving his painting to Mike), his sister is most likely in danger, and he has to be strong
enough to protect her.
The speck gets larger and larger as Will watches it out the window until he can see that it’s a
gray elevator, seemingly just the concrete shaft and the elevator doors inside of it. Will just
knows that Nina is below the sand, and his heart drops as he thinks about getting in the
elevator and going into a confined place with only one way out.
Argyle parks about a hundred yards away from the elevator. For once, he doesn’t crack any
jokes or say something irrelevant and irreverent, just unlocking the doors and getting out
silently.
Will takes a deep breath and opens the door, stepping out onto the sand.
As Jonathan and Mike follow and they all walk towards the elevator, Will draws the gun out
of the holster, checking that it’s loaded and getting some of the extra ammo out of his pocket.
He doesn’t know what’s down there, but like hell is he going in unarmed as well as blind.
He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, but at the least he’s going to be ready to shoot any
dangers. Or anyone who stands between him and his sister.
All he can think as he tightens his grip on the handle and puts his finger next to the trigger,
ready to shoot whoever and whenever he needs to, is ‘ Don’t get in my way.’
When they get to the elevator doors, Will examines the keypad that he’s sure allows them to
use the elevator. Four numbers. Alright. There were originally eighteen numbers, according
to what El’s told me in the past after her nightmares… Eleven’s always been the most
powerful and Brenner’s favorite…
Will switches the gun to his left hand instead of his right and types in ‘1811’ into the keypad.
The small red light turns green, and the doors open.
“Holy shit.” Mike says from behind them. “How- how did you know what the code was?”
“Lucky guess.” Will says, stepping in. His friends and brother follow.
Once they’re all in the elevator, he steps out in front of them as it starts going down into the
unknown. He’s the one armed - it makes sense that he’s in front. Besides, if they’re
immediately shot at, Will can use himself as a human shield. Either way, he’s protecting his
loved ones.
It dings, and it’s a moment filled with tension and deafening silence before the doors open
into a circular hallway with a walkway.
It’s empty, the fluorescent lights reflected off of the steel all around. There’s an emanating
sound somewhere between a mechanical hum and a whirring,
Will raises the gun, supporting it with both hands and holding it out in front of him as he
cautiously steps out, looking around for any sign of life. While there are desks around,
covered in paper and personal effects that make it clear that there are people here, they’re
deserted, with no sign of life anywhere.
Honestly, Will would prefer a scientist or guard or something to be here. Somehow, the
absence of people is far scarier than anything else would be.
He walks carefully on the walkway, gun still at the ready and finger on the trigger as he walks
on the outer side of his feet (he figured out that walking on the outside of his feet was the
quietest way to move years ago after seven years of living with Lonnie) to stay silent.
As they leave the hallway and go into a central area, shaped like a dome and with three
hallways other than the one that they just came out of, the humming grows louder, and the
sounds of voices come from the left, right, and ahead.
Will looks over to Jonathan for assurance, who’s at his left (even if he’s been a stoner and a
bit of a jerk, he’s still Will’s big brother, and when he’s scared, it’s still his instinct to look to
Jon), but he looks as terrified and unsure as Will feels.
Stay strong. It doesn’t matter that it’s scary, your sister is in danger.
With a look down the other two tunnels, Will starts walking down the one straight ahead, gun
still ready.
It isn’t long before there are people again.
When they get to an area with desks in it, a guy in a white lab coat looks up from one of the
tables and starts shouting. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! WHO ARE YOU?!
GUARDS!”
The man grabs a gun out of a desk drawer and starts aiming it at them-
Don’t think twice. He’s a threat.
Will points the gun at the armed scientist and fires, sending him dropping to the floor, blood
seeping from his chest where Will hit dead-on.
He looks around, and he can hear rapid footsteps echoing on the metal. People are running
towards them.
You know what? Fuck it.
When two guards emerge from further down the hallway with machine guns aimed at them,
Will fires once, twice, hitting one in the forehead and the other in the throat.
When one comes from the side, Will hits him across the face with the now-hot gun barrel
before firing a shot into his stomach at close range, sending him down to the ground like the
other three people he’s shot.
He looks around. There are just him and his family and friends, all terrified, left standing.
There are five people on the floor, two injured but still alive, two most likely dead. The other
person is a man in a white coat pressed against the wall, staring at Will in terror.
He gets up and starts to run, but Will’s fast, chasing after him and catching up in just a few
seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and whipping him around to look at him and
the gun that’s in the scientist’s face.
“WHERE IS ELEVEN?!” Will screams. The scientist whimpers and helplessly holds up his
hands, but Will’s not fucking around.
He presses the gun against the scientist’s forehead, and he cries out slightly at the heat of the
barrel.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SISTER?!” he screams, and when the scientist doesn’t answer,
he cocks the gun. “NOW!” he orders.
“She- She’s with Brenner! Don’t hurt me!” the scientist pleads.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Jonathan, Mike, and Argyle fighting, three more
guards trying to restrain them. Argyle’s knocked out by a punch to the jaw pretty fast, but
Mike and Jonathan are fighting for their lives, both punching and wrestling for the guards’
guns. Fuck.
Will curses and lets go of the agent before he shoves him to the ground, turning his gun on
the people attacking his brother and best friend.
He can’t fire without hitting his family. God fucking damn it.
As his terror and anger intensifies, Will feels his nose start to drip, turning his face warm and
sticky with blood.
That doesn’t matter, his family’s in danger.
Will runs over and pulls the guard currently pinning Mike to the ground, pulling him up and
firing into the back of his skull the second that Mike won’t get hit. He pulls the guard’s body
the rest of the way off of Mike and drops him onto the ground, leaving Mike to get up on his
own as he goes to Jonathan.
He’s out of bullets in the magazine but doesn’t have time to replace it with the way that the
guard is raising the gun to his brother’s head.
Fuck it. He runs to the guard on top of Jonathan.
“GET-” he screams, hitting the guard in the back of the head with the gun “THE FUCK-” he
administers another strike to the back of the guard’s neck “OFF-” he drags the guard up by
the shoulders “MY BROTHER!”
This guy, though, apparently isn’t going down easily, as instead of crumpling in pain, he
grabs Will and drags him to the ground, causing his head to hit the metal as his cheek is
pressed against the floor by the guard’s hand as he moves from over Jonathan to sitting on
Will’s chest, keeping him from moving and keeping his arms pinned.
“AH! NO! F-FUCKER!” Will shouts, gasping for breath as the weight on his chest grows
unbearable. He’s seventy-five pounds, he can’t handle someone at least twice his weight
crushing his ribcage.
Will screams in pain and fear and rage as he tries to wriggle out from under, replace the
magazine in his gun, protect them, help, help, help, he can’t breathe-
“GET OFF!” comes a panicky male voice. He knows that voice, but it isn’t anyone he came
in with. Who is it? “I SAID GET OFF! YOU’RE HURTING HIM! GET OFF!”
The weight on his chest disappears, and Will gasps as he tries to inflate his lungs that feel like
they’re being encroached on by his ribs.
“It’s okay, Will, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re all safe.” the voice says, and when he looks,
it’s the concerned blue eyes of someone he used to know.
“Owens?” he asks.
Dr. Owens smiles sadly. “Hey, kiddo.”
He helps Will sit up, and Will ends up leaning against a desk as what he just did hits him. Oh,
God, he just shot five people. Oh, God, and he hurt even more, oh, God.
It feels like he’s coming out of a rage- and terror-fueled haze, like he’s waking up from a
dream. He thinks that it was like he was a whole different person when he was hurting those
people. Oh, God, some are dead. What did he just do? What did he just do?
Apparently, Will’s gasping isn’t just from catching his breath, and Owens realizes this. “Hey,
hey, deep breaths. Everything’s okay. Everything’s fine.”
No, it’s not, he just killed people.
“Kiddo, your family’s safe. Your friends are safe. Nobody’s mad at you.”
But he’s just killed people. He’s a murderer. Nothing is okay.
“Just breathe.” Owens says. “Breathe.”
Will forces himself to take deep breaths, and though he’s still horrified, the panic dulls, and
he can sort of think again.
“Are they okay?” Will asks after a minute.

“Is who okay?” Owens asks.
“Eleven. Mike. Jonathan. Argyle.” Will manages to get out. “Are they okay?”
“They’re just fine, okay?” Owens soothes. “Everything’s fine.”
Will looks around again, and he sees the blood spilled on the floor, and he feels the blood
under his nose and the gun that’s in the holster on his hip and still warm and the bodies and
oh, God, he can’t breathe, he can’t be here-
Will stumbles to his feet and starts trying to run.
“I- no, no, Will! Will, stop!” Owens shouts after him.
He doesn’t stop, and he picks up speed until-
Will runs into someone and falls to the floor, and when he sees a guard standing there holding
a gun, Will screams, and he isn’t even sure why, but he’s terrified, and he staggers to his feet
and tries to run for it.
However, the guard grabs him and pins his arms to his sides as he’s lifted almost off his feet,
and despite Owens shouting for them not to, another guard comes and jabs a needle into his
neck as Will writhes and thrashes and screams.
“NO! NO! WHAT DID YOU DO! WHAT DID YOU DO!” Will screams as his vision starts
to get blurry and his words start to slur. It’s not too long before his eyelids get too heavy, and
soon, Will stops moving, going limp as the world goes black.
-
When Will comes to, he’s lying on his back on what feels like a mattress, looking up at a gray
cement ceiling with fluorescent lights glaring and making a bad headache even worse.
He groans, lifting his hands up to try to block out the light, but when he looks, they’re
spinning, and his entire vision is fuzzy.
“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?” Owens asks from a chair at his bedside.
Will turns his head and looks at him, trying to work through his sluggish thoughts.
“I know. I told them not to.” Owens sighs. “But Brenner doesn’t listen.”
“Brenner?” Will slurs. God, it’s like he’s drunk. What did they do?
“Yeah, kiddo, he’s in charge of this project.” Owens says. “But so am I, so I can usually keep
him in check. But- well, you did shoot five people, and I was too late to keep them from
sedating you.”
“What’dd they give’m?” Will slurs.
“A drug cocktail.” Owens says. “I tried to stop them, Will-”
“Wha’ drugs?” Will asks.
“Um…” Owens says, clearly organizing his thoughts. “Ketamine, codeine, diazepam, Xanax,
klonopin, rohypnol, GHB, alcohol, scopolamine, lorazepam, and morphine. All small doses.
You weren’t overdosed, don’t worry - just enough to knock you out for a bit until you calmed
down.”
Will tries to think through the fog in his brain. It doesn’t work; all he gets is that he was given
a lot of drugs. “Thass… lots.” he says.
“Yeah, it was.” Owens says.
It’s quiet for a minute, the humming of the building and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights
the only sounds.
“Do you need anything? Food, water, medical care, blankets? Are you nauseated? The drugs
are known to do that.” Owens rambles.
Will shakes his head. “Light.” he says. “Light.”
“Do you want it dark?” Owens asks.
Will nods as best he can.
“Okay. I’ll turn off the light and leave you so that you can sleep the rest of the drugs off.
You’ll be safe while you sleep, I promise. Nobody will harm you or your friends or siblings.
Just rest.” Owens says kindly, getting up out of the chair, unlocking the door, and leaving the
room, flipping off the lights from just outside the door.
In the reduced lighting, Will gives in to the weight in his eyelids and limbs and lets himself
fall into the darkness of sleep.
He wakes up again a few hours later, and this time, he feels like he can move and think again,
though he’s still dizzy and his head still hurts.
“William Byers.” says someone at his bedside in the palace where Owens was (Owens was
there… right? Everything feels like a dream…)
Will immediately sits up despite the dizziness and reaches for the gun, which… is no longer
on his hip. Shit.
“You shot five people, three of whom are dead, the other two in critical condition. We
weren’t going to allow you to keep a firearm.” a tall, white-haired man wearing a gray suit
says, watching him from a chair that’s next to the cot that he’s sitting on. “My apologies.”
“Brenner?” Will asks, looking at the still-blurry figure.
“Yes, I am Dr. Brenner. And you are William Byers.” he says calmly.
“What do you want? Where’s my sister? And Jonathan and Mike and Argyle?” Will asks.
“They’re all safe and unharmed, and they are all in the building. I do apologize for the
sedation, but like I said, several of our scientists and guards were injured and killed.” Brenner
says.
Will tries to glare, but probably fails. “You were going to hurt my family.”
“No, I was not.” Brenner denies
“The guards and scientists all tried to shoot us. And you kidnapped my sister.” Will says.
“That sounds like you were trying to hurt us to me.”
“They are individuals, William. I am not a puppet master. They had the order to subdue any
trespassers, and they overreacted. I apologize for that, but it was not my fault.”
Will just glares at Brenner. He’s heard too many stories from El after she’s come into his
room in the middle of the night sobbing after a nightmare to give this man the benefit of the
doubt. He’s a monster.
“I understand that you may not like me. I don’t blame you. But, believe it or not, I seek to
help both Eleven and you.” Brenner says.
Will scoffs. “One, El doesn’t need your help. She’s perfect as-is without powers. Two, you
can’t help me. There’s nothing wrong with me that you can fix. Even if you could, I wouldn’t
want your help.”
Brenner sits in silence for a moment, and Will feels proud of himself for a minute that he’s
apparently shocked or frustrated Brenner into shutting his stupid mouth.
“There is a genetic abnormality that I doubt you are familiar with. It is called the R119P gene
mutation. Have you ever heard of it?” Brenner asks after a minute.
“This gene has a very rare mutation. It is passed from parent to child, and gives one the
predisposition to develop abilities like Eleven’s in childhood.” he explains calmly. “It is
triggered by exposure to certain things, such as the repeated adrenaline rush stemming from
abuse and trauma, hallucinogens, or carcinogens such as those found in the Upside Down.”
“I- great. Why are you telling me this?” Will asks impatiently. He wants to find his family
and leave, and he doesn’t really give a shit about the biology behind superpowers - at least,
not when it comes from the man who stole his sister’s childhood and turned her mother into a
vegetable using electrotherapy.
“Your family is a carrier for this gene.” Brenner says. “And I believe that it is active in you.”
Will scoffs. “Are you fucking with me? I’m not Eleven, and my family isn’t supernatural.”
Brenner is silent for a moment. “Jonathan and Joyce Byers’ blood, taken from routine lab
work records, showed the faulty gene code’s markers when tested. Your blood shares the
same genetic markers that their blood has, as well as the same unique proteins and hormonal
and metabolic changes that Eleven’s does - in a higher concentration and intensity, in fact.”
“Bullshit.” Will says. “That’s absolute bullshit. I’m not like El.”
“Tell me, have you ever gotten nosebleeds when you are extremely emotional?” Brenner
asks. “When you are afraid, feel out of control, or have extreme emotions such as excitement,
disgust, or sadness?”
Will’s hand drifts up to under his nose, practically of its own accord, where blood is dried
onto his skin.
Not just when he was fighting just now… during the shootout and after his nightmares, too…
No way. That can’t be right. It has to be a coincidence. He’s not like El.
Will just stares at Brenner, and he’s not sure if it’s in horror or anger or fear.
“Just now, when you were shooting and believed you were in danger, your nose began
bleeding.” Brenner says. “And I understand that there was a shooting at your home in
California, at which point a similar nosebleed occurred. From my understanding, despite the
fact that you and your loved ones were fired at by over a dozen people armed with machine
guns, none of you were hit once. Do you understand that the odds of all of you making it out
unharmed are at less than 0.001%?”
“How- how do you know about the shooting?” Will asks in as loud a voice as he can muster,
which is barely even a whisper, hardly audible.
“William, we’re the government. We know every move the people make and anticipate every
thought.” Brenner says matter-of-factly.
Will doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he just keeps arguing because no, he can’t
be special like El, that’s impossible. “Well- I- I haven’t been doing the- the whole blindfold-
static-meditation thing that El does. Any of the times you’ve mentioned. How do- how do
you explain that, then?” Will stumbles.
“I believe that you are more powerful than Eleven, and that is why you are able to access
your abilities more easily.” Brenner says. “When Eleven went into the Upside Down, her
abilities and their strength grew exponentially, increasing nearly tenfold. She was there for
less than an hour. You were there for over a week. Combine the carcinogens that you
breathed in and your possession with pre-existing trauma that had already triggered the gene
in the first place-”
“I don’t have powers.” Will says. “I can’t. There’s no way."
Brenner is silent for a moment. “You do, even if you do not believe so. Blood doesn’t lie,
William, and yours says that you are special.”
Will’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say.
“I want proof.” he says after a minute. “Solid proof. Not just your word.”
Brenner smiles, and it’s genuinely unnerving. His smile reminds Will of a shark. “You’re
quite intelligent, aren’t you?”
Will just stares at him, waiting for an answer.
He sighs. “I will give you some, if you will allow me.”

“What does that mean.” Will asks, though it’s more of a statement. You will give me the
answer.
“We will run some more tests, determine the nature and scope of your abilities, and help you
learn to control them.” Brenner says.
“What does that entail, Brenner? And don’t bullshit me.” Will says.
“You will have an MRI, CT scan, and some blood tests run first, which will help determine
some specifics of your gene mutation. After we understand the effects on you personally, we
will have you perform some tests to determine the nature and scope of your abilities, after
which we will help you gain control over them.” Brenner explains patiently. “The tests to
determine your abilities would include you attempting to use abilities that have been
documented by other gene carriers in the past. You would also be subjected to emotional
dysregulation to experience its effects.”
“Emotional dysregulation? What does that even mean?” Will asks.
Brenner keeps talking, ignoring his question. “Once we have figured out what you can do, we
will teach you how to use your abilities at will, suppress them when necessary, and how to
maintain a consistent emotional state. You will not be mistreated, nor will you or your loved
ones be harmed. We simply seek to understand and have you control your abilities and, if
necessary, fight against the malignant forces in Hawkins.”
No. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be special, he doesn’t want superpowers, he
wants to go home and be safe and hug his mom. He’s different enough - and he doesn’t want
to suffer like he knows El has, either.
“No.” Will says after a minute. “No. You’re going to figure out how to fix me, and then
you’re going to do that. You’re not going to teach me to control whatever- whatever this is,
you’re going to fix me.”
Brenner inhales and leans back in the chair, and Will keeps talking. “You can run your tests
on me, but once you know what’s giving me the- the abilities that you think I have, you’re
going to do whatever you have to do to make me normal and power-free again.”
Brenner looks at him scrutinizingly for a moment. “You do not think that your abilities are a
gift.” he says.
“No, Brenner! I fucking don’t!” Will laughs sarcastically. “Are you kidding? I apparently get
powers from the amount of shit that I’ve gone through, and then they’re grown because of an
evil nightmare dimension that I spent the worst week of my life in? Shocker that I don’t think
that something that is literally triggered by trauma and carcinogens is the best thing to ever
happen to me!”
“It is like an advanced adrenaline response. It is nothing to be afraid of-” Brenner says,
clearly attempting to soothe, but hell no, Will is on a roll, and he is going to make this
abusive piece of shit listen to whatever the hell he wants to say.
“If it’s nothing to be afraid of, why are so many people dead because of your little project?
Why is El the only number still alive?” Will snarls. “These abilities aren’t a good thing! They
never have been! All they lead to is death and destruction and pain! So yeah, I’m fucking
afraid of the fact that, according to you, I have these abilities!”
“What about Eleven?” Brenner asks. “If you love her like a sister, how can you think that she
leads to death and destruction and pain? Are you afraid of her?”
“No! Because she’s El, not Eleven! She’s kind and brave and smart and loyal, and she’s more
than her powers! Hell, she’s better off without them - without you! I love El, my amazing
sister, not Eleven, your superpowered lab rat!” Will shouts. “She doesn’t lead to death and
destruction and pain, the superpowers that YOU forced her to use do! FUCK YOU!”
“William, this is the next step of human evolution.” Brenner says. “You may be one of the
most powerful people in the world because of this, and that is not a bad thing.”
“I DON’T WANT TO BE!” Will screams. “I DON’T WANT TO BE SPECIAL OR

DIFFERENT, I WANT TO BE NORMAL! SO GET WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS
OUT OF ME!”
Brenner stands, still infuriatingly calm despite Will’s shouting. “I will wait for you to collect
yourself.” he says. “I will be back in ten minutes to discuss your options.”
He opens the door with a fingerprint recognition scanner that Will didn’t even realize was
there before walking out, the lock resealing Will in the tiny room.
Will isn’t even sure how he feels. He’s pissed off and skeptical and above all, terrified.
Well, he can’t do much about the fear, but he can do something about his anger.
Will screams at the top of his lungs, grabbing one of the three pillows at the top of the cot and
punching it several times before standing up, taking the pillow with him, and hitting it against
everything he can reach, whether it’s the walls, the bed, the toilet and sink, or the garment
rack (God, is this a fucking prison cell?). He hits at everything over and over, tears leaking
out of his eyes (he isn’t sure whether they’re angry tears or sad tears, honestly), screaming
and shouting as he goes.
Once he’s exhausted and the anger (as well as the poor, busted-up pillow) is gone, he sits
down again, going stock-still on the mattress as he just stares at his feet on the floor below
him, still crying.
He hates it. He hates being angry. He hates that he has a temper, even though his breaking
point is high and it’s rare that he allows it to be released.
He hates everything happening.
He hates himself.
-
It’s a few minutes before Brenner comes back in, looking around at the pillow stuffing left all
over the room before sitting back down.
“Feel better now?” he asks smoothly.
Will doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even move.
Brenner sighs. “I have thought about it, and I believe that you may be right.”
Well, that gets his attention.
Will looks up, watching Brenner as he speaks.
“It would be more useful to have a test subject that we have raised and been able to control
factors in their development. You are too unpredictable and too old to be truly useful as a
Number; however, you can still offer a great deal of information to the scientific community.
Thus, we are going to determine the cause, scope, and nature of your abilities, and once we
have gained scientific knowledge about them, we will suppress or entirely remove them from
you and send you on your way.” Brenner finishes.
Will takes a deep breath, then another as he processes.
“You’ll send me and my family - including El - on our way?” Will asks. “And you’ll get rid
of the powers?”
“Yes.” Brenner confirms.
Will sits there for another minute.

“Okay.” he says. “Okay. But we can leave whenever. And we aren’t in any danger. And I’m
in control of what you do when it comes to me.”
“Done.” Brenner says.
Will looks back down at the floor as Brenner starts mumbling to himself about experiments
and procedures and scientific findings.
He takes another deep breath. He’ll still be in control, and he and his loved ones are safe.
Everything’s going to be fine.
Will honestly doesn’t think he has powers - not like El, anyway - but even if he does, they’ll
be gone soon enough.
Chapter End Notes
The thing about genuinely kind, protective, and loving people is that when they're
pushed beyond the limit (like Will was this chapter) and they're angry, not only are they
unrecognizable, but also absolutely terrifying. (Don't worry, sweet, normal Will's
coming back next chapter - it's just that he snapped this chapter and kinda lost his shit).
Protective, BAMF, and angry Will? Yes, please! (I love BAMF Will moments, and he
seriously kicked ass this chapter. You go, boy! Get out some of that repressed rage!)
Also - Will has powers?! What?!
Quick poll: Do you think Brenner (and Owens) are being honest, or do you think they're
trying to manipulate Will? Let me know!
Let me know what you thought in the comments and leave a Kudos if you're up for it!
Have a great day and see you next time!
Experiment
Chapter Notes
Hello, my lovely readers! Hope you enjoy this chapter and the findings of Brenner and
Owens in it! Let me know what you think!

WalkinInHawkins, ToBeLonely, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, Koi, and Crossovergenius111
(Aweirdperson111) for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy,
and please let me know what you thought!
Overall rating: R.
- Language (f*ck, f*cker, damn, etc)
- Needles
- Violence
- Vomit
- Blood
- Panic attacks
- Drugging
- MRIs
- Claustrophobia
- Non-consensual medical procedures
- Cancer
- Abuse
- Separation of siblings
- Guns
Will fidgets with the hem of his gray sweatshirt. He doesn’t like the clothes that he’s wearing,
but Brenner had insisted (“It serves a purpose, William - besides, your current clothes are
filthy and covered in blood. This is a scientific operation, and we must be sanitary.” Brenner
had said. Will couldn’t argue with that - he really was dirty after not having changed clothes
or taken a shower in a couple days), and Owens had (much more kindly) agreed that he
needed to change clothes and clean up.
So. Now he's clean and in a gray sweatsuit.

Will looks around the Nina Project nervously as they walk. The last and only time that he had
been in the main halls, he had been so focused on finding El and the fighting that he hadn’t
really looked around.
It’s honestly kinda scary. It reminds Will of a bunker that you would see, like, missiles or
something in.
He’s terrified, but as long as he can leave whenever and has a say in what’s happening, he can
cope.
He had made Brenner promise that he would get to see Jonathan, Mike, El, and Argyle before
they started testing, so here they are, four guards with guns surrounding him as they walk
through the halls to wherever his siblings and friends are being kept.
Will doesn’t think the guards are necessary (he’s not going to try to run, and he’s not going to
try to hurt anyone), but he did kill people, so he does understand why they’re watching him.
Another wave of guilt and self-hatred pulls him under. He’s a murderer. He shot people to
death, and injured even more. It’s too easy to think about just how easy it was to pull the
trigger, the sight of people dropping as the bullets destroyed their brains and organs, lives
ruined or completely gone because of him.
It not only makes Will hate himself and wish that he were dead, but it makes him genuinely
nauseous. Every time he thinks about it (and he thinks about it a lot - according to Owens, it’s
been about eighteen hours since they came into the Nina Project, and he’s thought about it at
least hundreds of times, replaying it over and over in his head and analyzing every moment
of his murder spree), he wants to throw up - and he actually has several times.
Owen’s been there, though, and he’s been taking care of Will. Will knows that it might be a
manipulation tactic (he can’t trust anyone right now), but it’s making him like and trust
Owens a bit more.
Owens has been getting him anything he needs, be it water, medicine, food (which Will
hasn’t asked for so far), or even just an extra blanket or sweater when he gets cold. He runs
into the room whenever Will starts screaming or having a panic attack or flashback and helps
him through the episode, and rubs his back and says soothing words until Will stops throwing
up when he thinks too much about the people he’s killed.
Will’s never going to fully trust Owens again - not after what happened at Hawkins Lab - but
he’s starting to gain a little bit of it back. (But then again, Will can’t trust anything right now
- at least, not with Brenner around).
Eventually, the guards come to a stop, and one presses a fingerprint scanner with his thumb,
opening a room. “Five minutes.” he says before stepping back.
Will steps inside hesitantly, but that hesitancy is gone the second El’s in his arms, face buried
in his neck and arms squeezing him tightly.
He squeezes her back as tightly as he can, hand squeezing against the gray sweatshirt
matching his and scrunching his eyes closed in relief. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay,
his sister’s okay, she’s here.
Eventually, they pull away (even though Will kind of doesn’t want to), and he gets a good
look at her.
“El! Your- your hair!” he says, damn near distraught over her new buzzcut. He reaches out
and runs his hand over her head, almost crying. She was so happy that her hair was getting
longer, and she was so thrilled that it made her look like Joyce. It made El so happy, and Will
knows how much she loved her hair. And now it’s gone.
She gives him a weak smile before frowning again. “Why are you here?” she asks.
“El- El, it’s okay! We came to save you - that didn’t really work out, though - and now we’re
all here. Me and Jonathan and Mike- and Argyle, but I don’t think he even knows what’s
happening.” Will rambles.
Her face goes very still and neutral when she looks over Will as he talks.
“Will.” she says in a small and devastated voice. “Why are you wearing that?”
Will hesitates before deciding to be honest. “Well, they- they think that I’m like you.” Will
says. “They think that I have powers. And I don’t think I do, but they said that they’re going
to do a few tests and then if I do have powers then they’re going to get rid of them.”
El stares at him, so many emotions in her chestnut eyes that Will’s sure that it’s
overwhelming.
“Will, you should not be doing this.” she says. “You are making a mistake. You should not be
here or be a Number. If you are like me and special, you should not let Papa near you, and
you should not get rid of it. You should leave.”
“I don’t know what else to do, El.” Will says, and with that, the dam breaks, and he starts to
cry. He wanted to be strong for El, but he’s so scared. “I-I don’t know what else to do. I don’t
want powers. I just want to be normal. I want to go home, El, I’m so scared, I just want us to
go home-”
She hugs him again, and he cries into his sister’s embrace.
After a minute, he wipes his tears and pulls away to look at her, and he gives her a watery
smile. “But you’re okay?”
She nods, and goes to say something, but-
“Time’s up.” the guard says, coming into the room, and El’s grip on him tightens, as does his
grip on her.
“No.” El says, glaring at the guard. “You will not take away my brother.”
“Look, you had five minutes-” he says.
“No.” El repeats.
Will hugs her tighter. He doesn’t want to let go, either. He only just saw her again. It’s too
little time.
The guard steps closer, and when he’s in arm’s reach of them, El raises her hand, presumably
to use her powers.
That, apparently, is the wrong move to make, as the guard hits the side of her face with the
barrel of the gun, sending her falling into Will.
He staggers under her sudden weight before being filled with terror and rage.
“DON’T TOUCH MY SISTER!” Will screams, trying to help her back onto her feet (oh,
god, her cheek’s cut open and bleeding, oh, God) and shouting at the guard.
Instead of taking Will’s anger, the guards (when did the second come in?) grab him, pulling
him away from El, who staggers to her feet and starts after him before they lock the door
again.
“NO! NO! EL!” Will screams as they pull him away. Two guards are pulling him along by
his biceps, and eventually he’s pulled off his feet, being dragged with his legs kicking as he
tries to get his feet back under him. “EL! EL!”
One of the guards lifts him up by the collar of his shirt and backhands him across the face,
stunning him into silence. “Shut. Up.” the guard snarls into Will’s face. “I don’t care if
Owens says to treat you nicely, I don’t care if Brenner says to keep you alive, I will shoot you
and everyone you love if you don’t shut the fuck up. Understand?”
Will nods meekly, not sure what else to do. He keeps his mouth shut, not making so much as
a peep as his face stings and his eyebrow starts dripping with blood where the guard’s
knuckles split the skin. He idly notices that his nose has started bleeding, too.
“You’ve lost visiting privileges. If you want to see your other friends, you’ll have to wait
until tomorrow and behave.” the guard says. “Come on. You’re going back to your room.”
They continue to yank Will through the halls, the backs of his legs dragging against the
metal, before they bring him into his cell again, shoving him in and the door locking behind
him.
Will looks around the cell and he can’t breathe, he was so close to El and now she’s gone
again and he’s stuck in this tiny fucking room with the grey everything and there’s still blood
all over his face (and El was hurt too, oh, God) and he’s a murderer too-
Will sobs as he gasps for air, curling into a ball in the corner. It’s not too long (Will thinks -
how long has it been?) before Owens comes running in. Does he have an alert on the room
for when Will starts freaking out or something?
“Hey, hey, kiddo, calm down.” Owens says. “Nice, deep breaths. You can get through this.”
He reaches towards him, and Will just shies away from the touch, he doesn’t want Owens to
touch him, he wants his sister or brother or mom, he wants to go home, he wants to go home,
he wants to go home-
“Kiddo, what happened?” he asks. “You’re bleeding.”
Will sobs and tries to curl up even more.

“Alright, alright, I know. I know, it’s scary, but everything’s fine. We’re gonna get you
calmed down, and then we’re gonna patch you up, and then we’re gonna take you back to see
your friends before we start testing you. Okay?”
Will’s too lost in his attack to have a response.
“Alright, you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to count. Can you count up to a
hundred by threes?” Owens asks.
Will takes a few shuddering breaths as he tries to think through his multiplication tables. “Uh,
th-three… six- six… n-nine… twel-twelve… fifteen… eight-eighteen, twenty-one- one…”
Will stutters, the tears slowing down as he tries to think about numbers through the panic in
his brain. “Twenty-four… twenty-seven… th-thirty… thirty-th-three…”
By the time he gets to ninety-nine, he’s too caught up in trying to count by threes (why not
two? That would have taken a lot less brain power, c’mon, Owens) to be thinking in circles
anymore.
“There you go. Better now?” Owens asks. Will nods, sitting up out of his safe little crouch
and leaning against the wall.
Owens reaches out to touch the bloody side of his face. “Kiddo, what happened?” he asks.
“I- I went to see El, and the guard got mad I was taking too long and being too loud.” Will
says.
He sees uncharacteristic anger flash across Owens’ face. “They’ll be punished, and none of
the guards will ever touch you again. I promise you that.”
Will nods numbly.

“Okay. I’m gonna patch you up now, okay? Be right back.” Owens says, getting up and
leaving the room.
Will waits for a minute or two with his eyes closed before Owens comes back in, at which
point he wets something in the sink before starting to gently wipe off Will’s face. It feels like
a washcloth.
“Alright. All clean. No more blood.” Owens says. “That cut on your eyebrow’s pretty open,
so I’m going to put some antibiotic on it and then use some butterfly stitches. Okay?”
Will nods, and it’s a minute of cold cream over his eye and light yet sticky strips being
applied over the cut before they’re done.
“All done.” Owens says. “All patched up. Alright, do you want to see the rest of your friends
or just go to testing? If you want, you can visit your friends afterwards. You could have more
time that way. Spend as long as you want with them.”
“I’ll- I’ll visit them after.” Will says, because he would rather spend hours with Mike and
Jonathan and El and just let his family hold him until everything’s okay again than have to
leave them after five minutes. He couldn’t do that again, not if it’s like it was with El.
“Okay, kiddo.” Owens says, smiling gently at him. “Alright, you need help up? I don’t know
if I could offer it with my stupid knees - don’t ever grow up, Will, being an adult sucks - but
I’ll try.”
“I’m okay.” Will says, getting to his feet.
“Alright. We’re just going to take a little bit of blood and then do an MRI. That’s all you have
to do for the day, kiddo, after that we could just bring you back in here or take you to your
friends.”
Owens looks around. “Wow, this place is sparse. Do you want anything in here? Extra
pillows, a TV?”
A bigger room that he can leave whenever he wants - one without the fingerprint scanner
locking him in.
Will shrugs. “Alright, we’ll get back to that later. Maybe after you’ve done the tests and
talked to your friends. A reward of sorts.” Owens says.
Will shrugs again. He honestly doesn’t care, and even if he does, he’s too tired to respond.
“Alright, come on.” Owens says, putting his finger against the scanner and walking out, Will
close behind.
There are two guards outside, and they start following, but Owens stops and turns to them.
“No. You stay here.”
“Sir, the asset-” one guard says.
“Will is not a threat, and he doesn’t need protecting right now. I trust him, and you should
too. He’s not a threat. There’s nothing to protect or defend against right now, so just stay here.
I’ve got him.” Owens says with an intense and frigid stare at them.
“But Dr. Brenner says-” the other tries.
“Dr. Brenner isn’t the only one in charge. I’m a lead on this project as well, and that means
that I deserve as much respect as Brenner. So if I say he’s not a threat and can do whatever he
damn well pleases while he’s here, he’s not a threat and can do whatever he damn well
pleases. Understood?” Owens asks.
They nod. “Will. Come on.” Owens says, beginning to walk away with one more glare at the
guards. Will’s close behind as they go forth towards whatever experiments lie in wait. He
can’t fully trust Owens after Hawkins Lab, but… out of all the scientists, he’s the one that
Will trusts the most.
Will sits still as they swab an alcohol wipe over his arm and winces as the scientist puts a
long needle into the vein in his elbow, and he makes a point to look away from the dark red
blood that starts to flow through the clear tubing into a vial, which is replaced by an empty
one once it’s full.
After a while, they’ve taken eight vials (and Will’s starting to feel lightheaded), and
apparently that’s enough, as the scientist disconnects the tube, removes the needle, and
presses gauze against the hole that it leaves.
Some of the stretchy tape stuff (what’s it called? He can’t remember) is wrapped around the
gauze, and the scientist takes the vials and leaves, Will left still sitting there.
It’s just him in the room for a minute, and he uses the solitude to take a second to breathe and
think. If it’s just things like the taking of his blood, that’s not too bad. Not even scary. He can
handle a few needles.
Eventually, though, Owens comes in. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Will says. “I’m doing fine.”
“You’re having quite a day, huh?” Owens asks as Will gets up out of the chair.
“I guess.” Will says.

“Well, we just have the MRI left today. You’re already halfway done. Once that’s over, you
can just go to your friends or back to your room if you’re too tired. You just do whatever you
want to do.” Owens says.
He and Will walk through the halls in a maze that confuses the hell out of Will before they
come to a door. Owens opens it with his fingerprint, and inside, Will can see a large, coffin-
like machine and a glass window into another room, which has several people inside of it.
“Alright. So this is an MRI machine.” Owens says. “It’s like an X-ray of your brain and your
body from the shoulders up. It looks much scarier than it is, don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. All
you have to do is lay on the shelf and listen to some music while we get the scans we need.
It’ll take about forty-five minutes of you laying still. Can you do that?”
Will nods, looking warily at the machine.
“Alright. There’s a bathroom through that door-” Owens points out a door behind the
machine “-and there’s a hospital gown already in there. You just put that on, and you can
keep your pants on, and come back out, okay? Then we’ll get you all set up.”
Will nods again, and when Owens steps away, he walks around the machine and into the
bathroom, where he takes off his sweatshirt and puts on the blue-green hospital gown over
his sweatpants.
When he’s done, he comes back out, and Owens has him lie down on the bench and puts his
head into this weird helmet-brace-holding-thing before putting some foam earplugs into
Will’s ears.
“The machine makes a knocking noise.” he explains. Once he checks that the helmet-brace-
holding-thing is keeping Will’s head locked into place and gives Will a button to press if he
gets too scared, he nods and goes into the other room.
The shelf whirs as he’s moved into the machine, and staring at the top of the small tunnel that
he’s been put into and trapped inside by the helmet, he starts to panic.
“Okay, okay, take a deep breath.” Owens says, but it isn’t working, he’s trapped, he’s going to
suffocate in here-
Will starts thrashing and brings his hands up to pull at the helmet, much to the shouting of
some of the other scientists.
The bench whirs as he’s brought back out again, this time with six scientists in the room,
including Owens, Brenner, and a few others.
“Okay, okay, everything’s fine, Will-” Owens tries as Will keeps yanking on the helmet.
Will hears arguing as he keeps fighting, and soon, Owens’ voice is gone from the room.
“Hold him down.” Brenner says, and his hands are pinned to his side before velcro restraints
are wrapped around his wrists, legs, ankles, and shoulders.
“Stay still.” Brenner says before Will’s put back into the machine, still panicking and crying
and shouting for help.
He’s moved out a little bit again, and he feels a needle in the back of his hand that stays there.
It must be an IV.
It isn’t long before the panic subsides and he feels very calm and sleepy. Those fuckers
drugged him again, didn’t they?
“You’re now on a mild sedative.” Brenner’s voice says. “You should feel much better now.
Please don’t move. You will be done in about an hour.”
Will stares at the roof of the tunnel and something should be wrong and he should be worried
but he’s too damn relaxed to care.
“I am going to put on some music. Please tell me if you would prefer I skipped a song.” a
new scientist that he doesn’t recognize says, and it isn’t long before some opera starts
playing, audible even through the foam earplugs.
As Will listens to the opera and feels the effect of the sedative, he drifts off into a light sleep,
even though he tries to stay awake.
He dreams of an old memory, one that he hasn’t thought of in ages.
Will and Mike are eight, and they’re spending another sunny Saturday together. It started as
playing outside, but they both got tired, so it went to board games. After they got tired of the
games, they went outside and sat in the grass and just talked, and the conversation quickly
went from D&D to any random thought that crossed their minds.
“If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” Mike asks, smiling as he plays with
the grass, running it through his fingers and ripping handfuls out of the dirt. Mrs. Wheeler’s
going to be upset, but Mike’s never really minded her annoyance.
Will has to think for a minute.
“Invisibility.” he says at last.
“Why?” Mike asks.
Will’s quiet before he starts talking, braiding together two blades of grass instead of looking
at Mike. “I feel like I’m invisible anyway. Unless people like Troy are being mean, they
pretend I don’t exist. If I were invisible… I dunno, maybe I could be quiet enough that people
would forget about me. And then I wouldn’t have to be scared. I think that Troy would ignore
me if I was invisible, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about him. And I think that I could be
sneaky enough at home that Dad would forget that I exist. Even if people remembered me
when I turned invisible, I could be quiet enough that they couldn’t find me. I could just… be
free. Not be scared.”
Mike’s quiet, which is unusual. He’s always chatty.
“I wouldn’t forget you.” Mike says quietly. “You’re my best friend. I would remember you
even if you were invisible.”
Will smiles at him, even though Mike still looks sad.
“What about you?” Will asks. “What superpower would you have?”
Mike’s answer is a lot faster than Will’s. “Shape-shifting, definitely.”
“Why?” Will asks.
This time, Mike takes longer to respond. “I could look like anyone.” he says after a minute.
“I could look good. I could get rid of my birthmark and my freckles, and I could have pretty
eyes and hair, and I could make myself look less thin and my arms and legs shorter to match
the rest of me. I could look pretty. I wouldn’t have to have a frog-face anymore.”
Will drops the braided pieces of grass and grabs Mike’s cheeks, turning his head to look at
Will. He looks at Will with a confused but trusting look in his dark eyes.
“You are pretty, Mike.” Will says, staring into his eyes earnestly. “Your birthmark is pretty,
and your freckles are pretty, and your eyes are pretty, and your hair is pretty, and you’re
perfect thin and with long arms and legs. You’re so pretty.”
Mike turns bright red as he continues staring at Will.
“And even if you had a frog-face, and I don’t think you do, you’re still pretty. Frogs are cute,
anyway.” Will says, letting go of Mike’s face and going back to his grass braids.
Will’s interrupted by Mike hugging him so forcefully that he falls over.
“I love you, Will.” Mike says, squeezing Will tight.
Will hugs back. “I love you too, Mikey,” he says, because he does, and that’s what they
always say because they’re best friends and they tell each other everything and that’ll never
change.
Will’s woken up when the bed-shelf-thing he’s laying on starts moving, bringing him out of
the MRI machine.
He immediately tries to sit up, but there are the restraints to keep him from getting out of the
MRI, and though he starts to squirm and panic, Owens is by his side.
“It’s okay, it’s okay-” he says, immediately unstrapping Will and taking the helmet off.
Will immediately sits up, noting the IV now in the back of his hand and the multiple
scientists in the room.
Owens pulls the tube out of the IV, but Will notices that he leaves the port. “Alright. Alright,
we got all the scans we needed. I’m so sorry about earlier, kiddo, I had no idea that Brenner-”
he gives a venomous glare to Brenner, standing near the door and watching with mild
disinterest “-was going to do that.”
“It’s fine.” Will says, getting down from the bench the second he can. Once he’s down, he
relishes the feeling of not being in the machine, and he decides that he really hates MRIs.
“It’s fine.”
“Alright. So we all have to have boring science-y talks about interpreting the MRI scans, so if
you want to hang out while that happens - I don’t know, have popcorn and a movie or
something fun - you would be encouraged to.” Owens says. “Okay?”
Will nods, trying not to give away how weird he feels after the sedative.
“Alright. You go do that, okay?” Owens says.
Will nods again and stumbles away, flanked by two guards as he waits in a nearby room,
empty but for a television, a couch, and the fluorescent lights, bouncing off the monotone
gray the same as Will’s cell.
Will sits down on the couch, and some things are brought to him, but he doesn’t acknowledge
them as he gets ready to wait for news.
Will’s still waiting about half an hour later, pulling at a loose string on the neck of the
sweatshirt that they just let him change back into from the hospital gown as he patiently waits
for Owens to come and get him to talk about whatever they’ve found.
Eventually, a knock comes at the door, and the fingerprint lock beeps before the door opens
to reveal Owens. “Alright, kiddo, you ready?” he asks.
Will nods and stands, following Owens as they go into the smaller room overlooking the MRI
machine. There are weird gray scans taped to the window and all over the desk, and several
scientists standing around - though Brenner is nowhere to be found.
Someone pushes out a chair, and Will sits down on it awkwardly. He feels exposed, watched.
It makes him nervous.
“Alright, kiddo. We’ve learned a lot about you.” Owens says.
He hands Will a scan of his brain from the top of his head, seemingly showing the middle
part of his brain.
“Do you see this?” Owens asks, pointing out a part of his brain that’s farther out from the
rest, almost against his skull. It’s near the front, between his eyes.
“Yeah…?” Will asks. “That’s- that’s just brain, right?”
Owens shakes his head.
“The reason that powers bring nosebleeds is because it causes the brain to push against the
front of the skull and nasal wall as the brain tissue swells from the use of the abilities.”
Owens says. “We thought that it was only Numbers, who have had their abilities from birth,
who had this growth, but you do as well, and when we compared it to both other Number
MRIs and ones from when you were a very young child, we found that it wasn’t there
originally. It grew.”
“So… it’s a brain tumor.” Will says, staring at the MRI as his thoughts move even faster. “I- I
have cancer?”
“Not quite.” Owens says. “It’s a type of cancer, yes, but it’s not harmful. The growth of the
cells, stimulated by hallucinogens, carcinogens, and the activation of the gene with trauma…
it is a type of cancer. But, instead of growing toxic and harmful cells, it grows benevolent
cells that allow your brain to access parts of the brain otherwise locked in most people.”
“So…” Will tries to think. “I have cancer. But it’s a good thing that I have a brain tumor?”
“Yes.” Owens says. “It’s not at all dangerous. It doesn’t pose any health risk. If anything, it
would be more dangerous to remove it because of the stimulation of the brain it provides and
the location.”
Will stares at the scan, trying to process.
“Believe it or not, the brain growth in you is actually slightly larger than that found in
Eleven.” Owens says. “We honestly think that your abilities are on the level or beyond the
most powerful subjects.”
Will blinks twice and takes a deep breath as he tries to understand what, exactly, his response
to this should be.
“But that’s not all.” Owens says, grabbing another picture and handing it to Will. He ignores
the previous information, pushing it to the back of his mind. He’ll worry about it later when
he has time. In the meanwhile, yay, compartmentalization! “Do you see this?” Owens asks,
pointing out a shape against his spine on the MRI scan.
Will nods, touching the picture lightly with his fingertips. It’s in the spot where his neck
always hurts and alerts him to the Upside Down. “What is it?” Will asks quietly.
“It’s a suppressant device.” Brenner says from behind them. Will’s back stiffens - when did
he get here? “It is designed to suppress powers. They have not been in use for years, yet
somehow, one seems to be implanted in your neck.”
Will stares at the MRI.

“Based on the shape, size, and model number, it is an old model, originally implanted in the
original subject - One - in 1969. Do you remember anyone putting something in your neck
around the time of the Upside Down? A needle, a surgery, even a touch?” Brenner asks. “I
would believe that the person who did so was a man with blonde hair and blue eyes.”
Will tries to think. His memories of the Upside Down are mostly clear, but certain points are
fuzzy and hard to remember. It’s possible that someone might have, but… he can’t remember.
“If you can’t, that’s okay, kiddo.” Owens says. “Memories are fickle things.”
Will mumbles an apology as he stares at the MRI again.
“I believe that, despite its age, it is still mostly effective. Despite the fact that your abilities
attempt to activate frequently, causing your frequent nosebleeds as your brain presses against
your skull, the device neutralizes its attempts, causing a balance between powers and
suppressants so that it seems to maintain the appearance of normalcy - like the mixture
between an acid and a base.” Brenner says.
“But you said that I used my powers.” Will says, and he doesn’t even realize that he called
the powers his until the words are already out of his mouth. “How- how did I if they’re being
suppressed?”
“The sheer amount of panic may have created an adrenaline rush - and thus, power spike - so
strong that the device did not manage to entirely neutralize it.” Brenner says.
Will blinks, trying to absorb this information.
“In order to continue testing your abilities, we will have to remove the suppressant.” Brenner
says. “We will perform a small surgery in the morning to remove it, at which point we will
test what abilities you have and discuss options for suppression or removal.”
Will sees Owens give Brenner a dirty look, but he’s too overwhelmed to think.
“I- I would like to go back to my room, now, please.” Will says, trying not to put his head in
his hands.
“Of course.” Owens says. “Come on.”
When he gets into the room, he lies down on the cot, not even caring that he’s locked in, and
stares at the ceiling as he processes.
He’s like El.
He’s special.
And he hates it.
Chapter End Notes
WillEl being traumatized twins? Brenner being an asshole? Young Byler? An

explanation for the superpowers? This chapter's got it all - well, except for Mike,
Jonathan, and Argyle, but they're coming soon!
*shakes you upside down by the ankles until comments and Kudos fall out of your
pockets*
But seriously, if you have the time, please leave a Kudos or comment, and let me know
your thoughts! See you soon and have a good day!
Awake
Chapter Notes
Hello, lovely readers! This is a chapter that’s gonna make you lose your shit - and I
cannot wait. Let me know what you think at the end!

WalkinInHawkins, ToBeLonely, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, Koi, and Crossovergenius111
(Aweirdperson111) for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy,
and please let me know what you thought!

Trigger warnings:
- Violence
- Language
- Surgery
- Self-hatred
- Blood
- Needles
- Scalpels
- Mentioned death
In the morning, Will’s up early, even though they drugged him yet again to make him sleep
through the night. Brenner had said that he needed to be well-rested for today, so they
injected him with a smaller dose of the drugs that they had first captured him with.
But that doesn’t matter, and neither does the fact that he’s still dizzy and feeling ill from the
stupid drugs they keep giving him (seriously, is it really necessary to drug him, like, four
times a day?), because he’s going to see his friends and siblings before they take him to get
the implant out of his neck.
Plus, Brenner had promised that this was the last day of testing, and then once they’re done,
they’re going to remove the brain tumor tomorrow (and have him recover from the surgery
over three days) and set him up with an oncologist in Lenora to monitor and make sure that
the tumor doesn’t come back - and remove it and administer chemotherapy if it does. Which
means that in about four days, they can all be going back home.
The lock beeps, and the door opens and shuts to allow Owens in.
“Well, you’re up early.” Owens says as soon as he comes inside. “You all ready to talk to
your friends and then get that chip out of your neck, kiddo?”
Will nods as he stops pacing like he has been while waiting. He’s determined that his
room/cell is six steps by six steps, which… is small.
“Alright. You want breakfast after the surgery?” Owens asks. “You haven’t eaten anything
while you’ve been here, and you must be hungry, but you can’t eat before anesthesia. So
maybe after.”
“Sure.” Will says, because he’s eaten once in the past five days and he’s thrown up so much
because of the nausea when he thinks about his murder spree that he’s probably gotten below
his goal of 75 pounds by now.
“Okay. Whatever you want.” Owens says.
Owens opens the door and Will follows him out, going through the halls right behind him as
they twist and turn.
Eventually, Owens comes to a stop. “Okay, this one’s Jonathan Byers’ room. You’ll be okay
if I wait out here?” he asks.
Will nods, and Owens opens the door and allows him to enter with a whisper of ‘Take your
time, we have an hour until the surgery.’
Will enters, and Jonathan stands up from where he’s sitting on the cot.
He just stares at Will for a second, before whispering, “Will?”
“Jon!” Will says, immediately rushing to his brother and wrapping him in a hug.
Jonathan hugs him back, so tightly that Will can’t breathe, but he doesn’t mind, because his
big brother is here and safe and alive and he’s going to make everything okay again like he
always has.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away and immediately grabbing and turning Will’s head so
that he can see the butterfly stitches on Will’s eyebrow. “What happened?”
“Just a little cut. It’s fine, Jonathan, I’m fine.” Will says. Jonathan doesn’t listen, though, as
he pushes Will away and looks him up and down several times.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, grabbing Will’s hand and looking at the IV port in the
back of it. “What’s this? Did they give you anything?”
“Jonathan-” Will tries.
“And what are you wearing? Why are you wearing that?” he asks.
“Jonathan, stop.” Will says. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m not hurt.”
Jonathan doesn’t look like he believes Will.
“Look, Jonathan.” Will says. “I’m okay. We can leave in just a few days - you, me, El, Mike,
and Argyle. They promised that we could leave in just two or three days. They just have to…
wrap up a few loose ends.”
“What loose ends?” Jonathan asks. Will stays silent. “William Jacob Byers, you tell me what
loose ends there are right now.”
He’s using the parenting voice and Will’s full name. That’s not good.
Will’s about to tell Jonathan before he thinks better of it. It’s one thing telling El he has
powers - she understands better than anyone what he’s dealing with. But Jonathan? He’ll
freak out, and he for sure won’t let Will get any surgeries, whether the one to remove the
suppressant or the one to remove the tumor. He’ll try to protect Will, but all he’ll do is end up
hurting him.
“It’s nothing.” Will says. “The important thing is that we’re okay. You’re okay, right?”
Jonathan nods, giving him another look. “Will, I’m serious. You can’t keep me in the dark
right now. What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, Jonathan, everything’s fine.” Will says. “We can leave soon enough.”
Jonathan obviously doesn’t believe him, but he just pulls Will into another tight bear hug. “I
know you’re not telling me something, but I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Will just hugs Jonathan back, feeling safe in his big brother’s arms, before pulling away a
few minutes later. “I can’t stay for too long.” he says. He’s spent at least twenty minutes here,
and there’s only an hour until the surgery. He has to talk to Mike and El too.
Jonathan hugs him one more time before squeezing his bicep and letting go. “Will, listen to
me. Don’t trust them. Look out for yourself and keep yourself safe above anything else,
okay? I love you so much. Stay safe. Everything’ll be okay, okay? I’ll see you soon.” he says.
Will nods, trying to hide the tears in his eyes, before knocking on the door, which Owens
quickly opens and Will walks out after a minute of hesitation.
Will quickly wipes his eyes as the tears start to fall as they start walking again. It isn’t more
than a minute until they’re in front of another door, and even though Owens has opened it,
Will doesn’t go in immediately.
“Kiddo?” Owens asks. “Don’t you want to see your friend Mike?”
Will nods. What will Mike think? Does he even want him around after his love for El was
renewed with the painting? Does he even want to see Will?
Will makes himself step into the room, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting until-
“Will?” Mike asks, and he looks absolutely terrified and so small standing against the wall
even though he’s a good three or four inches taller than Will.
“Hi, Mike.” Will says, not sure what to say, and it’s just a second of both boys staring into
each others’ eyes before Mike tackles him in a hug so big that they almost fall over.
“Will, oh my God, I saw you kill those guards and I didn’t know what happened to you, I
thought they hurt you because we broke in-” Mike rambles, going from hugging Will to
cradling Will’s face in his hands like he used to when they were kids and Mike wanted his
undivided attention. Will just stares at him as he keeps talking, moving his head and changing
his facial expressions like he always does when his mind is moving too fast for him to be
speaking completely coherently.
After a minute or two, Mike stops talking and just taps his forehead against Will’s, which
takes him by surprise. His eyes stay wide open, staring at Mike, who’s just lapsed into
silence, his eyes closed as he takes deep breaths. Will finds it a little overwhelming, Mike’s
forehead pressed against his and his hands on Will’s face. He’s close enough to kiss.
Though it makes Will nervous, he’s rolling with it, as instead of pushing Mike away, he just
wraps his hands around Mike’s wrists and closes his eyes too. Mike doesn’t hate him, he
doesn’t want to abandon him, everything’s okay.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Mike whispers, and Will could cry at that, they’re still best
friends, even after everything.
“You are okay, right?” Mike asks, pulling away and tilting Will’s head side to side to get a
good look at him. “What- what happened here?” Mike asks, gently tracing his fingertips over
the butterfly bandages. “Will, you’re hurt.”
“I’m okay, Mike, just a little cut.” Will says. “Hardly anything.”
Mike runs his fingers down the side of Will’s face next to his eye, and Will is trying to ignore
the blush that’s inconveniently heating up his cheeks. “You have bruises, what-”
“A guard got a little bit rough.” Will says, and when darkness clouds Mike’s expression, Will
hurriedly adds “But it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Are you okay?”
Mike nods. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m okay.”
Will nods to himself. Mike’s okay. Everything’s okay.
He hugs Will again, hunching his back to tuck his chin over Will’s shoulder and wrapping his
arms around Will’s waist. For a second, Will freezes, and then he reciprocates, resting his
cheek on Mike’s shoulder and hugging Mike as tight as he can.
They stay like that for a while, and Will’s still nervous about the amount of physical contact
(is it weird for two platonic guy friends to be hugging this long and touching foreheads and
stuff?), but they’re literally imprisoned, and both of them probably need the comfort.
Eventually, Mike pulls away, looking over his face again. “So you’re really okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?” Will says.
“Yeah. I’m okay.” Mike says. “Alright, what’s our plan?”
“Our plan?” Will asks.
Mike lowers his voice, presumably unsure if there are microphones hidden in the room. “Our
escape plan. How are we gonna get out of here? And get El and Jonathan and Argyle out of
here?”
Will shakes his head. “We don’t need one. As long as we cooperate, we’ll be out of here in
about four days.”
Mike gives him a look. “Do you really trust them? There’s no way that they’ll just let El go.
She has superpowers. They’ll never let her leave - if they even let us go.”
Will chooses not to mention that he, too, has powers. That’s on a need-to-know basis, and
Mike definitely does not need to know that.
“I don’t trust them, but Owens is here, and he’s looking out for me - for us.” Will says. “He
gave his word that we can leave, and I think he’s going to keep it.”
“You really trust him? Even after he didn’t help you at Hawkins Lab?” Mike asks skeptically.
Will pauses. “Yeah, I do.” he says after a while.
Mike frowns, and as he looks away, he mutters ‘Well, I don’t’.
“Mike.” Will says. “If you don’t trust him, trust me. We’re going to leave soon enough.”
Mike looks at him with softness and concern in his dark brown eyes. “I do trust you. I’m just
worried. You’ve always been a trusting, kind person, and that’s always made you a target to
be manipulated. I trust you, but I don’t trust that they’re not lying to you.” he says.
Will ignores the hurt that comes from the fact that Mike apparently thinks that he’s super
gullible and instead focuses on offering reassurance. “You saw me kill those guards.” Will
says. Mike nods, looking slightly upset at the memory. “If we can get weapons, we can fight
our way out of here if all else fails. There are guards outside of my room. I could wait for one
to come in and steal their gun, and then I could fight until we’re all out to the van.”
Mike nods, apparently hanging on every word.
“But let’s try not to do that, okay? We’re going to be fine and get out of here one way or
another. We have a backup plan. Don’t worry, okay? I’m already doing what we need to get
out of here.”
“Okay.” Mike says, before pausing. “What are you doing to get us out of here?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Will says. “I know what I’m doing.”
Mike stares into Will’s eyes, apparently trying to get answers without Will saying anything. It
doesn’t work, though, as he just nods and looks down. “Okay.” he says. “Just… please be
careful. I don’t want to lose you.”
Will gets a lump in his throat. “I don’t want to lose you either.” he says, hugging Mike again.
After a while, though, Will pulls away. “I have to go.” he says, and his eyes are tearing up a
little bit. He’s definitely spent too long with Mike, and he knows that the surgery time is
coming up.
“What? Why?” Mike asks, and he looks so sad and hurt.
“I only get an hour to spend with everybody, and I already spent some of that time with
Jonathan.” Will says. “I have to go do… something. But I’ll be back soon. Tonight or
tomorrow. Okay?”
“What do you have to do?” Mike asks before shaking his head. “Wait- no, you don’t have to
tell me if you don’t want to. Just… use good judgment, okay? Stay safe.”
“You too, Mikey.” Will says, and maybe he uses the old nickname because he’s feeling
nervous and nostalgic, but it makes Mike look a little bit startled before he smiles warmly.
Will goes to walk away, but Mike pulls him into one more hug. “Be careful.” he whispers in
Will’s ear. “Stay safe, and if we need to escape, just say the word.”
Will nods and lets go of Mike. “I will.” he says. “Stay safe.”
He leaves Mike standing alone in his room as the door locks shut behind him, and he already
misses the warmth of the boy in his arms, but he can’t stay, as much as he wants to.
“Alright, kiddo. You’re gonna have to visit with your other friends later, because we have to
get that chip out of your neck now.” Owens says, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walk
down the halls.
While they walk, Will thinks about his time spent in Mike’s cell. He was so touchy and
affectionate - which is fine, they’re in a bad situation and Mike probably just needed comfort
from whoever was available - but still, it felt like when they were kids again. It was kinda
strange, honestly (but in a good way).
Eventually, they come to another door, which Owens opens with his fingerprint.
They walk in, and it’s a very small room that just has some surgical equipment on a tray and
a chair that looks like one you’d see at the dentist’s with straps on it. The sight of it honestly
makes Will feel sick. It looks like a torture chamber.
“It’ll take less than fifteen minutes.” Owens says. “Quick little incision, take out the implant
with some tweezers, stitch it back up, and you’re all good to go. Won’t even have to put you
under - we’ll just use local anesthesia and a mild sedative - and you’ll be awake and aware
but not feel a thing.”
Will gulps and nods. Not only does the room itself make him nervous (it looks like it would
fit as the set of one of the scenes from the horror movie ‘Coma’, which freaked Will out
when he watched it when he was thirteen), but he’s scared to have the implant out. He has
powers that he doesn’t know how to control, and if they take away the only barrier that’s
keeping them contained… well, Will’s terrified to see what he’s going to be able to do.
“Alright, kiddo, the implant’s high up enough on your neck that you’ll be able to keep your
shirt on. If you sit down, we can start applying the anesthesia and sedative.” Owens says.
Will nods, walking on shaking legs over to sit down in the chair, trying not to think about the
restraints that are all along it (there are leather straps along the ankles, thighs, waist,
shoulders, biceps, forearms, wrists, and along the head - if he were to be strapped in using all
of them, he would be rendered completely unable to move).
“Oh! I’ll take some of those off.” Owens says. “It won’t hurt at all. No need to strap you in.”
He removes most of the leather straps, leaving behind metal loops where they were threaded
through and kept in place. The ones he doesn’t remove are the ones for the wrists and ankles,
which appear to be sewn into the chair. They still make Will gulp.
It looks a little better now, but he’s still terrified. The back of his neck has been so sensitive
ever since the Upside Down that a single rough touch is enough pain to reduce him to a
blubbering mess, and it’s about to be cut open.
With a deep breath, Will sits down in the chair, and the elevation is changed so that he’s
sitting up almost straight and the headrest is removed, giving access to his head and neck.
Will looks at the leather straps under his wrists and ankles, and all he can think is that it feels
like he’s not quite trapped yet, but like he’s on the border of it.
Owens puts on latex gloves and a mask. An IV is put into the port on his hand, and a cold gel
is spread on the back of his neck. It isn’t long before he feels calm and sleepy and the back of
his neck from his hairline to the line of his shoulders is completely numb except for a cold
buzzing feeling.
“Alright. What do you want to talk about?” Owens asks as one of the scalpels makes a ting!
as it is lifted off of the tray.
“I don't really have a preference.” Will says. He can feel the scalpel as it starts to slit his skin,
but it doesn’t hurt - it's more of a pressure rather than the feeling of a sharp object cutting
through layer after layer of skin next to his spine.
“Hm… how were you doing in school before you got let out for spring break?” Owens asks
as he continues working.
“I do pretty well in school. Mostly A's, sometimes B's.” Will says.
“That’s good. What's your favorite class?” Owens asks. Will feels the very strange sensation
of something, probably a pair of tweezers, starting to root through the exposed area under his
skin.
“Art. Biology and English are okay, too.” Will says.
“Mm. What's your least favorite class?” Owens says. Will feels blood trickle down his back.
“I'm pretty bad at math, and I don't think anyone likes P.E, either.” Will says.
“I don't know, I liked math in school. Then again, I got a D in my English class, so maybe
you just have a more artistic brain than I do.” Owens says.
Will hears a plink! as the implant is dropped onto the tray.
“Are you excited?” Owens asks as he sets down the scalpel and threads a needle.
“About what?” Will asks.
“You now have unrestricted access to superpowers. That would be any kid's dream. So are
you excited?” Owens asks. Will can feel a pinch as Owens starts applying stitches.
“Honestly?” Will asks. “Not really. I'm tired of being different. I want to be normal, and I
want to stop having to suffer. These powers, they bring suffering. I want them gone. That's
what I'm excited about.”
Owens goes really quiet before speaking again, tugging on the string that he’s doing the
stitches with. “Will, they're a part of you. They're just a trait - an extremely special trait, but
still just a trait. No trait is naturally good or bad. It's the person whose trait it is that makes
something good or bad. You’re a good person, Will, and I think that you could do a lot of
good with these abilities.”
“No, I can't.” Will says. He can't do good with these powers - he's not strong like El, or smart
like Dustin, or loyal like Lucas, or perfect like Mike, or feisty like Max. He's just Will, weak
little Will who's been pushed and shoved around since he could walk. He's not strong or good
or special, and he can’t trust that he would even be able to control these abilities, let alone use
them for good. “Even if I could, I don’t want to. I just want it gone. So as soon as you and
Brenner have the information you need, I’m getting rid of them.”
Owens is silent as he finishes the stitches.

“Alright, all done.” Owens says, smiling oddly as Will gets up, unhooking the IV as he does.
“How about you go back to your room and rest for a bit? We'll come get you to test your
abilities later.”
“O…kay.” Will says, looking weirdly at Owens. He looks guilty. Why?
Will doesn’t get any answers by staring at Owens, so he just goes back to his cell, having to
stop himself from rubbing his neck like he wants to as he is flanked by guards.
As Will lies on his cot, he analyzes how he feels. His head throbs, and he has that pressure in
his nose that he gets when it's about to start bleeding. The buzzing in his veins and fingertips
that he’s always discounted for a symptom of anxiety is so strong that he keeps flexing and
wiggling his fingers and toes to ease the excess energy that wasn't there before.
Will holds his hands above his head so that he can look at them, flipping them from back to
front. The buzzing in his veins isn't anxiety. It's the thrum of power. And even though he
hates that it exists, he has the urge to release it.
He wants to get himself worked up and angry and see what happens when he screams with
frustration, when he throws his hands out in front of him.
What would happen if he had another tantrum?
What could he do if he gave in to the deep, unrelenting desire to let the power filling his body
erupt?
What would happen if he unleashed the powers that are curling under his skin and in his
muscles and occupying his entire body as well as his thoughts?
Will fights the part of his brain begging ‘please, please, just use them, just one time, just let
yourself push your limits, just to test, just to see what you can do, come on, come on, one time
wouldn't be too bad, would it?’ and instead gets under his blanket, pretending the pressure is
weighing the power down and keeping it contained in his body.
His body is a prison. The powers are a dangerous force that cannot be allowed to escape.
And he is the guard, keeping the power contained and dormant and docile.
Will thinks to himself that ‘dormant’ isn't the right word.
Because he doesn’t know what this power even is, what it can do, but it's awake.
Chapter End Notes
It’s official: Will Byers’ powers have now been unleashed. What do you think is going
to happen? Did you get as many goosebumps reading that ending as I did writing it? Let
me know in the comments. Leave a comment or Kudos if you’re up for it, and see you
soon!
Power
Chapter Notes
Hello! How's life? Here's a chapter where Will finds out what powers he has and just
how far he can go. Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!
Also, I am miserable because I went to go for a walk earlier and it is snowing like crazy
(and I wore tennis shoes instead of boots for some godforsaken reason) and now my
socks are wet :( save me from the consequences of my bad decisions

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, Flowers_from_Hell, FrenchtheLlama!1851,
Byleriscannon7, Crossovergenius111 (Aweirdperson111), greenghast, and Victor for
giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know
what you thought!

- Survivor's guilt
- Mentions of violence
- Mentions of eating disorders
- Language (sh1t)
- Blood (nosebleed)
“Try again.” Brenner says as Will stares intently at the person across the table from him.
“Look into his eyes, and tell me what thoughts you see.”
Will looks again - and, like the last fiftysomething attempts, he doesn’t read the scientist’s
mind.
“I obviously can’t read minds. Can we please try something else?” Will asks. They’ve been
doing experiments for about six hours now, and Will has not been able to control heat or fire,
give people hallucinations, see the future, teleport, control time, control other people’s
thoughts and emotions, or even read them, which is what he’s been trying to do for the last
forty-five minutes with no luck. The only time that anyone’s seemed anything other than
disappointed when he couldn’t do something was when Brenner wrote something down when
he asked Will to see what one of his friends was doing and Will felt like he was standing in a
dark, watery cave.
Even though his nose has been bleeding pretty much nonstop for the six hours of testing, the
humming of the powers in his veins has only gotten stronger, as has the itch to use them.
“Try again.” Brenner says. “We want to be sure.”
Will tries again. Nothing.
“I already told you, I can’t read minds!” Will snarls.
“Alright, that’s okay-” Owens says, but is cut off by Brenner.
“Are you even trying?” Brenner asks. “What is this man thinking?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” Will shouts as his nerves go from buzzing to feeling like they’re on fire
with static.
And with that, all the lights in the room get really bright before they go out with a shower of
broken glass.
Will covers his head with his arms before he looks up once the glass has stopped falling to
see the lights all broken, the elements of the lighting rods for the fluorescent lights broken
beyond repair.
“What-?” Will murmurs as he looks up at them.
It’s a moment of silence before Brenner speaks again, a touch of excitement in his normally
completely neutral voice. “I believe that there are some other tests that would be more
productive.” he says.
Will is ushered out of the room by two other scientists and taken to a different room, which
has just two chairs and a table. “Wait here.” one of the scientists says, and Will does, taking a
seat in one of the chairs as they leave.
It isn’t long before Owens comes in, carrying a bag with him. Will watches cautiously as
Owens sits down across from him and removes a screen of some kind with wires and those
electrode things at the end attached to it. He props up the screen and untangles the wires.
“Alright, kiddo. So what we’re going to do is put some of these electrodes on you and see
what happens. It’s not going to hurt at all, and it’s not dangerous.” Owens says. “Okay?”
Will nods, and Owens gets up and puts two sticky patches on his forehead. “Alright. Feel
alright like that?” he asks, and Will nods again. “Alright. I’m gonna put some of these on
your chest. Can you pull your collar down a little bit?”
Will nods and pulls it down after a minute, ignoring Owens’ sad look at him upon seeing
some of the scarring on his chest and how much his collarbones and ribs (even in his chest)
stick out as he puts two more patches on, one per side.
“Alright. So you’re hooked up to this screen here, right? Well, it’s gonna read some functions
of yours. Brain function, blood pressure, heart rate, all that.” Owens says.
“Okay. What do I need to do?” Will asks.
“Well, Brenner thinks it’s a good idea to rule things out for what your abilities cover before
we try to see the extent of what you can actually do. I disagree. I think it’s a better idea to see
what you can do and work off of what we already know before we try to rule out some of the
unique abilities.” Owens says.
“Wait- wait, what do you mean? What do you already know? What unique abilities?” Will
asks.
Owens sighs. “So… in past subjects, in the Numbers, there’s always been an established
pattern. Each was telekinetic - in various strengths, naturally. But there were also shared
abilities. Most of them were only found in the strongest subjects.”
“What shared abilities were there?” Will asks.
“Extrasensory perception was the most common, which is like a sixth sense. All but three or
four had that. About five were able to remote-view - which Eleven does, it’s what she uses
when she goes into a sensory deprivation tank or uses a blindfold. It’s where you can see
what’s happening with other people and places no matter how far away they are. Only three
were able to use telepathy, which- you know what telepathy is, right?”
Will nods.
“Yeah. It was the two most powerful subjects - and one that was in the middle of the
spectrum - who were able to use telepathy, and I think that’s why Brenner was pushing you
so hard with it. I think he was hoping that you would be a telepath too, because it really is a
very useful ability, but… it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Okay.” Will says. What else is he supposed to say to that?
“So far, you’ve shown that you can remote view and have that sixth sense that I was telling
you. I’m positive that you’re telekinetic, but what Brenner’s so focused on is your unique
ability. Now-”
“What unique ability?” Will asks.
“Well… each Number had their own specialty. Some could create hallucinations or heat or
fire, some could see the future, others could control other’s thoughts and emotions… there
were even some that could teleport or control time. Each Number had a unique ability along
with the shared ones, and that’s what Brenner’s excited to figure out in you.”
“Okay. Okay.” Will says. “So what are we going to do now?”
“Well, I have a theory on your unique ability. But I thought we could test out your telekinesis
first.” Owens says. “Sounds good?”
“Um… sure.” Will says.
Owens pulls out a soda can from his bag. Jeez, how deep is it? How much stuff is even in
there?
“Alright. Can you change this can without touching it?” Owens asks, pushing it towards Will
across the table.
“Change- change it?” Will asks.
“You can do whatever you want to do. Open the can, crush it, move it… just change it in
whatever way you want.” Owens says.
Will nods, and he stares at the can like he always sees Eleven do before doing the hand thing.
It doesn’t work.
Will sighs. “Are you sure I have telekinesis? I’m doing what El does and it’s not working.”
“It’s not working because you’re not Eleven.” Owens says without missing a beat. “You two
may be very similar people, but you’re still individuals with different minds and thoughts and
capabilities. Instead of doing what El does, do what feels right to you. Take your time. Just
think for a minute. Ask your body and brain what they want to do.” Owens says.
Will sits up straight in the chair, moving his hands from on the table to resting on his knees.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He thinks about what the buzzing in his veins
wants him to do. What would release that energy like he did in the other room?
Well, getting angry, but he doesn’t want to do that.
What else?
Well… he’s always been an artistic, visual person. Maybe if he pictures changing the can…
Will pictures the soda can in his hands, pretends that his hand is on the table and wrapped
around the can.
He imagines it, just pictures it, before he releases his breath and pictures moving it across the
table.
When he opens his eyes, it’s now about two feet from where it was sitting, and Owens is
beaming at him as his nose starts bleeding much faster than it already was.
“You did it.” Owens says, handing him a tissue. “You moved it without touching it.”
“I did.” Will says slightly disbelievingly. “I- hang on. I’m not done.”
Will pictures opening the soda tab, and as he does, he hears the pop and hiss that comes from
opening a Coke.
“Holy shit.” Will laughs to himself. “Holy shit, I’m doing it.”
For a second, he’s too caught up in the high of letting the power out to be afraid, too happy
and excited that he can mess with the soda can without having to move a muscle to worry
about what this means.
Will wants to see what else he can do. So he pictures throwing the can at the wall, and he
hears a crack as the can connects.
He opens his eyes and looks, and soda is bubbling and going everywhere as the can is
crushed, stuck and embedded in the concrete.
His smile disappears, eyes going from crinkled in happiness to wide in fear.
He… just threw the can hard enough to get it half-embedded in literal cement. How strong is
he? What would happen if he got angry and lost control - would it be a person trapped
against the concrete, blood instead of soda?
Will looks down at the desk again, struggling to breath. He just did that. He’s dangerous. He’s
a threat.
“Whoa, whoa, hey, what happened?” Owens asks. “Breathe deeply. But- you were happy just
a second ago? What changed?”
Will puts his head in his hands, ignoring the taste and smell and feeling of the iron on his face
and hands. “I can’t do this.” he says, muffled because he’s covering his face. “I’m dangerous.
I’m going to hurt people.”
“Will-” Owens says. “Will, please look at me.”
Will moves so that he can look over his fingertips.

“Will. You are not going to hurt people.” Owens says. “You’re a good person, and you’re
going to be able to keep these abilities in check. Okay?"
“But each time I’ve had a ton of power, people have died.” Will says. “In Hawkins Lab, when
I was possessed, I- I killed them. I killed the scientists. I killed Bob. I told the demodogs
where we were and every single person who died there died because of me. I had powers
then, and everyone died. Because of me.”
He puts his face back in his hands and keeps talking as he cries. “And I shot those guards
coming in here. I had power with the gun and I misused it and now they’re dead.”
Owens goes to interrupt, but Will’s not done.
“Every time I have power that’s more than anyone else has, everyone dies. The second I’m
trusted with power, I use it wrong and kill everyone. So if I have really strong powers that I
can access whenever and that have no strings attached or controls, who’s going to die? Who
am I going to kill next? I don’t want anyone else dead because of me. I can’t be trusted with
it. I- Owens, I don’t want anyone else to die-”
Will sobs into his hands. He’s never voiced it to anyone, but he knows it’s true. Even though
his mom and Jonathan and his friends have always told him that what he did while he was
possessed wasn’t his fault, he knows better. It was his fault that he got possessed in the first
place, and he could’ve fought back against the Mindflayer when he did, and he could’ve
fought harder to keep their location secret, to hide his family and friends from the
Mindflayer.
He killed those people, and that was just with the Mindflayer’s powers - what would he do
with his own?
“Will, I-” Owens says shakily.
It’s quiet for a minute, just uneven breaths sounding in the space.
“Will, I’m so sorry.” Owens says. “I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t believe you and I didn’t protect
you from the Upside Down. And I can never, ever make up for it or ever even apologize
enough. I’m so sorry. I’m just- I’m so, so sorry.”
They just sit for a minute.
“But, Will, you were possessed. It literally wasn’t you controlling what was happening. You
were just a spectator, and I know that you must feel so much guilt from not being able to stop
what was happening, but that’s the thing - you weren’t able to stop what was happening. You
weren’t in control. And that means that it wasn’t your fault.”
Will laughs bitterly through the tears. Bullshit. He knows the truth. It was his fault.
“And I don’t think that you’re going to kill anyone else. Not without justification, at least.
Every person that’s died in a situation with you involved was either while you were
possessed or in self-defense while you were coming in here. Nobody else is going to die,
even if you keep your powers. Okay? Nobody else is going to die. You’re not going to kill
anyone.”
Will wishes that he could believe that.
“I-” Owens sighs. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna leave for a few minutes and give you a little
break. It’s past one in the morning, and you’ve had surgery today and undergone six hours of
testing. You’re probably exhausted, and I doubt that’s helping your emotional state. Just- take
a nap or take deep breaths or meditate or something, okay? I’ll be back in twenty minutes and
we’ll do another test. Shout if you need anything.”
Owens leaves, and Will stays with his head in his hands. He’s dangerous. And, no matter
what Owens - what everyone - says, he knows the truth. He can’t be trusted. He’s the one that
people die because of, and if he keeps these powers… it’ll just keep happening.
Not for the first time, Will wishes that he had died in the Upside Down before he could have
killed anyone. And not for the first time, he wishes that he didn’t have powers.
-
“Hey, kiddo, you feeling any better?” Owens says, coming in about twenty minutes later.
“I’m feeling okay.” Will says. He pulled himself together and reburied those feelings while
Owens was gone - he figures that the sooner they finish these tests, the sooner they can get
rid of his abilities and the fear of losing control will disappear.
“Good.” Owens says, sitting down and setting a device down on the table. “Do you want to
hear my theory on what your unique ability is?”
“Sure.” Will says.
“I think you can control electricity. The way that, according to the statements you and your
family gave when you first signed the NDA, you messed with the electricity with the lights
and the phone, the way that you broke the lights just a few minutes ago… I think that you
have electrokinesis.” Owens says, an excited gleam in his eye.
“Okay.” Will says. “What’s that?”
“This?” Owens asks, pointing to the device. Will nods. “This is a multimeter. It reads voltage.
This is an extremely strong one, and it reads up to 99,000 volts. So basically, what I’m going
to have you do is hold onto the metal part of these-”
Owens unwraps the cords from around it and hands the ends to Will. There are small metal
rods on the ends, and Will cautiously wraps his hands around the metal.
“-and you just try to send all of your powers to your hands and through the metal. Okay?”
“Okay.” Will says, squeezing the metal.
“Alright.” Owens says, scooting his chair back. “Anytime now.”
Will figures that he just has to picture it, like with the soda can, so he imagines all of the
power that’s thrumming through his body shooting out through his hands.
There’s loud beeping as Will keeps pushing all of the energy through the metal, going until
it’s gone for the first time in a while.
Will slumps and lets go of the cords, falling back into the chair as all of the strength he has
disappears. He feels like he’s just run a marathon, like he's about ready to pass out.
Owens gives a disbelieving little laugh. “It stopped at ninety-nine thousand volts.” he says,
shaking his head and chuckling quietly. “You maxed it out.”
“I’m sorry, but I- I don’t know what that means.” Will says, struggling to keep his eyes open
as his nose bleeds so much that he can feel it on his shirt.
“You have more electricity in your body than over two hundred electric eels. You can
generate more than twice the amount of electricity in a TASER gun, and over a thousand
times the amount of power in a light switch or lamp or power outlet. And that’s if you
produced ninety-nine thousand volts exactly. That’s where it stopped, Will, and you most
likely went over. Not to mention, you haven’t eaten in days, slept in twenty-one hours,
already used some of your powers today, and you’ve undergone a surgery.”
“O…kay. Okay.” Will says, trying not to pass out. He didn’t think that would take so much
out of him.
“Will, what I’m saying is that if we had a stronger voltage reader and you were well-rested
and fed and at top capacity, you could be well over twice that. Not to mention, your powers
could intensify once you had trained up and had more time for the suppressant to finish
getting out of your system…” Owens starts muttering.
“Okay. I’m sorry, but can I go sleep now?” Will asks.
“Oh! Yes, yes, of course. The guards can walk you back. I have to talk to Brenner and some
of the others. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay? Sleep well.” Owens says.
“G’night.” Will mumbles, stumbling as he gets out of the chair.
He leaves the room and walks back to his cell with the guards, almost too tired to walk now
that most of the humming in his veins is gone. He can feel it regenerating, but he’s absolutely
spent, and he's about ready to collapse.
When he gets back, he falls onto the cot, and he’s fast asleep within a minute. He doesn't
dream, and it's the longest and deepest he's slept in a long time.
Chapter End Notes
What did you think of Will's powers, guys? I hope you think I made a good choice on
what powers to give him!
Also, what did you think about Will's survivor's guilt being part of why he's so afraid of
his powers? It made me sad to write :(
Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Leave a Kudos or comment if you're up
for it, and see you soon!
Number
Chapter Notes
Who's ready for a dark turn and angst? Read this chapter to see if it's you! Please enjoy
(well... maybe not)

WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, Flowers_from_Hell, FrenchtheLlama!1851,
Byleriscannon7, Crossovergenius111 (Aweirdperson111), greenghast, and Victor for
giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know
what you thought!
Rating: PG-13.
- Language
- Violence
- Drugging
- Mentions of disordered eating
- Needles
- Branding
- Being restrained
- Invasion of privacy
When Will wakes up, it’s to the smell of warm bread and coffee.
He sits up, squinting at the fluorescent lights before looking around to see where the food is.
It’s a tray on the table next to him, and as he props up the pillows so that he can comfortably
sit up, he stares at it. For a second, he debates on whether or not to eat it, but… man, he’s so
hungry that his stomach might start eating his organs if he doesn’t eat soon. Besides, he’s
probably below his goal weight by now, and he hasn’t eaten in days - one meal won’t
completely ruin him. Right?
Will grabs the tray and sets it in his lap over the blankets. He gives it a quick glance-over
(he’s not sure if it’s to check for poison or sedatives - which, him looking at it won’t tell him
that - or to just take in the food), and his mouth waters at the sight. There are scrambled eggs,
coffee, toast, cereal, milk, pancakes… pretty much every breakfast food.
He really must be hungry, because he hardly even thinks about the calories as he digs in,
eating as much as he can (which is only about half of the tray, honestly) and contentedly
sipping the (sweetened) coffee once he’s done.
As he sets the tray aside, he thinks not just about the math to figure out how many calories
that was and how much he ate and how much weight he’ll gain from it, but also about why,
exactly, they gave him food. What purpose did it serve for them? What do they get by feeding
him? And why was it such a genuinely nice meal?
“Hello, William.” comes a voice from a chair in the corner.
Will nearly leaps out of his skin as he whips around to look. When did Brenner get in here?
“Are you feeling well?” Brenner asks. “Now that you have slept and eaten.”
Will just stares at Brenner, his chest heaving in nerves for a minute, before he remembers that
he’s not in danger. Brenner’s in check. Owens will protect him. He’s safe.
“Yeah, I’m feeling okay.” Will says.
“Good.” Brenner says, standing up and bringing the chair to Will’s bedside.
“Why-” Will starts, taking a deep breath before finishing his sentence. “Why are you here?”
Brenner sits down and just looks at him. “I wanted to discuss your abilities.”
“Okay. Yeah.” Will sighs. “I, uh, I know that I have telekinesis and electrokinesis. And I can
remote-view and use extrasensory perception.”
“Yes.” Brenner says.
Will tries not to cock his head at Brenner’s nonplussed look. “Is- is that not what you came to
talk about?”
“I wanted to discuss your future.” Brenner says.
Will blinks twice at him. “Well, that- that’s already figured out. You remove the tumor, and
removing the tumor gets rid of the powers, and then after I recover enough, me and my
family and friends get to leave and go home, where you set up an oncologist to make sure it
never comes back. You promised that, remember?”
Brenner pauses. “Well… yes.”
Will’s paying full attention now. There’s a little voice in the back of his head that says he’s
come to tell you that he lied, you’re stuck here, be smart and escape while you still can, but
Will chooses to ignore it. Maybe if he doesn’t listen, it’ll be wrong.
“What’s changed?” Will asks.
“Well, you will not be able to leave for quite a while. Eleven has not fully regained control of
her emotional state and abilities, and we cannot allow-”
“Can’t you wrap that up over the next three days?” Will asks.
Brenner just looks at him, as though he’s not understanding.
“Well, you said it would take three days to recover from the brain surgery enough to leave.
So- can’t you help El figure it out in the recovery time?” Will asks, trying not to let his
desperation show.
Brenner stays silent.
“And- you said that the surgery would be after you finished testing. So- so we finish testing
today, right? So the surgery’s tomorrow, right?” Will asks, and keeping the desperation out of
his voice is useless, because even he can hear it. The bad feeling and little voice are getting
louder.
Brenner tents his fingers and leans back after a few more seconds of silence. “William, I do
not think you understand how incredible your abilities are.”
No. No, no, he promised. He promised they would fix him and they could go home.
“You not only have abilities on the scale of which has only been seen in one other Number
before, but we have never seen electrokinesis as an individual ability without the electrical
manipulation being dependent on the use of another ability. It would be destroying something
truly unique to attempt to remove your abilities, as well as the survival rate of such a surgery
being so low.”
Will thinks of Owens trying to talk him out of removing his powers over the past few days.
No. No no no.
“You were never going to fix me, were you?” Will asks, so quietly that his voice almost is
inaudible. “You lied to me. Both you and Owens lied to me.”
“I did what I had to do in order to unlock something truly special in you, and Owens believed
that he would be able to talk you out of wanting the procedure before you would ever find out
that such a thing would not only be impossible, but foolish.” Brenner says. “Owens, it seems,
was wrong.”
“Wh-where’s Owens? I need to talk to Owens.” Will says. Owens can explain, he trusts
Owens, get him away from Brenner, he can’t trust Brenner, he’s in danger-
“With the results of your tests, the project superiors have seen fit to have the power
transferred back to me. I am now the lone lead on the Nina Project, and Owens has been
temporarily detained.”
Will’s shaking his head. “No. No, no, no, no, you have to fix me.” he says, and he doesn’t
care that he sounds whiny and pleading, but they lied, Brenner’s now in charge, what’s going
to happen to him?
“There is no need to fix you, William. These abilities are a blessing. You are a very lucky
boy.” Brenner says.
Will slides off of the cot and backs away until his back is against the wall. “No. No, no, no.
What are you going to do to me?”
“We are not going to do anything to you - we are going to do things for you. To help you.”
Brenner says.
As he starts to approach, Will gets an insane idea.
“Get back!” he shouts, holding his hands out and willing the electricity into his fingers. He
can feel the buzzing intensify in his fingertips, and little bolts of electricity go between his
outstretched fingers. “I’ll shock you! I’ll- I’ll electrocute you! Get back!”
Much to Will’s relief, Brenner listens, stopping about three feet away. “I do not believe you,
William.” Brenner says. “You will not hurt me.”
“Do you really want to test that?” Will says, and he tries to snarl, but he’s too scared for it to
be truly intimidating - he can feel his chin wobbling and that his eyes are wide. He makes up
for it by a strong arc of electricity across his palm.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Brenner says. “I do not seek to harm you or your family-”
“Stop. I can see you inching forward. Stay- stay back. I’m not joking. I’ll kill you.” Will says.
“William-” Brenner tries, holding his hands up in a mirror of Will’s own - but they’re
pleading instead of threatening.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees the light indicating the door’s locks go from red to
green.
When a guard comes in, clearly hearing the shouting, Will makes a break for it, accidentally
giving the guard a little shock as he runs as fast as he can out of the opened door.
His breath’s coming short as he skids across metal with how quickly he turns through the
halls. Have to find them, have to find his family, where are they?
Will runs as fast as he can, calling every track meet, every dangerous situation, every time
that he’s ever run in his life all into his mind at this moment. Find his family, use his
electricity to mess up the locks, then make a break for it. Get to the elevator, then get to the
van.
Will eventually manages to get into the hallway that he recognizes as being the one with El’s
room. She can offer backup. They can work together to get out of here.
He runs for the part where he knows her door is, but… shit. He forgot that there are guards.
He hears the crackle of their walkie-talkies as he sees them, the words ‘Asset escaped.
Subdue with non-lethal force.’ coming through the static.
Will curses as he tries to reverse direction, but he’s too late, as another guard comes around
the corner, boxing him in. He’s trapped. Shit shit shit shit shit.
He’s getting ready to fight when someone grabs him from behind and lifts him into the air,
where it doesn’t matter that he’s kicking and thrashing and shouting because it’s not making
any contact.
Will feels another needle jab into his neck, and the snarky part of his brain just says ‘Jesus,
do they actually need to drug us so often or do they just like stabbing people with needles?’
As the world goes blurry, then dark as he’s restrained, his last thought is, ‘Oh, no. What if this
makes them hurt my family? It’s not their fault, they can't take it out on them...'
His ears ring one last time before he goes unconscious.
Will wakes up to fluorescent lights overhead and tight restraints fastening him down, with his
legs together and his arms trapped on armrests.
“Wh’rr… you doing?” Will slurs, coming to as they tighten the leather belts around him in
the same room that he’d had the minor surgery in only yesterday.
His thoughts when he first saw the chair were right. He’s completely immobilized as every
single restraint is used. He can’t even move his head to look around, though that wouldn’t be
very helpful right now, as he can’t really see.
His vision’s too blurry from the drugs to truly see what’s happening, but he feels his left
sleeve being rolled up and hears a mechanical buzzing before Brenner says calmly “Don’t
worry, it’ll be over soon.”
There’s a sharp stabbing pain from his left wrist as something is drawn over scabs and scars
over and over, and Will’s not sure if he’s crying, but it doesn’t really matter because he’s still
so drugged that he can’t even think straight.
It’s a while (twenty minutes? An hour? Time doesn’t mean anything with his head stuffed
with cotton like it is right now) before the buzzing and pain stops. “Done. That wasn’t too
bad, now, was it?” Brenner says, attempting to pat his shoulder.
Will just squirms away from the touch as much as he can while trapped.
Brenner sighs. “Knock him out again. He isn’t going to be useful for a while.”
Another jab in the neck, and Will’s out like a light.
Will wakes up again, but this time, he’s on a mattress, his arm throbbing, but nowhere near as
much as his head in the fluorescent light.
He groans as he tries to sit up, the room spinning, but he can’t.
Will quickly looks down. There are straps tying his wrists and ankles to the rails of what
seems to be a hospital bed, as well as another that’s over his waist and keeping him pinned.
He immediately yanks his right arm, and he finds that he can move it about four inches - even
that is pushing his luck, and it makes his skin sting where the restraint rubs, like it’s giving
him rope burn.
Will’s wearing scrubs like you’d see on a nurse or doctor, which are dark red and short-
sleeved. He tries not to think about how invaded his privacy feels that they changed his
clothes while he was unconscious. They contrast with the white blankets and sheets of the
bed, as well as the pure white room. Where is he?
“HEY!” he shouts into the room that’s so white and sterile that it’s terrifying. “HEY! HEY,
LET ME UP!”
A door that he didn’t even see opens, and Brenner walks in, his expression cool and
collected.
“How are you feeling?” he asks coldly.
“Brenner, get these things off of me.” Will says. “I- I’m not gonna try to run, I’m not gonna
try to fight, just- I’m trapped. Please, just take them off.”
“There are multiple reasons that you are restrained. While the concern of resistance is a
factor, you also had a seizure earlier. Even if the threat of resistance was not a possibility, we
would not want you to have another seizure and hurt yourself.” Brenner says.
Is that why his head hurts so much?
Will squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as if to get rid of the fog. “Ugh… I had a
seizure?”
“That is correct. While we have used lower doses of the sedatives in the past, you forced us
to increase the intensity with your little escape attempt, which interacted with the other drugs
in your system as well as your withdrawal symptoms and sensitivity from going off your
psychiatric medication.” Brenner says.
“Where’s Owens?” Will asks. “I want to talk to Owens.”
Owens may have lied to him, but he’s still a lot safer than Brenner.
“As I told you earlier, Owens has been temporarily detained. He disagreed with the
authorities on the project’s decision to put me in charge and attempted to contact them behind
my back. I do not tolerate disloyalty, least of all from him.” Brenner says.
“Is he okay?” Will asks.
“He is unharmed, but not allowed to leave his room or to interfere with my experiments.”
Brenner says.
“Are my family? Jonathan and El and Mike? And Argyle?” Will asks.
“They are in a similar situation as Owens. You will be allowed to see them if you behave.” he
says. “You have two hours before the experiments start. Please rest. We need you in top
condition.”
With that, Brenner leaves, and Will’s left in the pure white room that terrifies him.
The throbbing in his wrist reminds him that Brenner did something to him while he was
unconscious, and he looks at his left wrist, twisting around to see the area that hurts from
under the edge of the restraint.
Will’s heart drops as he sees black ink forming blocky text on his wrist, going over his
inflamed scars to form a brand just like he’s seen on his sister a million times.
‘019’
Chapter End Notes

Oh, shit. Will's a Number now. What do you think is going to happen now? Please let
me know in the comments along with your thoughts. Leave a comment or Kudos if
you're up for it, and I hope you liked it!
Tank
Chapter Notes
Hello! Sorry this chapter is so short, but it has a lot of stuff happening, so...
Or not. There’s a lot of bad stuff happening here, so maybe just read it.
🤷♂️enjoy!
WalkinInHawkins, A1exies, FrenchtheLlama!1851, Byleriscannon7,
TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, and Luna_mikasa for giving me the
motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you
thought!

Trigger warnings:
- Forced undressing
- Seizures
- Sensory deprivation
- Medical neglect
- Mentions of drowning
- Blood
- Restraints
- Lack of privacy
- Misnaming
Despite Will’s pleas, he’s locked into the sensory deprivation tank yet again, left to float in
the darkness with the knowledge that no matter how much he screams, no matter how much
he fights, he’s still trapped in here until he spies on someone that, no matter how hard he
tries, he can’t find.
Will tries to move his hands out of pure reflex, but, just like the last fifty dunks, they’re tied.
His hands are cuffed together above his head with restraints similar to those in the white
room, as are his feet (which honestly just seems like a bad idea, what if he starts to drown?
He wouldn’t be able to swim). There’s a blindfold over his eyes and static noise playing in
the tank, and he hates it. He can’t move, he can’t see, he can’t hear… he’s trapped in what
feels like a watery coffin.
He would scream, but he knows that the only thing that gets him is dunked further into the
icy water. The first dozen or so times, he screamed and cried, but not only did they not let
him out, but the lack of air in his lungs made him sink, and he’d rather keep his pain and fear
contained than to have the cold water fill his mouth and nose and start drowning again. (He
almost drowned three times over the past seventeen hours that they’ve been putting him in
the water).
When he’s pulled out for the fifty-first time (he’s been counting - each submersion is about
fifteen minutes of hell, and then he’s pulled out, asked what he saw, and when his answer
isn’t satisfactory (he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be looking for), he’s dropped
back and locked in for another fifteen minutes), he feels weird.
As he’s pulled up by his biceps by two guards, it feels like he loses control. His head feels
like it’s pulled down, like a ton of bricks were tied to his neck and are now dragging him
down, and his arms and legs begin to painfully spasm and shake before his limbs lock up.
Somehow, the spasming after his body tenses is worse, as it hurts far more, like his muscles
and bones are going to snap any minute.
“HE’S HAVING ANOTHER SEIZURE!” the guard holding him up shouts.
Oh. Is that what’s happening?
Over the past day that Brenner’s been in charge, he’s had seven - now eight, counting the one
that’s happening now - seizures. He can only remember being conscious during one or two of
them, but he’s already decided that they’re extremely unpleasant and he doesn’t like them.
“Just set him down. Wait for him to stop, then submerge him again.” he hears Brenner say.
Will’s laid down onto the ground, where his arms and legs and head hit against the metal over
and over. He wills it to stop, but, of course, it doesn’t. He feels the back of his head get warm
and sticky as his head collides with the metal repeatedly, and he feels the rest of his body
bruise with the force of how it’s slamming against the floor.
It feels like forever until his movements start to slow again, and as his eyes come back from
where they rolled back into his skull, he winces, both at the pain in his body and head and at
the fact that his mouth feels bad. His jaw hurts from clenching his teeth, and he apparently
had bitten his tongue during the seizure, as it stings and his mouth is filled with iron.
Will rolls over onto his side and spits out the blood, panting as he tries not to vomit. His
head’s been throbbing like crazy the past few days, but it’s been getting worse after each
seizure. The world’s spinning, and Will feels like he’s falling right off it.
The shaking and spasming has given way to pure exhaustion, and it feels like his limbs and
eyelids are made of pure lead. He’s fighting to stay awake, and he’s begging God to please
just make them let him rest, he’s so exhausted from the sensory deprivation tank and seizures
and dunking, please just let him sleep, but of course he isn’t so lucky.
“Is he done?” Brenner asks with disinterest.
“I believe so, sir.” the guard says.
“Put him back in. He is not going to leave that tank until he has something to tell us.”
Brenner says.
Will’s too exhausted to object as he’s hauled up and into the tank again, only managing a
weak cry as the saltwater enters the open wound on the back of his head and he’s locked back
into the darkness.
Despite his terror that if he goes to sleep, he’ll drown in the icy water, the exhaustion that’s so
deep in his bones that he can hardly move wins, and he’s falling into the abyss of sleep as the
water laps against his wetsuit.
Will comes to when they pull him out of the tank again.
He’s too tired and in too much pain to hold himself up, going limp like a rag doll when he’s
lifted out and being fully held up by the guards by his biceps as he falls almost to his knees.
Brenner sighs and looks disappointedly at Will. “Take him back to the room. Have him
change back and dry off, then restrain him again.”
The guards pull him along through the halls, his head jostling and his chin bumping against
his chest as they almost drag him. He’s shivering and shaking as they move, the tips of his
feet dragging along the metal floor as they carry him back to the nightmarish white room.
Once they take him inside, dropping him onto the floor (where he just lays on the tile, unable
to get up), the door locks behind him.
“Up.” one guard says, grabbing him around the shoulders, lifting him up, and dropping him
on the bed.
He lies there as the guard leaves and brings him a towel and some more of the red scrubs
before unlocking the restraints on his wrists and ankles.
He sets the stack of fabric down next to Will on the bed, who doesn’t move.
“Look, are you going to dry off and dress yourself or do I have to do it for you?” the guard
asks impatiently when Will doesn’t react to the towel and clothes. “The Doctor said that you
had to dry off and get dressed, and you will one way or another. So unless you want me to do
it, get on it.”
“I’ll do it.” Will says weakly. He’s exhausted and in pain and can hardly move, but he won’t -
he can’t - let this man undress him and touch him. He just can’t let that happen. He’d rather
die.
The guard nods and turns away, going back to standing to the side of the door, staring straight
ahead and holding his gun in his hands.
“Aren-aren’t you leaving?” Will asks.
“The Doctor has instructed us to maintain constant surveillance on you.” the guard says.
Oh. So that means-
No. No no no, he’s not changing with other people watching him. Like hell.
“I’m not changing with people in the room.” Will says.
“Either you do it, or I do it for you.” the guard snaps.
Will looks at the stack of fabric, humiliation and disgust and fear causing his stomach to twist
into knots of nausea. He can’t. He just can’t. But it’s either change in front of strangers or
have them undress him themselves.
Both options make him want to throw up.
But it’s better to be watched than to be forcibly undressed.
With shaking hands, Will towels off his hair (which he’s glad they didn’t shave, even if they
did brand him) and gets undressed.
His fingers are so cold and numb from at least eighteen hours in the cold water of the sensory
deprivation tank to change quickly, but he does his best.
Will dries off and changes as quickly as he can with his slow, hurting body and sluggish
movements, feeling so degraded and mortified and disgusted that his ribs feel too tight and
his legs are shaking and his chest hurts. He can feel the guards watching him, and he wants to
throw up, his skin is crawling and his face is so hot that he feels like he’s on fire.
When he’s done, he’s folding the wetsuit when the guard comes up and grabs him, pushing
him down onto the bed and putting the straps in place that tie his wrists and ankles to the
bedframe and tie his waist down.
He goes back over to the door, and though it takes longer to sleep than Will would think with
how fatigued he feels because of the pain in his body and head and because of the humiliation
still occupying most of his thoughts, but he is eventually able to go to sleep.
The sleep is far from restful, as he ends up awake half the time with the pain radiating
through his head and every nerve, muscle, and bone as well as the feeling of being watched
and the fluorescent light, but… it’s better than no sleep at all, right?
Eventually, though, the door beeps and clicks, and someone walks in. Will keeps his eyes
closed - it feels like every ray of light is a knife driven through the front of his skull.
“Nineteen.” Brenner says.
Rage and dread twists around Will’s chest at the number, making it hard to breathe. His name
is Will. Not William, not Nineteen, not Bill, Will.
He’s not a Number.
He’s not Nineteen.

He’s Will Byers.
“Nineteen. Wake up. It is time to leave.” Brenner says.
“More of the tank?” Will asks tiredly. “I won’t. I won’t do the tank again.”
“Nineteen, if we do not leave right now, you are going to die, as are all of your friends.”
Brenner says, and Will hears the fear in his voice for the first time.
Will moves his head and looks at Brenner. “What- what’s happening? What? Is everyone
okay?”
Brenner comes over and starts to untie the restraints from the bed. “The parts of the
government that have been searching for Eleven are here.
“And if we do not leave now, they will kill you all.”
Chapter End Notes
What did you think of this chapter?
Poor Will's literally being tortured using a sensory deprivation tank, having seizures, is
forced to undress in front of strangers, and is severely injured... in literally four pages.
Poor baby. He needs a hug and for Brenner to rot in hell.
Also... cliffhanger?!?! At least Brenner's dying in a fiery blaze next chapter.
Well, let me know what you thought of this chapter. Leave a Kudos or comment if
you're up for it, and see you soon!
Grenade
Chapter Notes
HI SO THIS IS EITHER MY MAGNUM OPUS OR LITERAL SHIT, I WROTE THIS

ON 32 OUNCES OF ESPRESSO AND AN HOUR OF SLEEP AND I THINK I
MIGHT HAVE A HEART ATTACK.
ENJOY THE LITERAL GARBAGE!!!!!! :D

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, Badgirlcoven and Angela for giving me the
thought!
ALSO EVERYONE CONGRATULATE heidibyers (emiliano) THEY JUST GOT INTO

THEIR TOP CHOICE SCHOOL WE’RE ALL SO FUCKIN PROUD OF YOU
AAAAAAH!!!!!
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Bombs
- Blood
- Body horror
- Self-harm
- Guns
- Death
- Being blown apart
- Severe burns
- Language
- Pain
(ALSO I KEEP SAYING FUCK IN THE NOTES AND I'M SORRY I JUST FEEL
LIKE A SQUIRREL ON CRACK COCAINE HOLY SHIT)
Will stumbles through the halls after Brenner, the straps on the restraints dragging on the
floor as he struggles to walk, especially to keep up with someone as fast as Brenner while he
can hardly move.
“Wh-where are we going?” Will asks.
“We are leaving the project and are going to go to another base in Idaho. Keep pace, we don’t
have all day.” Brenner says.
Will tries (and fails) to keep walking next to Brenner, falling behind.
“Go with the guards.” Brenner says, nodding towards a pair of the armed guards nearby.
“They will get you out. I need to find Eleven. Your other loved ones will be out shortly, as
well.”
Brenner walks away, and the guards come and begin escorting him away. One puts a hand on
his back to keep him walking, and it’s hard not to flinch away, even though it’s not doing
anything.
It isn’t long before they’re in the elevator and going up to the desert, the mechanical whirring
making Will nervous.
Turns out, he’s right to be.
As soon as the doors open, there’s the popping of gunfire, and the guard at his left side falls.
Will yelps and throws his arms over his head as the right one grabs him and covers him with
his body before pulling him along as they make a run for it, firing back with his machine gun.
Will can see black SUVs, a helicopter, and many armed men, all firing at them. And, as they
take cover behind the elevator building, he sees a lone figure pull the helicopter to the
ground, causing it to go up in flames.
Holy shit, it’s El.

“EL!” Will shouts, twisting free of the guard’s grasp and starting to run for her as fast as he
can in his damaged state.
For a second, he pauses, the part of his brain that’s always afraid screams at him about the
fact that he’s about to run through gunfire, but then he remembers Brenner telling him that he
deflected the bullets in the shooting in California. He may not be able to trust himself with
powers, but maybe he can trust the powers with himself.
He takes a deep breath. Powers, I’m trusting you. Keep me safe until I get to El.
With that, he runs.
El stumbles after pulling the helicopter to the ground. She has just gotten her powers back,
and she had forgotten how much it takes out of her.
She pauses once she’s done, looking around. Where should she go?
Papa is lying on the ground a little away, bleeding from a gunshot. She does not want to help
him. He has hurt her. She is tired of him in her life.
El turns away, trying to think of where to go, when she sees a boy running towards her.
Will!
Will runs up and grabs her in a tight hug, and she squeezes back as tightly as she can, resting
her chin on his shoulder. He is safe. He is her brother. They are together again, and they are
going to be okay.
He pulls away, smiling at her with tears in his eyes, before his eyes fall to her collar. He looks
sad and angry as he carefully tries to fit his fingers behind it and take it off.
She smiles at him. It will not come off until it is told to, Will, but it is okay, do not be sad.
He understands, just like he always does, and he moves his hands from the collar to the sides
of her head.
She looks at his arms, holding up his hands that cradle her face, and sees his wrist.
The happiness from seeing him again goes away as she takes his arm and brings it closer to
examine it. He has a tattoo like hers that says ‘019’. No. No, Will cannot be a number. He
cannot be damaged or a monster like her. She does not want him to be broken. She failed. He
is now one of her kind. No. No, no, no, she wanted to keep him safe. She has failed. Does he
hate her for not protecting him?
There are also many scars and cuts. Did they cut her brother open? Is that what those marks
are from? Why would they cut open Will’s arms?
Will must see that she is sad and angry and hurt, because he just takes her hand and squeezes.
“It’s okay.” he says. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. We’re gonna get out of here.”
El knows how much she hates her tattoo. Does Will hate it as much?
She takes off her flannel (she had changed back into her clothes, not the sweatsuit, when the
people came for them) and gives it to Will. It was once his anyway. He can have it back. It
will cover his arms and the tattoo. Maybe it will keep him from being sad or hating her for
not saving him from Papa.
“To cover your arms.” El says, running her fingers up her brother’s forearm lightly. They are
very thin, and the lines and scars and cuts are bumpy. The tattoo that matches hers is dark and
has red skin under it. She remembers how it felt to get hers when she was small. She hopes it
did not hurt Will as much. “You will not have to be Nineteen that way.”
She looks at his face, and he looks sad and scared and lost for a moment before he gives her
another sad smile. “Thank you, El.” he says, putting on the flannel. She only now sees that he
is wearing the red scrubs that Papa made them wear when they did not behave and had to be
locked away. El is glad that now he is wearing the flannel. It makes him look more like Will
than a Number.
They are interrupted by someone grabbing at them, and El is ready to fight, but it is Mike
who is touching them. “El! Will! Oh my God!” he says, pulling them both towards him in a
hug. She sees Jonathan and Argyle running towards them over Mike’s shoulder. She smiles
and hugs both her brother and her boyfriend.
Mike steps away, looking over both of them. He also tries to remove the collar. He cannot.
After, he turns to Will. He looks scared. “Will- your nose-” he says.
El had almost forgotten that her brother’s nose is bleeding. She thinks he has stopped the
guns. It is quiet now. No more gunshots.
It is strange to think that Will has powers. It makes her sad that he is a Number, but now her
brother is truly just like her. They are now real twins.
Mike puts his hand on the back of Will’s head, and he looks very afraid when Will winces
and his hand comes away bloody.
“Will, what- what?” Mike asks, and he looks like he is going to faint or cry or both.
“I’m fine. Just hit my head a few times.” Will says.

Did they hit your head as well as cutting up your arms and giving you the tattoo?
“I-” Mike starts, before Jonathan interrupts.
“Look, we can administer medical care later, but we gotta get out of here!” he says.
El agrees. They must run before the Bad Men get them and kill them.
They must run.
Mike’s sure it looks weird. Five teenagers, two older, three younger, two of whom are
carrying two others.
Will’s being half-carried by Jonathan, clearly having a hard time walking (probably because
of a head injury, which- jesus christ), and Mike is helping El walk, as she’s so exhausted
from bringing down a whole-ass helicopter that she’s leaning on him more than her own two
feet.
“Alright, you- you just stay here, okay? We’ll get in the van and get out of here in a minute.”
Mike says, carefully helping her lean against the van. She nods and smiles, gently patting his
cheek.
With that, Mike gets up, immediately going over and helping Jonathan and Argyle in the van.
Jonathan’s checking the tires and such to make sure that the van is still drivable after so much
fighting, and Argyle’s getting it all reared up and ready to go.
There aren’t any guns or engines sounding around them, which makes Mike a little nervous,
but that doesn’t matter, they can get out of here.
However, it does matter when he hears the explosions start.
Mike immediately moves to look around the van, where Will’s standing about ten feet away
from it and El’s leaning against it. There’s another explosion in the distance, and then Mike
sees a figure running towards them as well as an SUV driving towards them.
He realizes the figure is Brenner, but then-
Brenner’s running towards them - which is a very odd sight, someone usually so mechanical
and controlled running - and he’s about fifty yards away when something hits the ground next
to him.
One bright bang! later, leaving Will’s ears ringing and sending up a cloud of smoke as he
falls backwards, Brenner’s gone, the only trace being the sand clumping and turning red with
blood and body parts strewn across the ground.
Will isn’t sure if he screams. Everything feels like it’s underwater, and his ears are ringing
from the sounds of the gunfire and explosions.
He looks around, and he can feel blood trickling from his nose and his ears and from the
wound on the back of his skull, and the world’s spinning, but that doesn’t matter, they’re all
going to die.
Will looks around, and as the men with their guns and their bombs approach out of one of the
black SUVs, which apparently drove towards them at some point while he was watching
Brenner, Jonathan and Mike are freaking out, trying to get them all into the car.
It’s not going to work. They’ll just blow the van up.
Will looks over and he sees his sister lying unconscious on the ground. The explosion must
have pushed her against the van and caused her to hit her head, knocking her out. They want
her dead. If they catch her, they’re going to kill her.
As the realization hits and the fighting rages all around them, all Will can think of is a
conversation six months ago.
She pauses before nodding, ready to tell him about her nightmare. “I am back with Papa. I
am Eleven, not El. The Bad Men hurt me again.”
Will tightens his grip. “El, I promise that you’re safe and will stay safe. They won’t get you
again.”
“What if they do?” she asks quietly.
“Then…” he thinks. “Then we’ll get you back. I’ll find you and save you from the Bad Men.
I’m your brother, and I swear that I’m gonna keep you safe no matter what.”
Will’s El’s brother.
And he’s going to keep her safe no matter what.
He isn’t even sure what he’s doing as he raises his shaking hand over to her, closing his eyes
and picturing her safe and unharmed and far, far away from here.
When he opens his eyes, there’s the scar that’s reminiscent of the gates into the Upside Down
scorched into the sand.
And El’s gone.
Will hardly has time to be relieved that she’s safe, because as Mike runs over to him, about
fifteen feet away, a grenade hits the sand.
They both stare at it in horror for a moment before Mike turns away, covering his head and
turning his back to the grenade, and it explodes.
All Will knows is pain as he flies backwards and his head hits something hard, sending him
into a dark abyss that he isn’t sure whether it’s death or unconsciousness.
When Mike wakes up, the world is on fire.
Sand and blood mix and cover his body, and everything is boiling hot, even the air. It hurts to
breathe.
Mike coughs, trying to get his lungs to feel like they can take in air, but it doesn’t work. It
still feels like there’s bands around his lungs keeping them from getting any oxygen.
pain pain pain hot too hot burning no stop it hurts no no burning pain hurts can’t breathe
can’t breathe can’t breathe-
He opens his eyes, immediately regretting his choice at both the bright light and sand falling
in his eyes.
He’s apparently laying on his stomach against the sand, and his cheek is on the ground. His
back feels like it’s on fire.
What he sees around him isn’t pretty: the sand that hasn’t turned to glass is all pink and
clumped with blood, with bullet shells and random body parts either sitting on top of or
partially buried in the sand. There are pieces of blown-apart limbs, shreds of fabric hanging
off them, scattered around.
There’s a men’s boot about six feet away, blood coming out of the inside. Mike idly wonders
if there’s still a foot in it.
He looks around, trying to lift his head and failing. His cheek presses back into the sand, and
he winces at the heat on his skin.
Mike doesn’t care about the pain and the fact that he can hardly breathe or move, though,
when he sees Will.
Will’s slouched against the side of the van, a streak of bright red against the sunny paint of
the pizza van leading down to where his head is leaning against the metal, blood leaking from
his nose and ears and mouth and eyes.
will will will will will is he okay that’s a lot of blood will will will will-
Mike tries to drag himself over, but the blistering heat of the sand, which is a strange mix of
sand and glass because of the heat of the grenade, burns his arm through the fabric of his
shirt, forcing him to lay still.
He hears someone start to shout for Will and scream and cry, and he wants to tell the source
to shut the fuck up because his head feels like there’s an icepick being driven into his skull,
but- wait, is it him making that noise?
Mike focuses on keeping his mouth shut, and the noise stops. Yup. It’s him screaming.
He tries to breathe through the heat again, ignore the pain, and move towards Will, but he’s
stopped by someone stepping on his back.
Mike screams at the agony of someone pressing on his burning skin and he cries out as the
person lifts him up, dragging him away. Through his vision, white with heat and pain, he sees
someone else lift Will up into a bridal carry, starting after him. In the back of his mind, Mike
wonders whether it'sthe bad government guys or the even worse government guys taking
them away.
As they’re taken away from the explosion site, despite his best efforts, Mike joins Will in
getting knocked out.
Chapter End Notes
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HOLY SHIT
But I did tell you Brenner would die in a fire, didn't I? Well, did you think he would be
BLOWN UP by a FUCKING GRENADE?! TAKE THAT, FUCKER!!!!
What's gonna happen next?!
Also, sweet naive El, thinking Will’s SH is by Brenner 😭

I'm gonna stop now because my brain is moving so fast that I feel like I'm gonna die.
My heart rate is 172 bpm and I'm literally just sitting here. I might die.
Also my mom forgot I was at school so I'm 45 minutes late getting picked up 😭
Welcome to the Nova Project
Chapter Notes
yesterday due to two tests today 😭

Hi! Here's Chapter 32. Sorry it's a day late, I had to spend over twelve hours studying
I hate school.

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, and Badgirlcoven for giving me the
thought!
Overall rating: PG.

Trigger warnings:
- Blood
- Mentioned death
- Implied murder
- Pain from an injury
- Being restrained
When Will wakes up, the first thing he notices is the excruciating pain in his head.
The second thing is that he’s trapped.
Will immediately starts to try to move around, but it’s futile. There are either the medical
restraints or ropes tied around his wrists and ankles, keeping him bound tightly to what feels
like a cold metal chair.
He opens his eyes, and all he sees is darkness.
Will’s first thought is that he’s dead, but if he was dead, his head wouldn’t be in so much pain
that it feels like the back of his skull has been melted off with acid.
Maybe he’s gone blind? The darkness would make sense. But- oh, God, he hopes not. What
would he do if he couldn’t draw or paint or see the world anymore? But maybe the explosion-
Oh! The explosion! The grenade! He’s probably been captured again.
Oh, God, he’s probably been captured again. That’s not good.
Will shakes his head as if to shake off the fog, which just makes the dizziness that he didn’t
even realize was there worse.
He has to fight not to throw up as he tries fruitlessly to gain his bearings. Other than the
mechanical whirring of fans, there’s not much noise, and that along with the feeling of being
tied down are the only sensory inputs.
Well, and the feeling of blood and pain. Will can feel the blood dried onto his face and neck
and head and still dripping, and his head feels like someone swung a sledgehammer at the
base of his skull. But maybe if he doesn’t think about that, it’ll go away (or at least be less
scary and painful).
Will leans over as much as he can in his immobilized state so that he can move his arms
more, trying to figure out what’s holding him down and, if possible, free himself.
It’s about two minutes of attempting to escape before there’s beeping and the sound of
echoing footsteps, and Will sits up as straight as he can as he pauses his movement.
Suddenly, the world is bright again with the flick of a switch, and Will squeezes his eyes shut
and hisses at the light that’s practically about to lobotomize him. Since when are lights
brighter than the sun? Jesus.
“Hello, Nineteen.” someone says.

Brenner? No, no, Will watched him die - watched him get blown up. Besides, this isn’t the
same voice. No. This is someone else.
Will doesn’t respond, too tired and ailing to respond to a name that’s not his.
“We understand that you are not in a good condition. However, we need some answers before
we can help you.” the voice says. He registers that the person speaking is a man in the back
of his mind.
Will still doesn’t answer. The lights are still burrowing through his eyelids. How is that even
possible? His eyes are closed.
“Where is Eleven?” the man asks.
Will doesn’t answer. What’s the point? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he held up his
hand and closed his eyes and when he opened them she was gone. He doesn’t know where,
exactly, she is, just that she’s far away from here.
The man sighs. “Look. I understand that you’re injured, and I understand that she’s your
sister and that you hold a loyalty to her, but we have to know where she is.”
“I don’t know.” Will says, and his words are slurred in a way that sounds like he’s drunk. “I
don’t know where El is, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You want her dead.”
The man sighs again. “Do you know why we have orders to kill her?”
Will shakes his head, regretting it immediately as the world starts spinning even more. His
eyes aren’t even open and the room is still on one of those Tilt-a-Whirls at a carnival.
“There are strange things going on in Hawkins. There are people and animals going missing,
teenagers dying with their bones all snapped or dislocated and their eyes burst with no way
that such a thing could have happened. Do you know how those people died?” the man says.
“Psychokinetic attacks. They were killed remotely, by someone who has powers that line up
perfectly with Eleven’s. There is no proof that these attacks will stop.” the man says. “She is
killing people, Nineteen. Brutally murdering teenagers. It is not killing without justification.
It is executing a serial killer, putting down a rabid dog. It is not only a protection for the
world, but a kindness for her - I doubt that she truly understands what she is doing, with the
way Brenner desensitized her.”
Will’s silent for a moment, and then he speaks in a quiet tone, trying his hardest to keep his
words clear and not tumbling into each other.
“She isn’t a killer.” Will says. “She wouldn’t kill a bunch of teenagers. You’re hunting an
innocent girl. And that’s what she is: a girl. She’s not a rabid dog, or a serial killer, she’s a
fourteen-year-old girl who only got out of Hawkins Lab and started learning to speak three
years ago.”
“You’re blinded by loyalty.” the man says after a minute, disappointment in his voice.
“You’re so devoted to Eleven that you refuse to see her for what she really is.”
“And what is she?” Will asks. “According to you, anyway.”
The man pauses for a second.
“A monster. One of Brenner’s making, and thus one created by the government, but still a
monster.”
Will disagrees, and he slowly blinks his eyes open - immediately grimacing at the light - to
look at the man while he tells him how wrong he is.
The man is a middle-aged Black man, with close-cropped hair and an eerily neutral
expression. He’s wearing a green high-ranking military uniform with a bunch of medals and
ornaments and patches on it, and a pair of sunglasses are hanging out of his breast pocket.
“You’re wrong about El. She’s a good person, and not dangerous.” Will insists.
The man shakes his head. “All of the evidence says otherwise.”
It’s silent for a minute, the man still looking at Will, Will still squinting at him through the
bright light.
“Who- who even are you?” Will asks, breaking the silence with his words that don't quite
come out right. “I mean, you shot up my house, tried to kill me and my family several times,
threw a literal grenade at us as well as shooting at us and trying to attack using a helicopter…
like, who even are you?”
The man stands up a little straighter, if that’s even possible. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel
Sullivan. I am in charge of the manhunt for Subject Eleven, and am the leader of a
government project designed to ensure the removal of the other dimension and destroy the
supernatural threats to our nation and people.”
Will watches and listens in terror as the man finishes with the statement “Welcome to the
Nova Project."
Chapter End Notes
OOOOHHHHHH, WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT?! No, please tell me, I can't
😭
think about being creative right now, my brain is stuffed with equations for permutations
and combinations
Let me know what you thought and leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it!
Sorry it's short, by the way. I'll be doing short chapters for a little while because it's
easier to convey the choppiness of their experiences and easier to update frequently with
the sheer amount of homework I've been assigned (please kill me). Enjoy! Next chapter
will be up tomorrow! :)
Side note: I did sleep for about 5 hours last night and 7 the night before <3 figured you
might be happy about that lol
Band-Aids
Chapter Notes
Hi hi! Here's another chapter. It's sad, so get your tissues. Enjoy!

thought!
Overall rating: PG-13

Trigger warnings:
- Child abuse
- Self-hatred
- Violence
As Will’s lowered into the sensory deprivation tank again (the Nova people said that he
would be submerged until his remote viewing - they had apparently read Brenner’s notes and
know about his powers - revealed El’s location), he thinks about Band-Aids.
When he was little, his mom would always let him choose the Band-Aids he wanted at the
store. He liked the tie-dye and Star Wars ones, but if they had the animal or rainbow ones, he
would choose those every time.
When he was little, there was always someone to put a Band-Aid on whatever injury he got
and give it a kiss so that it would be better, whether his mom or Jonathan. Whether it was a
scratch from running around and playing at the park and skinning his knees on the concrete,
or blisters from wearing Jonathan’s outgrown shoes that were too big on Will, or finger-
shaped bruises and cuts when his dad’s nails and wedding ring would cut into his skin when
he would hit or drag Will around by the wrist or back of the neck, there was always someone
to make soothing noises and comfort him as they put the colorful Band-Aids on until he was
okay again.
As he got older, though, the times that other people would take care of him and put on the
Band-Aids trailed off and got less frequent as Lonnie got angrier and angrier.
When Will was five, he picked up that his dad’s anger was a secret, and that he should never
tell anyone where the injuries came from or when they hurt or bled, not even his mom or Jon.
And he wanted to be good and not make his mom cry and not make his family fight again, so
he got good at putting on his own Band-Aids. He became a pro at lining up eight or nine to
keep the skin along long gashes close enough together that it would knit back together and
not bleed through clothes, learned how to care for cuts from broken glass bottles thrown at
him in a rage and burns from cigarettes and dislocated shoulders, became a master at
applying just the right amount of antiseptic ointment (even though it stung). He learned the
art of long sleeves and lies about running into doors and staircase accidents.
Will got good at hiding. He got good at lying. He got good at patching himself up in the
bathroom. He got good at playing dead. It was how to survive.
Sometimes, Will wonders if his mom knew. Because when he went from going through a 30-
count of Band-Aids in six months to a 30-count of Band-Aids in a week, the box under the
counter always stayed stocked.
Sometimes, the thought of her knowing and not doing anything to make Lonnie leave until he
was ten stings, makes him angry. Because if she knew, that means she just stood by as he was
beaten up and broken and hated and told he was a burden and a nothing over and over until it
was all he could think of when he thought of himself. But then he remembers that his mom
had the same injuries and bruises, had similar insults hurled at her along with fists in a
drunken rage. She tried her best, just like Will did, and it wasn’t her fault that Lonnie was a
horrible, cruel person. It’s not fair to be upset with her when she did all she could and
suffered under her husband too.
In the end, it doesn’t matter if she knew or not. What’s done is done. She divorced Lonnie
when he was ten, and she sued for full custody. Lonnie’s off somewhere else, and now it’s
just her and the Byers kids. Another reason to not be mad at her - she sacrificed stability and
balance to leave Lonnie for their sakes, and she went from working part-time at a grocery
store to working over sixty hours a week. She’s given so much for Will and Jonathan, and he
can never be mad at her for that.
And in the end, he still loves her as fiercely and as much as she loves him, whether or not she
knew about what Lonnie did to him.
Will wishes that his mom were here with a box of Band-Aids, that he could cry and whine
like he did when he was little as she would gently shush and comfort him and put the Band-
Aids over his injuries before wrapping him up in a hug that would make the world safe and
okay again. He wishes that she would whisper soothing words as she wrapped his head up
and made the pain go away. His mom may not have magic healing powers like Will thought
when he was little, but she’d still make him feel safe again.
Will would do anything for one of her hugs right now. He’s a lot taller than her now, but he
would happily make himself smaller so that he’d fit into her arms like he did when he was
younger. He wishes that he could cry to his mom. Because he doesn’t know what’s going to
happen, but dear God, he’s scared.
He has to be brave and strong and get through this, but he’s so scared. He has to be mature
and a grown-up, but he still feels like the same terrified little kid that he’s always been.
He has to get through this, but he doesn’t know how.
As the darkness and water swallows him whole, Will wishes for his mom, and he wishes for
Band-Aids.
Chapter End Notes
It doesn't matter how mature Will is, how much he’s suffered, how he's wise beyond his
years... he's still just a scared little boy that's been through so much and just wants his
mom.
If this broke your heart to read as much as it did mine to write, leave a comment or
Kudos. See you next time.
Survive
Chapter Notes
Hello! Here's another short chapter. One more short one, then there are some longer,
more disturbing chapters (which will be TW'd appropriately and skippable, don't worry).
Sorry it's short, but it's relevant. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

thought!

Trigger warnings:
- Head wounds
- Blood
- Mentioned torture
- Implied abuse
- Language
- Medical neglect
Will tries not to sob as his fingers gently explore the wound on the back of his head. He’s
biting down on the side of his hand not occupied with determining how bad the injury is, and
he’s pretty sure that he’s broken the skin, but it’s better than screaming.
There’s a deep gash, about four inches long and two or three inches wide, on the back of his
head, just starting at about the top of his ears. It’s raised, and Will can feel a weird ridge in
the bone that almost makes him black out when he presses on it gently.
Tears are running down his cheeks as he continues trying to gauge the severity, and iron fills
his mouth where he’s biting his hand in an attempt to stay quiet. The wound is still trickling,
and he can feel it adding another layer to the dried blood all down his neck and back. His hair
is matted with it, too. It honestly feels really gross - more so than horrifying, honestly.
Will slowly gets up from the cot he’s sitting on, careful not to fall, and goes over to the sink,
where he pours some water into his hand and attempts to gently massage the blood out of his
hair and out of the injury. It hurts like hell, but the flakes of blood and orange-red going down
the sink are better down the drain than on his head.
They brought Will to this room about five minutes ago. It’s the same gray cell that Brenner
and Owens had him stay in when he first arrived, which feels like a million years ago.
Will wonders what happened to Owens - is he alive? Is he okay?
His thought process is stopped dead in its tracks when he accidentally presses on the ridge.
All thoughts disappear as he almost falls forward as his vision goes white and he yelps loudly
around his hand in pain.
Shit. His skull might be broken - and if not broken, definitely messed up somehow. What’s he
going to do?
Will thinks through the fog about what to do with his head injury as he stumbles back over to
collapse on the cot. It obviously needs stitches, and the ridge that hurts so much might be a
fracture in his skull. The dizziness and fogginess and pain might be because of a brain injury
- God, Will hopes not - but if it is, he needs medical care sooner rather than later.
Unfortunately, though, he’s not getting any. Crap.
But then he gets one of his trademark ‘things-are-really-bad-so-I’m-about-to-do-something-

absolutely- batshit’ ideas.
Can you reuse butterfly stitches?
Well, Will’s about to see.

He removes his hand from between his teeth and carefully peels the butterfly stitches off of
where the guard hit him with the gun what feels like a lifetime ago, preserving the stickiness
where he can, before raising them to the back of his head.
He fails to keep quiet and gives a cry when he tries to pull the skin together to apply the
stitches, but despite the white-hot agony that doing so creates, he does manage to stick the
skin back together using the butterfly stitches.
Will sticks the six of them along the wound, spacing them out as evenly as he can. It’s
painful, and his quiet whimpers as he works reflects this, but it isn’t long before the job is
done.
He makes a stilted sound that’s between a sob and a sigh as he tries to adjust to the skin being
pulled together by the butterfly bandages.
Will can survive.
He’s suffered throughout his life.
He’s felt so much pain, both emotional and physical.
He can make it through.
He can wait for medical care. He can survive the pain. He can survive the blood loss.
Will can survive.
Chapter End Notes

Poor Will :(
Once again, sorry it's short. One more short one tomorrow, then a longer one. Thank you
for reading and see you soon! Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you
soon!
Also, I now have a Buy Me a Coffee account. If you want to support or commission me,
please go on! (No pressure, though, I post this for free and have absolutely 0
requirement to enjoy my work.) Here's the link:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/magicschoolbusdropout08
Alright. Bye, guys! See you next time!

Fed
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's another chapter where Will, unfortunately, does not get a break.
I'm also implementing a countdown upon popular demand. It’s a few chapters until Will
kicks ass and the torture stops, and then he gets a kind of break.
Countdown to break: 4 chapters.

thought!
Special thanks to my online friends Kade and Lilz for reading, and thank you to my
therapist Mark as well.
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Torture
- Forced feeding
- Vomit
- Choking
- Body horror
- Needles
- Blood
- Pain
Will’s quietly lying on the cot on his side (both because it doesn’t hurt his head as much and
because, if he has another seizure, he won’t choke), not making a sound as he just lies still.
He can’t sleep, no matter how much he tries, but there’s not much else to do, whether because
of the room itself or his injuries.
The door clicks open, and his eyes fly open too, moving to look at the people walking in.
There’s a harsh-looking woman, carrying a large duffel bag, and two guards, one of whom is
carrying a chair.
This can’t be good.
“Nineteen.” the woman says. “My name is Dr. Wakefield. I am here to help you.”
Will sits up, immediately struggling not to throw up with the vertigo.
The guard puts down the chair about two feet away from the wall, and the woman - the
doctor - sets down her bag on the end of the bed and opens it.
The guard who set down the chair grabs him and forces him into it, immediately tying both
him and his hands to it with rope.
Will sighs as he’s fastened in. He’s sick of this shit. What are they going to do now? Beat him
up? Make him have another seizure? Who even cares?
The doctor approaches with a suture kit and some other medical supplies. “Remain calm.
We’re going to repair the injury in the back of your head.”
She steps behind him with the stuff, and next thing he knows is agony.
The doctor pulls off the butterfly stitches before digging something deeper into the wound,
causing so much pain that Will starts to scream.
“Stop screaming. I am aligning the break in your skull.” the doctor says. “I understand that
the pressure is painful, but being loud does nothing.”
Will bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet as she keeps digging around in the open
wound and pressing on the ridge that seems to be the button to light up his nervous system.
Eventually, all he can taste and think and feel is blood and pain.
After what feels like forever, the pressure on the ridge stops, and more specific pains from
needles start along the outsides of the cut, before the skin is pulled together again, causing
more pain.
“Done.” the doctor says as Will cries and struggles not to be loud at the pain still lingering.
“You will most likely need surgery, but that can be a reward for when you tell Lieutenant-
Colonel Sullivan where Eleven is.”
Will sobs, and the doctor huffs. “Do you have any other severe injuries that require
attending?”
“Good.” she says, putting the medical equipment back in her bag and getting out another,
smaller kit. “In that case, we can do what we need to.”
“What do you need to do?” Will asks nervously.
The doctor opens the kit and starts removing a tube. “From my understanding, you are
dangerously underweight. As Lieutenant-Colonel Sullivan has insisted that we keep you alive
until Eleven’s location is known, you must eat.”
“So- wait, wait, where’s the food, then?” Will asks, watching her hands as she fastens the
tube and hooks it up to a bag.
She steps forward, and with a nod to the guard, his head is grabbed by his hair and held still
before being pulled back.
With that, the tube is pushed up his nose and down his throat, leaving Will gagging and
sputtering at the foreign and awful feeling that’s reminiscent of a vine being forced down his
throat.
Fluid starts to leave the bag and flow into his stomach, and Will can’t breath. He’s gagging
on the tube down his throat and it burns and he can’t breathe, oh, God, he can’t breathe-
“Where is Eleven?” the guard holding his head asks.
Will just retches, the vomit dribbling down his chin and shirt as he tries fruitlessly to lean
forward so that he can spit it out.
The doctor sighs and flicks the bag connected to the tube.
Next thing he knows, he’s seizing and choking on the vomit that he isn’t sure if it’s stomach
acid or the liquidized food.
“Where is Eleven?” is the last thing he hears as the oxygen deprivation wins and he blacks
out, the pain and tube and seizing too much to stand while awake.
It’s uncommon that Will’s grateful for sleep. The nightmares make sure of that. But he’s glad
to be free of the pain, even for a minute and even if he’s not sure if he can wake up.
Chapter End Notes
Oh, my poor sweet Will. Four more chapters of literal hell, then you get love and a little
break as well as proper medical care.
Thank you for reading and see you soon!

Grimes
Chapter Notes
🤷
Hello! Here's Chapter 36. Probably silly to post two chapters in one day, but they’re
both short, so...
Countdown to Will getting a break: 3 chapters

thought!
Overall rating: PG.

- Mentioned torture
“Try again. Where is Eleven?” Sullivan asks, sitting across the table from Will.
“I already told you. I. Do. Not. Know.” Will spits.
He’s been sitting in this chair for over an hour, attempting to answer a question which he does
not know the answer to - and that’s after he’s been put in the sensory deprivation tank again
and again over at least twelve hours (and has kept having seizures - another dozen or so since
the Nova Project took over).
Between the force-feedings (which happen every three hours), sensory deprivation tank
(which is twice a day for hours at a time), seizures (at least half a dozen a day), and his
injuries, Will feels like he’s going to collapse any minute. He’s stuck in a nightmare, and
there’s no way out.
“Not only are you siblings, but you both have powers. With the combination of the two,
Brenner thought that you two would have a psychic bond. You know where she is, even if
you cannot recall where.” Sullivan says.
“That- that doesn’t even make sense?” Will says. “How do I know where she is if I can’t
recall where?”
Sullivan sighs. “Nineteen, we have been here for over two days, yet you still have not given
us any information. Do you understand why that might be a problem? We need to find
Eleven.”
“Well, I don’t know where she is, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” Will says.
Sullivan shakes his head. “Nineteen, you do not understand the severity of your actions. You
are committing treason, and if you do not volunteer the information, we will have to forcibly
liberate it.”
Will gives a bitter laugh. “What else are you going to do? You have them shove tubes down
my throat. You have me put into the sensory deprivation tank over and over. You don’t help
me when I have seizures, and you have them hit me. What else are you going to do?”
Sullivan sighs. “There is a person whom I can have assigned to the project. He is the best
interrogator I know, and the best in the United States. He has cracked every hostile witness
thrown his way, and he has never failed to find the information he’s looking for. So unless
you want to be interrogated by this man, I suggest you tell me what you know.”
Will’s quiet for a moment, suppressing the fear as best he can. “I’ve already told you.”
Sullivan waves his hand at the guards. “Take him back to his room. Keep him there until I tell
you to release him. I’ll call in Grimes.”
Chapter End Notes
Sorry this was so short, but the next one is much longer and much more intense. Please
let me know what you thought in the comments or leave a Kudos if you're up for it, and
see you next time!
Wishes
Chapter Notes
This is a dark chapter. Please check the trigger warnings, and if you don’t know if you
can handle it, please skip.
Here are some resources if you've gone through something similar and are struggling:
https://www.rainn.org/
https://www.safehelpline.org/
https://victimconnect.org/resources/national-hotlines/
https://www.crossroadscares.org/helpsexualassault
Stay safe and thank you for reading!
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Childhood sexual abuse (non-descriptive)
- Victim blaming
- Sexualization
- Self-hatred
- Incest
- Language
- Violence
- Mentioned eating disorder
Will’s dragged into the white room by his biceps, his legs given out after they hit him on the
bottom of his spine with a gun.
Inside, there’s a man with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard, sitting calmly at a table which
has a chair across from him.
“Hello. Please, take a seat.” the man says, gesturing to the chair. Will just looks at him
haggardly. He has a head injury, just had a seizure and has had dozens over the past few
days, just got hit in the back with a gun, has pain in his throat from the feeding tube, and can
hardly stand or think or move. And he says ‘please take a seat’?
The guards move him and unceremoniously drop him into the chair, where he sits in a
slumped position as the man just stares at him.
“Coffee?” he offers.
Will shakes his head, ignoring the dizziness he gets in return. What’s this guy’s game? Why’s
he offering coffee and acting kind? Something’s wrong.
“Alright, then. Your name’s Nineteen, right?” the man asks.
Will doesn’t answer. He can’t stand the idea of calling himself ‘Nineteen’, but… he can’t tell
his real name, either. He doesn’t know what to answer.
The man nods to himself. “I’m Nathan Grimes. They said that you had some information that
you aren’t giving up.”
Will still doesn’t answer.
“I’m honestly impressed with you. The fact that you aren’t giving up the location of your
sister, even though you’re going through so much - plus the fact that you’re… what,
fourteen? Fifteen? - is genuinely inspiring.” the man says. “Or- well, it would be if the
information wasn’t a threat to the United States.”
Will just stares silently.
The man sighs. “Alright, alright. You don’t like me. I get it. And I’ll leave you alone the
second that I get that location. Capisce?”
“I don’t know it.” Will says in a raspy voice. Everything that’s been happening - the force-
feedings, the vomiting, the screaming, the crying - is making his throat raw.
The man nods. “Of course you don’t.”
Will blinks. Wait, what?
“I believe you. I don’t think you know anything. But I do think that you could still be useful.”
the man says.
“How?” Will asks.
“Sullivan tells me that you and Eleven have a… psychic bond or whatever. And I think that,
if you could get through to her and beg her to save you, she would come.” the man says.
“I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.” Will says.
The man nods. “I don’t think you can do it at will. But I think that, if you were afraid enough,
she would feel it.”
That causes the unease that’s been swirling around to settle like a rock in his stomach.
“What?” Will asks.
The man smiles, and the calm, kind person act drops. In that second, he looks like a predator.
Like he wants to hunt Will down and rip out his throat.
“Tell me, Nineteen: what’s your greatest fear?” he asks, a cruel glint in his eye.
“What?” Will asks.

“Your greatest fear. I want to know what it is. So tell me.” the man says.
Nope. Nope. Nu-uh. Like hell is this person going to know, especially with that look in his
eye.
“Don’t worry about that. All you need to know is that I’m bringing Eleven in.” the man says.
Will doesn’t answer. He stays silent.
The man sighs. “Fine, fine. We’ll do this the hard way.”
His heart’s stopped as the man leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “I know you
have loved ones captive here. Jonathan and Argyle and Mike, I believe?”
Will can’t breathe. No, no, no.
“You’re starting to piss me off, Nineteen. And I don’t think you want to piss off someone
who could have your brother shot in the head with a single word.” the man smiles.
No. Oh, God, they can’t hurt Jonathan. They can’t do that. Oh, no, oh, God.
The man gets up, grabs his hair, and pulls his head back, forcing Will’s throat to be exposed.
The vulnerability that he’s being forced to show scares him.
“So tell me right now. What’s your greatest fear?”

Will decides to use his hard-earned ability to lie.
“S-spiders.” Will lies.
“Try again.” the man says. What? Why doesn’t he buy that?
“Heights.” Will lies again.
The man slaps him, sending a sting through his face. “Try. Again.”
Will doesn’t answer.
“Try again. Or we hurt your family instead of you.” the man snarls.
Will just doesn’t answer. Maybe they’ll give up.
The man lets go of his hair. “Alright, then. Your little friend Mike is up. We’re going to start
pulling his nails out with pliers in twenty seconds. That’s how long you have for me to make
a call on this radio-” the man pulls a Walkie-Talkie out of a holder on his belt “-and for me to
tell them to stop. And I won’t do that until I get the truth about what you’re afraid of.”
The man starts counting, and Will’s heart stops. No. No, they can’t hurt Mike. No, no, no.
They can’t hurt Mike, they can’t hurt Mike, they can’t hurt Mike- no, no-
“I- I’m afraid of planes!” Will stutters.
“That’s a lie. Eight, seven, six…” the man says.

“S- I’m afraid of sex, okay?!” Will cries, the truth forced out by the fear wrapped around his
heart. “Don’t hurt him! Please, just don’t hurt him!”
The man stops counting, a cruel, giddy smile taking over his face as he says “Stop that order”
into the Walkie-Talkie.
Will can’t breathe. His ribs are too tight, his lungs are stuck, his heart has stopped, he must be
dead or dying or having a heart attack with how afraid he is.
“Nice to finally hear the truth.” the man smiles. “I was almost beginning to think we’d never
get it.”
Will isn’t sure whether fear or embarrassment is stronger right now.
“I believe you. You wouldn’t look so terrified and devastated if you were lying right now.
Besides, that kind of desperation is hard to fake.” the man says. “Now. Tell me why you’re
afraid of sex.”
He’s so humiliated, he won’t talk about this, he can’t do this.
“Do you want me to start the countdown again? They can start chopping off your friend’s
fingers with one word from me. So unless you want your friend permanently disfigured, I
suggest you start talking.”
Will doesn’t answer. He can’t speak around the lump in his throat.
“Ten, nine, eight…” the man starts, looking almost bored.
“B-because- because of my dad!” Will shouts. “Stop!”

He’s crying, because this is just his luck, of course the first time that he ever talks about this
out loud or admits it is under the threat of his loved ones being tortured to a fucking
psychopath.
The man stops counting with another smile. “Why?”
Will shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Come on, why did your dad make you afraid of sex? Tell me. Or your brother has his teeth
pulled out one by one.” the man says.
Will sobs as he tries to force the horrible truth through his lips. “B-because- he would- he w-
would-”
“Come on, we don’t have all day. Don’t be a baby. Truth or your family suffers.” the man
says exasperatedly.
“B-because he w-would have s-sex with me.” Will sobs, and there it is. The truth’s in the
open in one of the worst scenarios imaginable.
Will hates how the words feel in his mouth, how the bile rises in his throat at the memories.
How he would lie awake the nights his mom worked late waiting for the inevitable heavy
footsteps and opening of his bedroom door, how when his mom and Jon would leave the
house he would hide because that meant it was just him and Lonnie home and he knew what
that meant, crying in the bathroom as he’d clean himself up after Lonnie had finished and
done what he wanted to Will, the smell and taste of liquor on Lonnie’s breath as he would-
Will sobs, letting his chin touch his chest as he cries in pain and humiliation and terror.
It’s more mortifying than anything he’s ever experienced, having to admit it. That was a
secret that was supposed to stay between just him and Lonnie. That was a secret that he was
supposed to take to his grave.
And now it’s a secret that someone who’s, according to Sullivan, the ultimate interrogator
and obviously a sadist, knows.
Will wishes he were anywhere but here. That he could hide or run or curl up into a little ball
and never come out ever again.
The man laughs.
Will’s admitted his darkest secret, his shame, and the man is fucking laughing. How dare he?
If he weren’t so damn humiliated, he would be pissed. But, as it is, all it does is make the
shame more acute, makes him want to curl up and die.
“Come on, that’s all you’re gonna say? No gory details? Come on, tell a few stories!” the
man goads.
Will sobs again as he shakes his head wildly, the dizziness so bad he might pass out.
“You can’t just say that and not give some details! Come on, what did he do? Did he fuck you
in your ass or in your mouth? Come on! I’m curious!” the man mocks, and Will could throw
up, because it’s not being bad enough he’s being forced to say it and admit what he’s kept
hidden for so long, but he’s being ridiculed, and maybe he deserves it, but that doesn’t change
that he just can’t handle it.
The man grabs Will’s jaw and holds him still, staring at his eyes. “Tell me.” he says
monotonously, the joking gone.
Will closes his eyes and just cries.
“How about this: for every question you answer, another of your loved ones survives. Hm?
You give me some details, and we don’t torture them before we blow their brains out. I have
the radio right here. So you answer three questions, they stay alive and unharmed today. If
you don’t answer… well, let’s not go there, shall we?” the man says.
Will wishes he were dead.
Because it doesn’t matter how horrible those memories are, how humiliated and stupid and
weak he feels when he so much as thinks about it, he won’t - he can’t - let his family get hurt.
He can’t let them die just because he’s embarrassed about what it was like when he and his
father were home alone and nobody could catch them, or because he feels sick to his stomach
when he thinks about the times when the dark of night hid all sins.
And that means he’ll answer this man’s questions if it means they’re okay.
The man smiles again, the coldness gone as quickly as the previous laughter. This guy really
is insane, isn’t he?
“How long and how?” he asks breezily.
“W-when I was four to when I was te-ten.” Will says, stuttering on the tears after a minute.
“I-”
“How? Come on, Nineteen, you didn’t finish my question.” the man says.
Will takes a hiccuping breath as he tries to get himself under control. It was years ago, come
on, pull yourself together. It wasn’t that bad. At least you’re a boy and weren’t like those girls
on the news who got pregnant and had to have their fathers’ babies. It wasn’t that bad. Pull
yourself together.
He tries to calm himself down, but all that does is make him cry harder.
‘Stop crying.’ the cruel little voice in his head says. ‘Stop crying. It was a long time ago, and
it wasn’t even that bad. It’s not like he raped you. You weren’t screaming or fighting back,
were you? It was just sex, and it was a long time ago. Now stop crying and man up.’
Will wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Um… an-anal.” he says, and he’s so
embarrassed that he’s sure that he’s bright red. “But h-he- blo-oral sometimes.”
The man laughs. “Can’t blame him. Even in scrubs, you have a nice ass. And your lips look
pretty, too. Would look good doing some pretty nasty stuff.”
Will brings his knees up to his chest as well as he can with a throbbing spine and wraps his
arms around them as his skin crawls. He just wants to disappear.
He doesn’t want to talk about this, he wants to pretend it never happened just like before (he’s
made it so long without so much as a word about this, he’s made it so long acting like nothing
had ever happened, and now everything’s ruined).
He wants to rip off his skin and destroy every part touched by Lonnie and looked at by other
people who have seen him and thought ‘sex’ and ‘attractive’ instead of ‘Will Byers, he likes
art and D&D and music’, get rid of every piece of his body looked at by people who have
seen ‘feminine for a boy’ and ‘mature for his age’ and ‘curvy’ instead of seeing him as a kid
(he’s just a kid, he’s still just a kid, just let him be a kid).
He wishes he didn’t have a body to have sex appeal in the first place, that he could just be
some floating formless entity without the problems that come with a body, that he could just
be Will instead of someone with a body flawed enough that he hates it while being apparently
‘attractive’ enough that other people… far from hate his body.
Will wishes that other people just stopped seeing him as desirable. But they don’t.
He wishes that he was still as pure and good as the Cleric that he gets to be in D&D. But he’s
not. He’s been used and now he’s soiled and wrong and dirty.
Will sits there and cries into his thighs - the ones that have been described as ‘thick’ and
‘shapely’ and ‘plump’ and ‘hot’ just enough times to make him hate them, just enough times
to make him especially glad when the fat on his thighs disappeared when he started starving -
as he wishes that he had never been touched and damaged.
But wishes don’t come true.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Will. What do you think Grimes and Sullivan are going to do with that
information?
Also, FUCK LONNIE BYERS, THAT ABUSIVE PIECE OF LLAMA SHIT.
Please tell me your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice).
Also, if you're up for it, think again about Lonnie's 'gift' to Will with the context of his
sexual abuse.
True Torture
Chapter Notes
Hey. Here's the last chapter where Will's tortured. It's also the worst one yet. If you have
thoughts on this, please don't comment them on the next chapter - I did a double-update
so that it would be easier to skip this one. I hope you can get through this chapter and
continue reading.
Overall rating: NC-17.

Trigger warnings:
- Gang-rape
- Sexual assault
- Graphic sexual assault
- Derogatory language
- Choking
- Forced feminization
- A fuck-ton of non-consensual stuff
- Language
- Just... yeah. This is a really dark chapter.
⚠️
There's another chapter ahead, and nobody blames you.⚠️
If you aren't sure if you're gonna be okay and not get triggered, please skip this.
Thank you for reading and stay safe!
Will’s curled up against the wall when the day starts. His knees are to his chest, his arms
wrapped around his legs and his forehead pressed to his thighs. He’s pressed himself in the
corner, trying to make himself smaller. Maybe if he’s small enough he can disappear. Maybe
if he’s small enough they’ll stop hurting him. That’s all he wants - for them to stop hurting
him. He doesn’t even care if he’s trapped as long as the pain and the fear stops.
He doesn’t know what time it is. They made him change into a sweatsuit again, and they took
away his watch and there’s no clock or windows. All he knows is the intervals.
Four times a day (every 2 hours, if he had to guess), they shove the feeding tube down his
throat, twice a day for hours at a time they put him into the sensory deprivation tank, and
after about twelve hours of excruciating pain and seizures and fear, he’s locked into the cell
again by himself until the cycle starts over. It’s been two cycles now, and it’s been one since
the man Grimes wrenched his secret out of him.
The flickering fluorescent lights off of the gray making up every part of the room is making
his head hurt even more. He wishes that he had access to the light switch. The darkness
would be better than the flickering.
He’s used the sink several more times to try to get the blood off the back of his head where it
hits during the seizures. It doesn’t fix the pain radiating through his brain or the feeling of his
head being stuffed with cotton, but at least the feeling of soft hair instead of clotted blood
offers some comfort. At least he feels cleaner and more sanitary. At least he doesn’t leave
flecks of rust whenever he touches his head on something. Small mercies, he supposes.
Will’s kept his eyes shut for the past few hours that he’s been sitting here. There’s nothing
that he can stand to look at. All there is is gray around him, and even on him with the
sweatsuit that’s his only option. The light even makes his skin look gray, with the only thing
standing out the black, blocky letters on his forearm that read ‘ 019 ’. Somehow, they’re
worse than the never-ending gray.
He flinches when he hears the door open and boots on the floor of his cell. The cacophony
stops once the door closes and locks, and it goes from several steps of boots to one. He opens
his eyes and glances from under his arm at a pair of shoes next to him, and they shift as the
person they belong to goes into a crouch next to him.
“Hi there.” a male voice says. “You’re Nineteen, right?”
Will doesn’t answer. He just holds his legs tighter.
“Come on. Let’s see your face. Hm?” the man says. Will doesn’t move. “I’m in charge of
your punishment now. They told me about you when they sent me over. Come on, let me see
your face.”
When Will doesn’t comply, still silent and unmoving, the man grabs Will’s head and turns his
face to see. Will looks at the man for a second, getting a picture of him. He has dark eyes,
hair, and stubble. The man looks like Lonnie. He doesn’t like it.
The man holds his chin as his eyes drag over Will, looking over every inch and analyzing
every detail. Will tries to move to look away, but the man tightens his grip. He doesn’t know
why, but on top of the fear of whatever today’s treatment is, he feels uneasy, like his gut’s
telling him something’s wrong.
When he looks over to the door to avoid making eye contact with the man holding his face,
he sees five other men, standing next to the wall. They’re more relaxed than the other people
who come in. Some are leaning against the wall. They’re all watching Will and the man,
some smirking or smiling, others with detached interest. It creeps him out. Something’s up.
He just doesn’t know what it is.
The man finally releases Will’s chin after a minute. “Hm. You know, when they were telling
me about you, they didn’t tell me how fucking pretty you are. You look just like a pretty little
girl.” the man says, bringing his other hand up to stroke Will’s hair. Will’s blood runs cold.
This isn’t how they normally treat him. What is this? What are they doing? “I don’t think that
Nineteen is a good enough name for a pretty little thing like you. How about I call you…
mmm… darling instead? You are quite delicate and small, after all. You really are darling."
“Not a girl.” Will says in a voice thick and rough from fear and screaming.
“No, you are. I mean, have you seen yourself? Such delicate features, feminine curves…” the
man squeezes Will’s hip through his sweatsuit. He flinches at the feeling, curls into himself
more, and tries to fight the urge to whimper or cry. He wants this man to get his hands off of
him, to stop calling him a girl, to stop looking at him like prey. “Perfect little girl.”
Will goes to object, but is too stunned at the man’s next words. “The real question is if you’ll
feel like one.”
The man grabs his face harshly and forces their lips together, moving his lips roughly against
Will’s. He tries to cry out, but the man’s grip on Will’s cheeks tightens as he uses the
opportunity of Will’s mouth being open to shove his tongue down his throat.
Will doesn’t understand. What are they getting at? What are they trying to do? Why are they
doing this?
He tries to push the man off, unwrapping his arms to plant his palms against the man’s chest
and shove him away, but it doesn’t work. The man just grabs Will’s wrists and moves them to
be pinned against the wall with one hand above Will’s head.
After a few horrible moments that feel like a lifetime, the man pulls away. Will realizes that
tears are starting to track down his cheeks, leaving damp trails. “Definitely a girl. Feel so
good to kiss. So beautiful.”
He’s already terrified and confused, but it gets even worse when the man’s hand that isn’t
holding his wrists goes from his cheek to the bottom of his shirt. Upon seeing Will’s face
contorted with fear and horror, the man stops and smiles.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna hurt you. Nothing I do is gonna hurt. I care about you.
Why would I want to hurt something I care about?”
Will just stares at the man who looks like Lonnie in shock and fear. He still doesn’t
understand.
The man takes off Will’s shirt despite his protests and whimpers, and he drags his hand down
Will’s torso. “See? So pretty. Shame you have all these bruises. I like my girls with porcelain
skin.”
Will’s brain is screaming at him to move, to fight, to scream, to do something, but he’s
frozen.
The man starts pinching and prodding him, ignoring his obvious discomfort, and Will
squirms away, further to the wall. Eventually, the man gets to Will’s chest, and Will cries
harder as a miserable whine is forced from his throat as the man pinches his nipple. “Even
have perfect little tits. You’re really so pretty. I’m gonna enjoy this.”
The man kisses him again as Will’s tears fall. Apparently, he doesn’t mind the dampness of
Will’s cheeks.
When he’s done kissing Will (which… Will doesn’t even want to call it kissing. It’s not
romantic. It’s cruel), he grabs a fistful of Will’s hair and yanks his head back, exposing his
throat, which he starts to kiss and nip at as he moves down Will’s torso. He can feel hickeys
and bite marks forming in the man’s wake.
Will hates it. He’s afraid and this is scary and gross and he hates it. Even without the fact that
he doesn’t want this, it feels wrong. He just wants it to stop.
He cries as the man goes back up his torso and kisses him on the lips again.
“Please.” Will sobs the second the man pulls away. “Please, please, just stop. I’ll do what you
want, I promise, but- please, just stop.”
“Hm.” the man says, pulling away and looking like he’s contemplating. “What I want-” he
slams a fist into Will’s ribs, smiling when he can’t keel over because of his wrists above his
head holding him upright and laughing at his groan of pain. “Is for you to be a good little girl
for me. For me and my friends. Got it?”
Will just sobs.
“Aw, don’t be like that, darling. It’s not going to hurt. I know that, deep down, you want this.
We aren’t going to hurt you- well, except in a good way.” the man smiles.
That’s a fucking lie.

When Will doesn’t respond, just hanging limply from his wrists, the man sighs. “Come help
me out!” he calls over to the door.
Footsteps echo in the room as the people against the wall walk over. Will had honestly
forgotten they were there.
When there are six men around him in the corner, Will’s fear becomes full-fledged panic.
He’s trapped. He’s held against the wall by his wrists, and he’s half-naked, and he’s
surrounded by men who are clearly going to hurt him, and the door is locked with a
fingerprint scanner. He’s trapped.
He doesn’t know what else to do, so he just starts to curl up into a small ball, trying to bring
his knees to his chest. Maybe if he’s in a ball, they can’t get to him?
Nope. Instead, one crouches down next to the one who kissed him grabs his legs and pulls
them back down, pressing his own folded leg against Will’s knees to keep him in that
position.
Will’s still frozen. He needs to do something - use his powers, kick and scream, fight,
something - but it’s like he can’t move.
When he gets crowded further into the corner, all he can make him do is try to turn away to
the wall.
The man tsks and pulls him back to face him. “Now, now. All you have to do is be good and
do what we tell you, and it’ll be over before you know it. Can’t you do that, darling?”
Will just turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Come on, Brian, it’ll learn by doing. Let’s just get started.” another man says.
It takes Will a minute to realize the ‘it’ is him.
The man - Brian - starts to speak. “I think you might be right.” he says, and Will can hear the
smile in his voice. “I’ll go first.”
The pressure on him disappears as someone else grabs his wrists, and Will doesn’t
understand - what’s happening?
He gets the hint when his shoes are gone, and his pants start being tugged down by the
bottom of the legs.
That’s enough to snap Will out of the weird frozen funk he’s in, and he starts kicking his feet.
“No. No, no, no, no, no-” Will says, kicking desperately in an attempt to get the man’s hands
away from him. “No, please, no-”
“Please what?” the man asks.
“Please stop.” Will pleads.
The man takes off his shoe and hits Will’s knee hard with the hard bottom, causing a crack in
his kneecap and a scream to force itself out of his lips at the pain that it brings.
“Wrong answer. What do you think the right answer is?”
Will opens his eyes and looks at the man with tears both in his eyes and streaming down his
face.
“I like them loud. Come on, darling, what’s the right answer?”
Will doesn’t answer. He knows pain. He can do pain. He’s not going to answer.
“The correct answer is ‘Please, Brian, keep going’.” the man smiles. “Repeat that for me.”
Will shakes his head.
The man twists his ankle until it makes a sick cracking sound and floods Will’s veins with
pain.
“We’ll get you talking soon enough, you’ll see.” the man smiles. “Just behave, and it’ll all be
okay.”
Another of the men holds his legs down to stop him kicking as the other man finishes
stripping him down to his underwear.
Will tries to curl in on himself, hide his body from these men, but he’s stopped by his wrists
still pinned to the wall and his legs held down.
The man smiles at him. “Come now, darling, wouldn’t this next part be more comfortable on
the bed?”
He starts to slide his hands up Will’s legs, and that snaps Will out of his frozen state and into
action.
“NO!” he screams as the man starts to inch more and more on top of him, thrashing and
screaming. The lights flicker off and on as he puts out as much electricity as he can, trying to
protect himself. The electricity doesn’t work, though - he’s too scared to visualize it. “NO!
DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME! GET AWAY
FROM ME! LIKE HELL!”
The man grabs Will’s throat tightly, cutting off his shouting with the air supply. “Funny thing
is, you’re my little girl. Your opinion doesn’t matter. What you want doesn’t mean shit. Come
on.” he says, grabbing Will by the shoulders and dragging him to the cot.
Will takes the opportunity to struggle, and he attempts to hit or kick as he starts shouting
again.
The man just pushes him down on the cot and pins his wrists to the mattress next to his head
as he gets over Will and starts to kiss him again.
Eventually, Will manages to get his knee up and knees the man in the dick, causing him to
keel over and be half-lying on Will. For a second, he’s proud of himself, until his wrists are
squeezed so hard that it elicits a pained gasp and the man leans over to hiss in his ear.
“I told you to fucking behave. You’re going to have to pay for every infraction. You know
that, right?” the man hisses.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Will snarls back. It’s all he can think to do.
The man laughs, a cruel, harsh sound. “You’re mine. Not yours. Your body? It’s not yours,
it’s mine. And what do we do with things that are ours?”
Will squeezes his eyes shut again as the man slips his fingers into the sides of Will’s
underwear over his hips.
“Whatever we want.” the man says.
He yanks Will’s underwear down, and Will wishes he were dead. He’s fucking naked and
there are six men in the room who clearly want to have sex with him. Fuck.
He isn’t sure what to do. The only thing his powers are doing is messing with the lights, and
he obviously can’t fight off six men when he’s incapacitated by his injuries and they each
weigh at least twice as he does.
But he knows that this isn’t happening without him giving it his all to protect himself.
So when the man on top of him sticks his fingers in Will’s mouth, Will chomps down as hard
as he can, earning a crunch and iron filling his mouth for his efforts.
The man curses loudly and yanks his hand away, leaving Will with blood and spit dribbling
down his chin.
“FUCK!” he shouts.
Will uses the opportunity to try to squirm out from under the man and escape. As the man
curses one more time, shaking his hand as if to get the pain out, he snarls at Will.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO BEHAVE!” he shouts, slamming the side of his fist into Will’s
ribs.
He hears the crunch before the pain sends his already-fried pain receptors going nuts.
The man undresses himself, still cursing, and when he gets his belt off, he hits Will in the
face with the buckle.
Will cries out, but he just gets a hand over his mouth.
“Behave.” the man snarls. “Stay still, and don’t scream. Fight back, and we do this to your
family instead. You want this to happen to your brother? To your little friend Mike?”
Will stills immediately.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. So be good or we hurt your family. Got it?”
Will doesn’t respond, but he does stop struggling and squeezes his eyes shut. Don’t be weak.
Stay strong and stay quiet and it’ll be over soon enough. Just pretend you’re little again.
You’ve lived through this before, you can do it again, right? But your family wouldn’t be able
to. So just let it happen, and everything will be just fine. Better you than anybody else. At
least you can take it.
The man kisses him again, pawing at him in a way that makes him nauseated. He thinks there
should be a different name for this kind of kiss. It doesn’t have love, or passion, or anything
good in it. It’s just anger and hatred.
As the man starts doing horrible things, he lets his mind drift off into the haze that it’s always
gone into when this happens. It’s like nothing’s real, and this is just a bad dream. Like he’s
actually somewhere else.
He feels himself cry, and he hears someone whimpering and pleading and it takes a minute to
realize that it’s him making the pitiful sounds.
But that doesn’t matter. You’re somewhere else, remember?
Will pretends to be somewhere else as his tears drip into his ears and hair instead of down his
face due to his position on his back.
Will thinks about the feeling of tears making his eyelashes and eyelids heavy instead of the
man forcing fingers into him, spit the only form of lubricant.
Will listens to the sound of the air conditioner instead of the man’s moans as he jerks himself
off with the hand not inside Will.
Will looks at the ceiling and pretends that he’s quietly painting in his room in Lenora instead
of lying here being violated despite his pleas.
He can still hear himself repeating “Please. Please. Please, don’t. Please. Stop. Please.” His
mouth is operating on its own at this point. He wishes that they would listen.
He moves his wide, unseeing eyes leaking tears to squeeze them shut when the man finishes
with a loud moan, feeling hot liquid splash over his stomach that he knows is the man’s cum.
He wants to throw up. At least it’s over.
It’s not.
The man slides off of Will, and someone else takes his place. He hears the bed creak and sees
the light change from behind his eyelids. Will feels strange, as though he’s both there and
watching like it’s happening to someone else. “Don’t. Please. I’ll do anything.” he says,
saying something of his own accord for the first time in a while in a last-ditch attempt to save
himself.
He hears a chuckle, feels a hand on his cheek, before he’s hit hard enough on his already-
injured cheek that his head turns. “Keep begging.” the new man says. “It’s hot. I like when
you try to fight back. I like when whores like to pretend that they aren’t enjoying it. Keep it
up.”
Will goes back to how he was, having his mind focus on everything - anything - other than
what’s happening and ignoring the string of unheard prayers flowing from his lips. He hopes
that this man is just going to jerk himself off without touching Will and be on his way, but
those hopes are dashed when the man speaks, interrupting the horrible cacophony of Will’s
pleas, the other men’s laughter and chatter, and the air conditioner.
“Hold your knees.” this man says.

Will shakes his head. He may not be able to stop this, but he’s not going to help them, even if
it means they hurt him more.
“Alright, fine.” the man says. “Roll over onto your stomach, then.”
“No.” he says.
“Don’t be a brat. Just do what I tell you to.”
“No.” he repeats.
“Fine.” the man says. “Guess we have to have some other punishment, then. Damian, I know
this is your thing. You want a go before I do?”
“Hell yeah.” a man says. The man currently over Will laughs and gets off, before another gets
over him a few seconds later. He keeps his eyes shut.
Well, until he can’t breathe.
Hands close around the sides of his throat with thumbs pressing into his windpipe, and Will’s
eyes fly open as he frantically tries to claw to get the hands off his throat. “Nu-uh. You knew
there were consequences.” the man says.
He opens his mouth in a futile attempt to get air as his vision starts to become blurred. As
he’s about to pass out, the pressure is gone, and he greedily sucks in all the air he can get
before he starts to cough and choke.
“Let’s try that again. Hold your knees.” the man says. Will sobs and shakes his head.
“Guess we’re doing this the hard way, then.” the man sighs. Will’s legs are lifted up from
where they’ve gone limp on the mattress, and the man (assumedly) puts them over his
shoulders before forcing himself into Will.
Will can’t help but cry out at the feeling, his tears falling faster.
The man’s not done, and he continues pushing in until he bottoms out, at which point he
starts thrusting into Will. He pretends that his body’s not his own as it happens. No, this is
happening to someone else. This is happening to someone else, this is happening to someone
else, you’re okay, everything’s okay, this is happening to someone else- fuck-
Will sobs as his brain doesn’t let him leave this horrible, horrible situation.
So, as he’s violated, he prays.
Will doesn’t know what else to do. So even if it’s been a while and he isn’t even sure God’s
listening, he prays, though it’s more of a plea than a prayer. God, God, please, make them
stop. Please, nobody’s helping me, please, please, save me, God. God, please, make them
stop, I’m so scared, please, save me, God, haven’t I suffered enough, please, please, please,
just make them stop, please, I’ll never ask for anything ever again, please, just make them
stop-
The man comes in him with a moan, and in the back of Will’s mind behind all the horror and
disgust at this situation, he worries about the fact that they’re not using protection, oh, God, is
he going to get AIDS?
As that man leaves and another one takes his place, Will speaks again for the first time in a
while.
“Please just kill me.” Will pleads. “Please. Just let me die. Please.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Will hopes that they’re actually considering his suicidal request,
before-
“No.” the man on top of him says coldly.
With that, he takes his turn with Will ( like he’s a goddamn object to be passed around and
used, God, he wishes he were dead ), telling him how he’s a slut the whole time, before
finishing in him and leaving.
The only thing remotely okay right now is that the other men’s semen as well as Will’s own
blood has provided more of a lubricant. Maybe now it won’t hurt quite as much physically.
The next man speaks as soon as he gets over Will. “Come on, darling, open your eyes.” the
man says. “Come on, let me see those pretty eyes of yours.”
Will keeps them squeezed so tightly shut that the muscles in his forehead and around his eyes
hurt. No way. He’s not giving them the satisfaction. Plus, maybe if he keeps his eyes shut, it’ll
be over sooner.
“Open your eyes.” the man says, all hints of amusement gone and replaced with anger.
The man smacks him across the face. “I said open your eyes.”
Will shakes his head again.
The man sighs, and next thing Will knows is teeth on his throat.
It scares him. Unlike the previous hickeys left by the first guy, these are vicious enough to
draw blood, and it causes Will to thrash in a panic. His thoughts are just going in a spiral of
how close his teeth are to Will’s jugular and oh, God, is he going to tear Will’s throat out?
“The more you fight it, the longer this’ll take, darling. Not complaining, though. Feels good
when you move like that.” the man says against Will’s skin.
With that, he takes his turn before someone else takes his place, and all Will can do is sob.
What did he do to deserve this? Hasn’t he suffered enough?
It isn’t long after the fourth man uses him that Will’s body betrays him.
When Will comes, his cry is of despair rather than pleasure.
The other two men take their turns. Both are hitting him over and over and laughing and
calling him all sorts of derogatory names. Slut, whore, telling him he’s nothing and worthless
and practically a prostitute with the way he’s letting them use him… all of them make him
hate himself more. All of them make him wish he were dead more.
After they’re done, a cacophony of footsteps indicates that they’ve left the room. Will hears
the door click shut and lock.
Still lying on the cot where they left him, still covered in cum and his own blood, he slowly
opens his eyes.
He stares at the ceiling for a minute, not moving, hands still on the pillow next to his head,
his wrists already forming the purpling bruises of fingerprints from their grip as they- as
they-
He takes a few breaths, shallow and wheezing due to his bruised ribs and throat. Will doesn’t
know what to do or how to feel. He feels… well, bad, obviously. He feels… scared. And
angry. And hurt and grossed out and humiliated and embarrassed and horrified. And, of
course, there’s the physical pain radiating up his body from his leg and ribs and face and neck
and from where they- fuck, he can’t do this.
Will forces himself to move, to sit up and look at his body. He doesn’t want to look at the
broken, bruised mess of bones and skin that’s supposed to be him, but he has to know the
damage that he’s taken.
He looks down, and is immediately hit by a wave of nausea at the sight. His knee is busted
and bleeding, and his ankle is twisted in a way that’s definitely not right. His ribs and chest
are already becoming mottled with bruises, as are his arms and wrists. Blood from- from
where they- his blood. His blood is soaking into the mattress along with the men’s- bodily
fluids - and the mixture is dripping down his stomach and legs and the inside of his thighs.
He wants to throw up. He wants to kill himself. He wants to scream and cry. He wants to be
silent and never think about this again. He doesn’t know what he wants other than to go back
to before this happened. Will doesn’t care if he were in one of the Party’s D&D campaigns or
even if he were in Lenora getting bullied again as long as he hadn’t lived through this. He’d
even take going back to… an hour ago? Twenty minutes? How long did- how long did what
they did - even take? Has it been hours? Has it been minutes? Does it even matter? Whether it
took hours or minutes, it happened, and now he’s disgusting and damaged and filthy. And no
matter how bad he wants, he can’t reverse it.
Will looks back at his body, analyzing the damaged, disgusting mess that he’s been left as
before he lies back down on the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut again in an attempt not to
vomit. He isn’t sure if it’s the physical damage he’s sustained or the sight of his body slick
with fluid that he didn’t ever want there or the thought of what just happened that’s making
him feel so sick, but it’s hard just to keep from adding vomit to the mess on his stomach.
Closing his eyes doesn’t block out either the pain from his body or the pain from his
thoughts. It just dims the fluorescent lights. He wishes that his eyelids did block out what he’s
feeling. He wishes that he couldn’t feel. Maybe then he wouldn’t have so much pain running
through his nerves and through his mind. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so damn disgusting.
He prays again, though this time, it’s not pleading as much as angry. Why do you keep putting
me through this? Why did you abandon me, God, you lying piece of shit? I trusted you. I put
my faith in you. Why didn’t you save me? Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to
deserve this? Why do you hate me so much that you make me live through all these horrible
things? God, God, why would you let this happen? Why don’t you just let me die? Please,
please, just let me die already. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Will opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling again. He needs to get up and clean up. He can’t
lie here forever. He has to wash himself up and get dressed and try to salvage the cot.
In the poorly-lit small cell where Will Byers lies defiled and broken, quiet sobs begin to echo.
Unfortunately, nobody will hear them. Nobody will care. He is completely, utterly alone.
Chapter End Notes
Look. I know this was a hard chapter to read. It was hard for me to write. However, it
does serve a purpose later in the story. This will be the only and last graphic depiction of
sexual assault, though later there will be discussions of it, Will will think about it, and
small details of SA might be used against him by those seeking to harm him. There will
be warnings for each, and if you have to skip, that’s 100% okay.
If you skipped, I’m proud of you for making the choice to keep yourself mentally okay,
and this is the last chapter where this is graphically depicted. I love you and am so proud
of you.
I also wanted to say that I’m not trying to make what happened to Will seem okay or
‘hot’ in the slightest. My intention was to portray Will’s assault as a horrific act of
violence and a means of torture, and to express just how evil, vicious, and extremist the
people who took over Nina are.
Please be kind in the comments, and see you on the next chapter.
Escape
Chapter Notes
Hi! Thank you for bearing with me through the last chapter. Here's one that marks the
start of Will's little break, and I hope you enjoy more than the last one.

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, amaragf, anArsonisticGhoat and
Badgirlcoven for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and
Overall rating: R.
- Implied sexual assault
- Mentions of sexual assault
- Mentions of torture
- Language
- Death
- Blood
- Guns
Mike screams as he struggles against the restraints holding him to the chair. They’ve kept
him tied down for the past few days, only letting him up at gunpoint to go to the bathroom or
eat. As if the captivity isn’t bad enough, the pain from the burn on his back and where he hit
his head as they dragged him around this stupid project and tied him down is excruciating,
and the lack of anything other than gray in the room is driving him insane.
But worst of all is the screaming.
Apparently, he isn’t too far from where the others are being held, as he can hear shouting and
screaming that he recognizes as Will’s start and stop again every few hours. It always sends
him panicking and struggling and screaming, because oh, God, what are they doing to him to
make him scream like that?
He isn’t sure whether the screaming or absolute silence is worse, though. At least when Will’s
screaming, Mike knows that he’s alive.
The shouting and crying that was just echoing through the halls is gone now, though, and
that’s truly scary. With one last scream, everything went silent - is Will still alive?
So, even if it doesn’t do anything, Mike screams and struggles. He has to get to Will. He has
to protect him, he has to see if he’s okay, he has to- he has to do something-
He silences, though, when the door opens. Maybe, maybe they’ll take him to Will, maybe,
maybe, maybe-
Two men walk in, standing up so straight that Mike wonders if they have rods along their
backs and with guns in their arms.
One walks further into the room and goes over to Mike, who watches him with the dual
forces of suspicion and hope as the restraints are removed.
“Why- why are you letting me go?” Mike asks as he flexes his wrists.
“You are going to see Nineteen.” the man says.
Who the hell is Nineteen?
He’s pulled up, and he’s marched down the halls between the guards, wincing whenever his
shirt brushes against the burn on his back. That crazy doctor lady had looked and told him
that it was a second-degree chemical burn, and then she sprayed some really cold, painful
spray on it and told him he’d be fine. Hurts a little less, now, though, so that’s good, at least.
After about a minute, Mike’s brought into a large room, with military personnel all around a
gray tank ( sensory deprivation tank, his brain whispers) and around someone lying on the
floor.
It takes Mike a second to realize it’s Will.
“WILL!” Mike shouts, immediately running out from between the two guards (who make no
attempt to stop him - weird) to go to his friend’s side.
The second he gets close enough to actually see Will, though, the only words that can come
out of his suddenly-dry mouth are “Oh, God, what did they do to you?”
Will looks at him in what looks like terror from where he’s collapsed onto the ground.
His brown hair is matted with blood, and the gray sweatsuit he’s wearing is soaked in both
blood and water. His face and hands are mottled with bruises and cuts, and he has rivulets of
blood from cuts on his cheekbones and forehead. His neck looks worst of all - there are
bruises that are clearly the shape of fingerprints, and there are round bruises and bite marks as
well. His eyes are heavy-lidded, like he has a concussion, and he’s wheezing as he breathes.
Will’s lying on his side, half-curled around his stomach, and his legs and hips are at an
awkward angle in a way that suggests that there are injuries on the lower half of his body too.
Mike crouches next to Will, wincing as the burn on his back shifts with him. “Jesus- Jesus
Christ, Will, what-?”
Will looks at the people that are behind him and speaks in a rasping whisper that breaks
Mike’s heart. “Why is he here? What are you going to do?”
One of them speaks. “You are going to tell us where Eleven is. Past attempts to use you to
reach her have failed, which means you must be in contact in order to tell her not to come.
Thus-” Mike’s blood runs cold when he hears a gun cocked right behind his head “-you now
have motivation.”
He sees Will’s eyes go as wide as they can with the bruises and heaviness as Mike sits stock-
still, frozen thinking about the barrel undoubtedly behind his head.
“No.” Will whispers. “I don’t know where she is.”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the bang! that ends his life.
Instead, Will shouts “NO!”, and there’s a cracking sound, and then a choked gurgle, then
chaos.
Mike opens his eyes to see Will staggering to his feet, holding a gun and with the person
behind Mike lying on the ground.
As he’s watching, still kneeling, Will fires once, twice, three times, sending the people all to
the ground.
Will gives Mike a look, and it occurs to him that it means ‘get down, I don’t want to shoot
you’. So he does, covering his head as he gets into a position that reminds him of a turtle.
It isn’t long before he feels a hand on his shoulder blade, and he uncovers his head and ears.
“Mike?” Will rasps. “Mikey? Are you okay?”
Mike sits up, looking into Will’s desperate hazel eyes. “I’m fine.” he says. “I- I’m fine. But-
Jesus Christ , Will, what- what did they do to you?”
He reaches to touch Will’s cheek gently, almost to make sure that yes, he’s real, he’s alive but
Will flinches away before refusing to make eye contact. “I- it’s fine.” he says. “I’ll be fine.
But we have to get Jon and Argyle and get out of here.”
Mike nods. “Yeah- yeah, you’re right.” he says. “Can- can you walk?”
Will just stares at him, the fear coming back. “Wh-why wouldn’t I be able to walk?” he asks.
Mike nods to his legs, still at an awkward angle bent under him. “Your legs fold weird when
the bottom half of your body hurts.” he says. “You’ve always done that.”
Will looks guilty and upset for a minute - why? - before he nods. “Just a- just a few little
injuries. I’ll be- I’ll be just fine.” he says. “I can walk.”
He stands up again, stumbling once he’s up and clearly having a hard time walking, and Mike
wants to say ‘sit the fuck down, I’ll carry you if I have to, but you’re clearly badly injured
and shouldn’t be walking and running around’ , but he doesn’t, instead electing to stay a few
steps behind (so he can catch Will if he falls) and just following closely behind. Will stops at
two of the men lying on the floor, kneels down (with much difficulty), and takes the gun from
each of their hands before carrying on. He puts down the one he had originally used as he
picks up the new ones. It’s probably out of bullets.
After they’re out of the room (and it scares Mike to watch Will goes down the stairs, he’s
stumbling so much and walking so crookedly that he’s sure that he’s going to collapse or fall
and it scares him), Will turns to him and presses the gun into his hands.
“I-” Mike says, overwhelmed at the weapon in his hand. “Will, I- I can’t shoot-”
Will takes it back, checks that it’s loaded, cocks it, and hands it back. “Point and aim.” he
rasps. “Aim it at someone, pull the trigger, they’ll fall. You’ll have to cock it, but the safety’s
off now and it’s fully loaded. Don’t touch the barrel, don’t aim it at yourself, don’t look down
the barrel. Got it?”
Mike nods, looking at the gun.
Will nods back, his own gun in his hands as they go forwards. Mike copies his hold.
Eventually, their twisting and turning comes to a hallway that Will apparently recognizes, as
he walks down it and readies his firearm.
When he sees some guards, all standing next to doors, Will fires one, two, three, four times,
one shot into each, causing them all to fall.
As Will approaches the doors, though, another guard comes down the hallway, gun raised and
aiming at Will.
Mike panics. He can’t lose Will. So he points, aims, and pulls the trigger.
And immediately flies backwards and falls on his ass, as well as missing the guy.
He makes an ‘oof!’ as he lands, accidentally smacking himself with the gun as it pushes him
backwards.
Will shoots at the guy from behind him, hitting him dead-on.
He’s immediately there and trying to help Mike up (though he can’t do much with how
battered he is). “Sorry. I forgot to tell you about blowback.” he rasps. “Tense your arms and
plant your feet next time.”
Mike nods, getting up and readying the gun again. “Lookout?” Will asks.
Mike nods. “I’ve got it. Just get Jonathan and Argyle. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
-
With Mike’s back turned, Will closes his eyes and administers as much electricity as he can
to the fingerprint lock, which immediately shuts off the light and clicks. He carefully opens
the door, and-
“WILL!” Jonathan shouts from where he’s tied down in a chair in the middle of the room.
Will limps over to his brother as quickly as he can with his stupid, messed-up body (between
his busted ankle, kneecap, the place on his spine where the soldier hit him with the gun, and-
those kind of injuries that he sustained while those six men were- doing that - the five times
that they’ve done it over the past day and a half - it’s really hard to walk), and immediately
starts untying Jonathan with shaking hands.
Once Jonathan’s untied, he’s up and immediately trying to grab Will in a hug, but much to
Will’s shame-
The man smiles at him. “Come now, darling, wouldn’t this next part be more comfortable on
the bed?”
Will practically flies back from Jonathan’s touch, which earns a hurt look before Jonathan
gets a good look at him. “Will, oh my God, what happened?” he asks, any sadness from the
rejected touch replaced by worry. “You- you look horrible.”
“Gee, thanks. Good to see you too.” Will snarks in the raspy, painful voice brought about by
five sessions with six men who thought choking him until he couldn’t breathe was hot.
Jonathan winces at the sound of his voice, and when he looks at Will’s throat, his face goes
slack in horror. Will immediately turns away. Jon can’t see the fingerprints. He can’t see the
hickeys. He can’t know. What would he think?
“Come on. We need to get to the van and get out of here.” Will says. “I’ll get Argyle, you
stay with Mike.”
Jonathan opens his mouth, obviously to disagree, but when Will gives him a look that he’s
sure is a mixture of stubbornness and desperation, Jon caves. “I- okay. But we all stay close
together, okay?”
Will nods, ignoring the dizziness as he stumbles back out of the room and further down the
hallway until he gets to the room that he thinks is Argyle’s, Mike and Jon close behind.
He hides what he’s doing by leaning over the lock, and with another shock to the scanner, it’s
open, and Will pushes it open before going inside.
“Little Byers?” Argyle asks. “Whoa, dude, you don’t look so hot.”
“You’re so hot.” the man says from over him. It’s the third time they’ve come into his room
and hurt him. Every single time another one gets over him and does awful things to him, he
wants to throw up. He just settles for crying instead. “You really are. And you’ll be even
hotter when you get fully into it.”
Will just sobs. He just wants them to stop. That’s the only thing he wants. But they won’t.
Will nods, trying not to show how shaken up he is. “Come on. We gotta go.”
“Aw, man, you gettin’ sick? Your voice sounds like you tried to eat sandpaper. They must not
have enough insulation in this place.” Argyle rambles.
Will rolls his eyes as he unties Argyle, still chatting about insulation.
“Come on, we gotta go.” he says.
“Yeah, man. We need to get you some Dayquil. Or Nyquil. Do you like Dayquil or Nyquil? I
always liked Dayquil. Nyquil tastes like grapes, and I don’t like grape flavoring.” Argyle
says, nodding sagely.
Will just doesn’t answer that time, just helping Argyle up and following him out, his legs
almost dragging as he tries to keep moving. They need to get out soon, or he’s going to give
out and collapse. That can’t happen. He’s the only one who can defend them, with powers or
with firearms. They need to get out.
As soon as they’re out, he’s practically swarmed by his brother and best friend.
“Oh my God, your head-”
“Will, your nose is bleeding-”
“Can you walk to the elevator, or do you need me to carry you-”
“Are you okay-”
“Stop.” Will snaps. “I’m fine. We just need to get out to the van, and then we can take care of
ourselves later.”
Both of them look skeptically at him.
“Seriously. We need to get out of here now.” Will says.
Mike nods first. “Yeah, you’re right. We can patch ourselves up once we’re safe.”
Will nods and starts walking back out of the hallway towards where he thinks the elevator is.
His loved ones all follow close behind, and he makes even more of an effort to not limp. If
they find out just how injured he is, they’ll pry, and if they pry or make him get checked out
by a doctor, they’ll find out everything. And that can’t happen. What’ll they think of him?
After a few minutes through the hallway, they make it to the elevator. Will worries for a
minute that the place is too empty - where are the soldiers? - before his question is answered
by footsteps behind them.
Apparently, he’s not the only one who hears them, as Jonathan looks over his shoulder before
his eyes widen and he starts to shove them all towards the elevator. “GO!
GOGOGOGOGOGO!” he shouts, shoving Argyle forward before grabbing Will by the
shoulders.
The man grabs Will’s throat tightly, cutting off his shouting with the air supply. “Funny thing
is, you’re my little girl. Your opinion doesn’t matter. What you want doesn’t mean shit. Come
on.” he says, grabbing Will by the shoulders and dragging him to the cot.
Before Will can even think and tell himself that it’s just Jonathan grabbing him, he starts to
screech and thrash, desperately trying to escape whoever’s holding onto him. “NO!” Will
shouts as he thrashes. No, no, please, no, don’t hurt him, please, just leave him alone, please-
“STOP! IT’S ME!” Jonathan says, grabbing him with both arms around his abdomen and
practically lifting him in the air as he drags him into the elevator, where he drops him, at
which point Will’s legs finally give out and he drops to the floor.
Jonathan and Mike are in the elevator after just a second, and it closes just a few seconds
before the soldiers get to them, immediately going up.
It’s a few seconds until the elevator opens onto a similar sight as Will last saw it, with the
formerly-pink sand turned brown and the body parts more buried than they were before. He
squints in the sunlight, the pain from his head injury making a comeback in the bright light.
“Come on. Come on, we gotta go.” Mike says, offering Will his hand.
Will instead gets up by himself, ignoring Mike’s help. He can’t touch Mike. He can’t, he can’t
let himself spread the disease, he can’t touch until he knows that he doesn’t have AIDS, he
can’t contaminate Mike, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t-
Mike frowns at him sadly as they go through the sand to the pizza van. Will almost falls
about three times as his head swims and his legs tremble, but they make it the rest of the way
to the place where it’s parked, a dark brown stain still against the side and a weird blast
radius of sand and glass about twenty feet away from it.
Jonathan checks the van as Will sways on his feet, trying not to collapse. Mike gently tries to
snake his arm around Will to help hold him up, have him lean on him instead of his own feet,
but Will steps away. Stop touching him. Just stop touching him. Please. He can’t.
Will looks over his shoulder, and he sees the soldiers coming to the van.
“Um… guys?” he says.
“Oh, shit.” Mike says, and in a flash he’s pulling open the back of the van and getting in.
Mike grabs him and pulls him into the van, despite Will’s weak struggling, and closes it the
second they’re all in.
“GOGOGO!” Jonathan shouts at Argyle, who immediately starts driving them away as the
men continue chasing after the van. They’ll hunt them all down. They can’t live, or his
family’s all going to die.
As Will uses the last of his strength to snap the necks of the men who are chasing after the
van, causing them to fall to the ground and leave more bodies along the blood-stained sand,
he collapses back onto the floor of the van, not caring about the pain that shoots through his
body anymore.
The last thing he remembers is the feeling of the blood trickling from his nose being tenderly
wiped away before being carefully tucked under a blanket. After that, he passes out. Maybe
when he wakes up, everything’ll be okay, and he’ll be safe again.
Chapter End Notes
Well, are you glad he's free? They're all going to be just fine, don't worry. Thank you for
reading, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Love
Chapter Notes
Hi! To make up for the depression of the last few chapters, I'm putting in a fluffier one
where Mike considers love and his relationship to it. Enjoy!

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, amaragf, anArsonisticGhoat and
Overall rating: PG.

- Homophobia
- Homophobic slurs
- Self-esteem issues
Mike looks at Will sleeping in the backseat, and he’s overwhelmed with the urge to protect.
Will’s looked so small and broken. When he was lying on the floor next to the sensory
deprivation tank, when he was getting them all out… especially now. When he’s asleep, he
looks even smaller and quieter than he does when he’s awake. And now that they’re safe, the
adrenaline has faded to just give in to the urge to keep Will safe and take care of him no
matter what.
Mike lies down on his side next to Will, close enough that their knees are touching, and
brushes Will’s hair out of his closed eyes before bringing his hand back under his own head
as he watches the little movements of his best friend’s face as he sleeps.
As he watches Will, he thinks of everything that he wants to say. What he will say once he
and El have broken up and he can tell Will everything.
I love you.
I need you.
You’re my favorite person, and I would do anything for you.
I just want to keep you safe and happy.
When you left Hawkins, I missed you so much that I felt physically sick.
You make me happy in a way that nobody else has ever been able to match.
You never leave my mind, even when I have a million other things to think about.
When I walk into a room of people, you’re the one I’ve always looked for first.
When you started to like ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’, I did too. I never liked that song
before but when I knew it was your favorite, I listened to it on repeat and it became one of the
best songs I’ve ever heard.
Even when we spend the whole day together, I still miss you the second you leave.
You’re my last thought when I go to sleep. Every single night.
I don’t ever want to have to say goodbye to you. I wish we could be together 24/7, and the
closest we’d have to get is goodnight.
Sometimes, all I want is to lay on your chest and listen to the heartbeat that I thought had
stopped too many times.
Before I fall asleep, I picture what it would feel like to fall asleep in your arms. It’s probably
the best feeling in the world, even if I hate myself for it. But maybe I don’t have to.
When you get tired of the world - and don’t deny that you do, I can see it - there’s nothing I
want more than for you to fall into my arms, where I can keep you safe and warm and loved.
I like to be alone, but I would rather be alone with you.
The only thing I want is to be with you forever.
I love you more than all the stars in the sky.
Okay, maybe not all of those. Some of them were a little bit too sappy, even for Mike, who…
is far more sappy and romantic than he would like people to think. Or, you know, ever
expressed.
When Mike was growing up, the only time his parents ever actually talked to each other was
to argue or be passive-aggressive to each other. His dad looked down on his mom and Nancy
for being girls, and his mom was angry that his dad just sat in front of the TV all day. So,
they fought, but instead of yelling, it was snippy comments and sarcasm and passive-
aggressive statements.
When he was younger, that’s what he thought love was. You don’t like someone, but you still
stay together, and the woman provides the man with whatever he needs in exchange for
financial support.
As he got older, more sources complicated that view. He saw and heard Will’s parents
screaming at each other, and he had witnessed one too many physical fights to ever think that
what Joyce and Lonnie had was love. Meanwhile, Nancy had gotten really into romance
movies for a while when Mike was about seven or eight, and she had told him that was love
as they watched movie after movie together: a boy and a girl who liked each other and did
grand romantic acts, shouting their love to anyone who would listen and sealing the deal with
a kiss at the end of the movie.
And then Mike met El. She was a superhero, and she was going to help them save Will, and
she was kinda pretty, and she was cool and generally awesome. And at first, Mike had only
thought he’d seen her as a friend, but after Lucas and Dustin and Nancy all teased him and
told him that he liked her, he had started to question. After all, she was a girl, and he was a
boy, and he thought she was cool - maybe that was love. So he kissed her, and it didn’t matter
if he didn’t really feel the electricity that they talked about in those romance movies that he
and Nancy liked until his dad found out and told Mike that he had to stop watching them
because they were ‘negative influences’, because she was a girl and he was a boy and that
was how it was supposed to work.
Then he and El started ‘dating’ - if ‘dating’ means sitting on her bed and making out. It didn’t
matter that Mike didn’t like her touching him while they kissed, or only found it okay instead
of amazing like he was supposed to, because El liked it and he liked being around El. And he
was happy to kiss El if it meant they could hang out.
And dating El made him feel good. He had a girlfriend, and not only was she able to help him
shake the rumors about him and Will being queers and dating, but she also made him feel
better. He was needed. She thought he was attractive and didn’t think he had a frog-face or
was ugly. And, above all, he had a girlfriend, he was doing what he was supposed to do. He
had a girlfriend and his dad stopped giving him looks when he talked about D&D or his
friends too long, he had a girlfriend and his friends and peers stopped teasing him for not
having one, he had a girlfriend and now he could say that he had one whenever anyone tried
to insinuate that he was a fag.
Besides, he genuinely liked her and thought she was a great person and figured it wouldn’t be
too bad if he married her and they had the 3 kids and followed the template set by his parents,
and their parents before him, and theirs before them.
But maybe that’s not love.
Maybe love is the way that the world becomes safe and good again the second Will walks
into the room.
Maybe love is the twitch in his fingers that Mike gets when Will’s hair has a piece that should
be behind his ear but is loose, or the way that he always gets the urge to straighten the collar
on Will’s shirt when it’s crooked.
Maybe love is the way that Mike wants to protect Will with every ounce of his being, the way
that he would chase away any threat to Will’s health or happiness.
Maybe love is him and Will.
And he never liked being romantic with El because… well, it just didn’t work. Not only did
he just not like her like that, but it didn’t feel right. He could give her gifts, and kiss her, but
even those felt forced. He just couldn’t do the romantic acts like in the movies. Besides, it’s
not like she cared for those either - she got confused whenever he’d try to be romantic, or she
would give him this look that said ‘Mike, what are you even doing?’. So it didn’t really
matter, anyway - at least, not until he arrived in California, at which point El’s requirements
for being her boyfriend went from ‘tell the truth, kiss, talk, and let her touch him’ to ‘saying I
love you, being romantic, going on dates’, as well as the previous ones and other
requirements that Mike doesn’t even know.
But would he like being romantic with Will?
Mike pictures taking Will out to a nice dinner and the movies, bringing him flowers and
chocolate, going stargazing, dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, sneaking kisses
when nobody’s looking…
Mike looks at his sleeping best friend - and maybe something more - and smiles.
Yeah. Yeah, he would like that. More than anything.
He gently traces Will’s features with his fingertips, wincing as he touches feather-lightly to
the cuts and bruises all over Will’s face. God. What did they do to him?
Eventually, he just scoots a little bit closer, moving his hand from where it’s resting on Will’s
cheek to hold Will’s own, tangling their fingers together under Will’s blanket. Once they’re
both okay and completely safe again, and he’s told El that they can’t date anymore, he’ll tell
Will. But in the meantime, they’ll be fine. And he won’t leave Will alone. They’ll be okay. And
he’ll tell Will soon enough.
Mike drifts off to sleep, lulled by the rocking of the van and the fact that they’re okay.
They’ll be okay.
Chapter End Notes
Aww. Poor lovestruck Mikey-poo. What did you think of his internal monolog on love?
Let me know in the comments and have a great day!
Hospital
Chapter Notes
Hello! Hope you enjoyed the pure fluff last chapter, cause shit's about to get
sad/dramatic again! Enjoy!

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, amaragf, anArsonisticGhoat, U know u
know, ToBeLonely, and Badgirlcoven for giving me the motivation to write this chapter.
Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!
Also, a special thanks to my online friends Kade and Lilz as well as my therapist Mark!
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
- Seizures
- Brain injuries
- Blood
- Violence
- Hospitals
Jonathan glances back in the rearview mirror at the two teens in the back. It’s ten at night,
and they seem to be asleep or pretty close to it. They’ve been driving for the past twelve
hours, and Jon took over from Argyle about three hours ago. It’s dark, but like hell is he
stopping - the government guys can’t get to them again. He won’t let them. Especially with
how bad the kids look. All they did to Jonathan was keep him in the room and ask him where
Eleven was, but Will and Mike are both clearly injured. Jonathan had noticed that Mike was
hunching his back oddly and had an injury on the top of his head, but Will… looks a lot
worse.
He’s scaring Jonathan. The haunted, hollow look in his eyes, the blood over his head (and the
cuts on the back of his head and neck, dear God), the way he was walking, the bruises over
his throat and face, how bad his voice sounds, the way that he screamed and thrashed when
Jonathan touched him… it makes Jon very afraid. All he knows is that Will was screaming so
much and periodically during their capture, and that something very, very bad must have
happened. He’ll ask Will about it when they’re safe.
Will’s leaning against the wall, head lolling, and Mike’s lying on the floor, curled awkwardly
next to him. The blanket that had previously been tucked around Will is discarded in the
corner, kicked off over time. They’ve only woken up a few times over the time that they’ve
been driving, and they’ve both been out for the past few hours.
“How are you doing back there?” he calls back.
There’s no answer.
“Guys?” Jonathan asks.
Still nothing.
“Argyle.” Jon says, patting his friend awake. “Argyle, I’m gonna pull over and check on Will
and Mike. Can you take over driving?”
“Mm? Sure, dude, sounds good.” Argyle says.
Jonathan pulls over, and with another tap on the shoulder to ensure that Argyle’s really
awake, he gets out and goes around to the back.
He opens the door and gets into the back of the van, with Argyle immediately starting to
drive again once the door’s closed, and he immediately knows something’s wrong.
Mike would seem asleep on the floor, except that his eyes are half-open, with only the whites
showing. He’s breathing weirdly shallow, and the way that he’s curled in on himself seems
off.
“Mike! Mike, can you hear me?!” Jonathan asks, immediately trying to shake him awake.
“...the… the van… pizza? pizza van…” Mike mumbles. “driving. s…sister?
Wwwwwwillllllllll…”
“MIKE!” Jonathan shouts at him.
Mike’s eyes open a little bit more, but it’s not right. They aren’t seeing Jonathan. They’re
bloodshot, and his pupils are too dilated. They aren’t focusing on anything. Something’s
wrong. “Who… who’re youuuuu?” Mike slurs.
“Mike? It’s me, Jonathan.” Jon says. “Can you- do you actually not remember me?”
“Ah! Nnnnnoooo! Get away!” Mike says, clumsily trying to push Jonathan away when he
goes to touch Mike. “Sssssstranger!”
“Hold still!” Jonathan says, grabbing a flashlight from where it’s rolling around in the back of
the van and grabbing Mike’s head. His hand immediately becomes wet, and Jonathan knows
that it’s blood. Oh, God. “I’m trying to help you! Hold still!”
He shines the light in Mike’s eye, and though Mike hisses and tries to shove Jonathan away, it
doesn’t work. Mike’s pupils don’t react to the light being shone into them.
Mike gives a strangled, childlike screech as Jonathan continues trying to figure out what’s
wrong, and though Jonathan assumes that it’s because he’s touching Mike, he quickly realizes
that it isn’t when he hears a ‘thud’ from behind him.
“Willllllll!” Mike wails.
Jonathan whips around, and sees Will slumped over more than before. “Shit.” he mutters,
letting go of Mike to rush to his brother’s side.
“Will?” he asks.
He pulls Will’s head up to look at him, and Will’s eyes are open, though with the same
unseeing sheen and dilated pupils that Mike’s have.
Will tries to sit up and respond, but then his eyes roll back and he collapses even further, his
body beginning to be rocked by tremors.
“Shit!” Jonathan curses as Will’s limbs start to spasm and hit the floor. When Will’s head
starts slamming against the floor of the van with a sickening repeating crack, Jonathan tries to
think of what to do. He panics and pulls Will against his chest, his arm under Will’s armpits
and keeping Will’s head under his chin, where it hits against his chest over and over.
“WILLLLLLLLL!” Mike bawls. “WILLLLLLLLLLL!”
“Hush!” Jonathan barks, fifteen years of raising his younger brother come back in an instant.
“Will’s fine, okay?! Everything’s okay, Mike! Now hush!”
Mike does not hush. He keeps screaming and crying like a toddler having a tantrum.
Jonathan curses some more as he holds tightly onto Will. Instead of slowing down on the
convulsions, it seems that they’re getting more intense, as is Mike’s fit. What’s wrong with
them? Why’s Mike acting so weird? Why is Will seizing so much?
Then it clicks.
Both Will and Mike hit their heads repeatedly, during both their capture and escape.
Both of them have weird eyes and aren’t acting like themselves.
…What are the symptoms of brain injuries, again?
And aren’t they potentially deadly?
Oh, fuck.
“FUCK! ARGYLE, GET US TO A HOSPITAL! NOW!” Jonathan shouts.
“WHAT’S WRONG?!” Argyle shouts back.
“I THINK THEY HAVE BRAIN INJURIES! GET US TO A HOSPITAL! NOW! Shit-” he

says, trying to balance keeping an eye on a crying and screaming Mike and keeping his
brother from hurting himself.
“It’s okay, it’s okay- it’s going to be okay-” he says as Will’s limbs thrash and hit and his
head slams back onto Jonathan’s chest once, twice, three, four times and counting. He isn’t
sure whether he’s saying it to his seizing brother, the injured teenager acting like a toddler, or
to himself.
Argyle talks nervously to himself as he tries to find a sign for a nearby hospital. Mike’s
sobbing and screaming and thrashing like a child. Will’s convulsing and gagging. And
Jonathan’s trying to keep his brother from choking or breaking anything while keeping the
other people in the van under control.
They’re jerked around as Argyle makes a sharp turn. “Sorry, dudes! Almost missed the exit!
We’re almost there! Less than five minutes! Just hold on!” Argyle shouts.
With renewed energy at the promise of help, Jonathan tightens his grip on Will once more
with the next major convulsion, cringing when he hears a rib crack with the movement. “I’m
sorry.” he murmurs, even though it doesn’t matter because Will can’t hear him. “I’m sorry.”
After another minute of chaos and pain, the van comes screeching to a halt. “I’ll go inside
and get help.” Argyle says, immediately getting out and jogging inside of the hospital’s front
doors, illuminated due to the darkness of the night.
It’s less than thirty seconds before people are coming out to the van and Argyle’s opening the
doors. “I got help.” he says.
There are several gurneys being brought out, and as soon as there’s one next to the van doors,
Jonathan adjusts, putting his arms under Will’s knees and shoulders (which isn’t easy when
someone’s thrashing), hefting his brother up, and getting out, getting over to the gurney and
setting Will down as gently as he can.
Someone in an EMT uniform is immediately there, strapping Will down and putting an
oxygen mask on him before grabbing the side of the gurney and running for the hospital
doors. Jonathan starts after them, but then he remembers that Mike’s injured too, and that
Will isn’t the only one in his care.
He turns back to the van to help the medical staff with Mike, but apparently they’ve already
got it, with a woman in scrubs patterned with fish coaxing Mike out of the vehicle.
“Come on, hon, there we go… everything’s alright, okay? Just come on out.” she coos softly.
Mike slowly begins trying to get out of the van with some difficulty, apparently having
trouble with his motor skills, and she helps him out with an arm around Mike’s waist. It
paints a strange picture, a woman who can’t be taller than five foot helping a teenager who’s
six foot out of a pizza van. “Alright. We’re gonna put you on a gurney and take you inside,
okay? Everything’s okay. Just gonna fix you up.” she says.
Mike nods and says some gibberish. She nods and pretends she understands what he’s saying.
“Mm. And what else?” she asks. Mike keeps mumbling as they put him on another gurney
and take him inside, with the nurse jogging next to him and continuing to ask questions.
He starts to run to catch up, but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “You need any medical
attention, kid?” another EMT asks.
“No, I’m not hurt. Just them.” Jonathan says.
“Okay.” the EMT says. “Alright. Come on. I’ll sit with you.”
He sits down in one of the chairs in the hospital’s lobby, the EMT sitting on one side and
Argyle sitting on the other.
The EMT has her hand on Jonathan’s back, rubbing circles, but she stops as she gets up from
the chair. “I’m gonna go talk to the desk, okay?” she says.
Jonathan doesn’t answer, too busy thinking about the feeling of Will’s rib cracking as he tried
to keep him safe, too busy thinking about the sound of Will’s head hitting the floor, too busy
thinking about how he failed the kids.
The EMT comes back. “Okay, kid. What are their names?” she asks.
Jonathan opens his mouth, but then thinks better of it. The government could be listening.
“I- I can’t tell you.” he says quietly. “The-there’s someone looking for us. The people who
hurt them. We were captured and- and the people who took us hurt them. They could find us
if their names were in the database.”
The EMT nods, crouching in front of him. “Alright. Alright. We’re gonna put them both
down as John Does then, okay? Officially, there’s not gonna be a record of who they are at
this hospital. Nobody’s gonna track you down. You’re safe.”
Jonathan nods.
“Okay. But what should we call them in-person? It won’t go on the record, and nobody can
find you. We just need to know what to call them.” she says.
Jonathan hesitates for a second. “Will and Mike.” he says.
“Alright. Who’s who?” the EMT asks.
“Mike’s the one with the longer dark hair who was acting weird, Will’s the one with the
bowlcut who was seizing.” Jonathan says.
“Okay. Okay, alright. You’re doing great, okay?” the EMT says.
Jonathan nods.
“Okay. Do either of them have any health issues or are they on any medications?” she asks.
“Um…” Jonathan says. “...I don’t know about Mike, but Will does.”
“Okay. What conditions, and what medications?” she asks.
“I-” Jonathan says. He knows that Will’s on medication and has some medical conditions,
but… he can’t remember them. What’s wrong with him? How can he be such a horrible
brother as to not know his baby brother’s health issues?
“I don’t remember.” Jonathan says, and with that he starts crying. He puts his head in his
hands and sobs, because his baby brother is hurt and he doesn’t even know what medications
he’s on or if he’s gonna be okay.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” the EMT soothes, gently squeezing his knee. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Take
a deep breath. What’s your name?”
“J-Jonathan.” he says, wiping his tears and taking some rattling breaths.
“Alright, Jonathan. How do you know those two?” she asks.
“Will, he- he’s my baby brother, and Mike, I- I don’t know. He’s Will’s best friend, and I’m
dating his sister.” Jonathan says.
“Alright. Alright. What’s their last names? We’re not gonna put anything into the system, but
we can look up their medical records, okay?” she says.
“You’re sure you’re not gonna put your names into the system?” he says.
The EMT nods. “It’s protocol. If a patient is being stalked by someone trying to hurt them or
in danger, we put them in as a John or Jane Doe, restrict visitors, and have police guard the
room. We’re very secure. Nobody’s going to hurt them or find them, and if they do, the
patients are still going to be safe. Even the staff are screened before interacting with a
compromised patient. They’re going to be okay. Promise.”
Jonathan nods, feeling relieved. As long as they’re safe. “William Jacob Byers and
Michael… I don’t know his middle name, but his last name’s Wheeler.” he says.
“Okay. You stay here, okay, Jonathan? I’m gonna go talk to the desk.” she says, patting his
knee before getting up.
She goes over and speaks in hushed voices to the front desk, and Jonathan’s just sitting there
staring straight ahead until a door bursts open and a man wearing a white coat runs out.
“Are you here with the two teenage patients?” he asks Jonathan urgently.
Jon nods.
“What’s your relation to them?” the man asks.
“I’m Will’s brother, and Mike’s… temporary caretaker.” Jonathan says. “Will’s the one with
brown hair, Mike’s the one with black hair.”
“Is there a legal guardian here?” the man asks.
Jonathan shakes his head.
“Okay. Alright, you’re the closest they’ve got right now? Okay. Look, we need your
permission to get the teena- Will- into surgery. There’s bleeding in his brain, and we have to
stop it right now. He will die if the hemorrhaging continues.”
Jonathan can’t breathe.
“It’s touch and go, and we don’t have much time. Every second is more damage to his
occipital, temporal, and parietal lobes, and we need to get him into surgery now. Do we have
your consent?” who Jonathan thinks is a doctor asks.
Jonathan stands stock-still, trying to remember how to inflate his lungs. The words ‘touch-
and-go’, ‘don’t have much time’, and ‘bleeding in his brain’ are echoing in his head. No. No,
no, this can’t be happening.
“Do we have your consent?” the doctor asks again.
Jonathan’s snapped back out of it, and he breathes.
“Yes. Yes, do- do whatever you need to do. Just- please make sure he’s okay.” Jonathan says.
The doctor nods and runs back through the door.
Next thing Jonathan knows, the EMT is there, saying soothing things and patting him on the
shoulder as she leads him back to the chair where he was sitting.
As Jonathan waits in the chair next to where Argyle’s passed out, he knows it’s gonna be a
long night.
Chapter End Notes
Well, what did you think? Sorry it's getting sad again - but don't worry, Will's gonna be
fine!
Also, what did you think of Jon's POV? There's more of it ahead!
Thank you for reading, leave a Kudos or comment if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Surgery
Chapter Notes
Hello! I hope you enjoy this chapter so soon after the last one!

WalkinInHawkins, promisedreamer, A1exies, FrenchtheLlama!1851, Byleriscannon7,
Also, welcome back promisedreamer!

Trigger warnings:
- Surgery
- Guilt
- Violence
When Will wakes up, he knows something is wrong.
Everything hurts, and there’s clattering and beeping and fluorescent lights all around him.
Something’s over his nose and mouth, and he feels like he’s tied down again. It’s okay. It’s
probably just another experiment.
He makes a little noise at the pain before he can help it, though, and someone steps around
him. He looks into a face with goggles, a mask, and one of those medical cap things before
they step away again. It’s only when he sees the person does he realize that everything’s
blurry.
“Alright, he’s waking up.” he hears someone say.

A woman in scrubs and a mask gets in front of him, putting a chair down in front of him so
that he can look into her blurry face. “Hi there, sweetie.” she says. “My name’s Florence.
What’s your name?”
Will’s words don’t come out right, but they do come out. “Will.” he says.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will.” she says. “You’re at Overlook General Hospital. I’m a
nurse here. The people behind you are Doctor Davenport, Doctor Bossard, Doctor Tinlunga,
Nurse Emily, and Nurse Peter. I’m sure that it’s very scary for you right now, but we’re here
to help.”
Will tries to remember the names, and immediately starts to forget them.
“How are you? How much pain are you in on a scale of one to ten?” the nurse asks.
Will tries to think. “Seeeeven?” he says.
The nurse nods to someone. “Alright. We’re gonna give you a little bit more morphine,
okay?”
“‘Kay.” Will says. He can’t think straight. Everything is blurry and muffled and weird.
“Okay, Will. Are you feeling sleepy, or can you talk to me?” the nurse - Florence, he
remembers - asks.
“I can talk.” he says.
“Okay. Okay, that’s really good. You scared us for a bit there, hon.” she says. “Thought we
lost you for a second. But the fact that you’re awake is really good.”
Will tries to look around. “Where’m I?” he asks.
“You’re at Overlook General Hospital.” she says gently. “You’re in surgery right now, but
I’m sure the doctors will be done soon.”
Will must be silent for a second too long, because the nurse asks “Will? Are you awake?”
“‘M’awake.” Will says. “‘M’okay.”
“Okay, good.” she says. “How about we play a game?”
“Mm…” Will answers.
“Alright. I ask a question, you answer it as well as you can, okay? And then, once you’ve
answered, you can ask me the same question or ask me a new one. Does that sound good?”
she asks.
Oh. This is just another ploy to get to El.
“D’know where El is.” Will says tiredly. “Already told you. D’know where El is.”
The nurse is quiet for a moment. “Who’s El?” she asks.
“M’sister.” Will says. “D’know where sh’is… d’know.”
“Okay. You have a sister.” the nurse says. “The person who brought you in - he says he’s
your brother - said that you escaped from someone and that they’re trying to get you.”
“Mm-hmm.” Will agrees. “M’sister calls’m bad men.”
“Is your sister still there? Is she in danger?” the nurse asks.
“Mm-mm. El ’scaped.” Will mumbles.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good. So you have a sister and a brother, right?” the nurse asks. “Any
other family?”
“M’mom.” Will says. “Love m’mom. She’s’th’best.”
“How about your dad?” the nurse asks. “Do you love him?”
“M’dad’s mean.” Will says. “M’mom made’m leave.”
“Mm.” the nurse says. “How about friends?”
“Mmike.” Will says. “An’Lucas’n’Dustin’n’Max. An I like Steve’n’Nancy.”
“Okay.” the nurse says. “Sounds like you’re pretty popular!”
Will laughs, but it hurts his throat. “Nah, j’st have s’me good friends.” he says.
“It’s good to have friends.” the nurse says. “It really is. Can you remember my name?”
Will thinks for a minute. “Ffflorence.” he says. “L’ke Italy.”

“Yeah!” she says. “Good job! Do you remember what your birthday is?”
“March… 22.” Will says.
“Oh, wow! Your birthday was just about a week and a half ago. Happy belated birthday! How
old are you now?” she asks.
“Fffiften.” Will slurs.
The nurse is quiet for a minute. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“Ttiger…” Will says. He’s getting really sleepy…
“Okay. You stay awake for a few minutes, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She’s gone after a minute, and Will fights to stay awake while the back of his head has pins
and needles.
It’s only a minute or two before she comes back with a stuffed animal. Will holds his arms
out, and she places it in his hands. The stuffed tiger’s orange-and-black fur is soft, and it has
glass-button eyes.
Before Will even thinks about the fact that he’s fifteen and it’s undignified for him to be
snuggling with a stuffed animal, he holds it close to his chest and squeezes.
“You like it?” Nurse Florence asks.

“Mm-hmm.” Will agrees.
She looks at the people behind Will, murmuring something, before she nods. “They’re gonna
stitch you back up again in a minute, and then you can sleep, okay?”
“‘Kay.” Will says.
“What’s his name? The tiger.” she asks.
Will holds it up with leaden arms and looks at its stitched face.
“Timothy.” he says, hugging it close again.
“Alright. Timothy the Tiger and Will the Brave.” she says. “You’re doing so good, hon.
You’re almost done.”
“Will th’Wise.” he corrects. “In D&D, ‘m Will th’Wise.”
“Alright, then. Timothy the Tiger and Will the Wise.” she says. She looks up at the people
behind Will one more time before turning back to him. “Alright. The dangerous part’s over,
and if you want to go to sleep, you can, okay?”
“Mm’kay.” Will says, snuggling the tiger closer.
It’s not even a minute before he’s asleep again.
-
Argyle’s fast asleep in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, head lolling forward and
snoring loudly, which isn’t surprising considering the stress of the past week and the fact that
it’s three in the morning.
Jonathan, however, can’t sleep.
He’s been sitting forwards in the chair, staring into nothingness and wringing his hands as he
waits for some news - honestly, any news - on the two fifteen-year-olds who got hurt on
Jonathan’s watch. Including and especially his little brother, who’s the sweetest kid to ever
walk the Earth. Fuck.
Jonathan blinks back tears. It doesn’t make sense. He and Argyle were the eldest of the kids.
Why is it that he was just questioned while Will and Mike were literally tortured? They’re
kids. They’re kids and they were tortured for information. They’re kids and they had their
bodies messed up so badly that Will was having seizures and couldn’t walk and Mike was
speaking in tongues.
He remembers being four-and-a-half years old. His mom carefully passes a bundle of blanket
and baby into Jonathan’s chubby, little-kid arms. As he looks into the face of his new baby
brother, he cries. Jonathan rocks the baby and promises that he’s always going to protect him,
promises that he’s going to be the best big brother he can be. He hasn’t even learned the
baby’s name yet, and he already loves him more than life itself.
Jonathan learns that his little brother’s name is Will, after their grandpa who died a year
ago. And while at first there isn’t much to love other than Will’s little hands and feet and
scrunched-up face and quietness (even as a baby), soon Jon finds so much to love about his
little brother as he grows. Toddler Will’s gummy smile and chiming laugh whenever he’d see
Jonathan. The way preschooler Will would cling to Jonathan’s leg - Jonathan would have to
drag him around the house because he didn’t have the heart to make him get off. The way that
elementary-school Will would make Jonathan draw or play stuffed animals with him, even if
Jonathan wasn’t very good at it. The way that middle-school Will would dance and sing along
with Jonathan to The Clash and ramble about his friends and AV Club and D&D on the way
home from school. The way that if you could get him out of his shell, he’d be the happiest,
funniest, sweetest kid ever.
And above all, the love for everyone else, giving his time and energy and everything he had,
even if he got nothing in return. Something that’s made Will a target so many times, but also
something that’s always remained intact.
Jonathan puts his face in his hands and sobs. It’s his baby brother in the operating room right
now to stop the bleeding in his brain. It’s his baby brother that’s in pain and suffering. The
same baby that Jon promised to protect, the same toddler and kid and teenager that’s always
been the light of Jonathan’s life - of so many people’s lives - and the same smile and laugh
and softness and joking sarcasm that made Jonathan love his brother more each time he heard
them.
It’s his baby brother that’s hurt so badly that, according to the only doctor who came out to
talk to them, it’s ‘touch and go’ and ‘emergency surgery is needed’.
And Will is more than his brother. He's Jonathan's baby, he's the one who helped him take his
first steps, he's the one who helped with homework and who Will got after nightmares and
who made him snacks and raised him.
And he didn't protect his brother. He didn't protect his baby. It’s all his fault. He didn’t save
his brother. He could’ve moved the van so that they weren’t in the path of the soldiers. He
could’ve fought harder to get to him when the screaming started. He could’ve fought to take
Will’s place. He could’ve he could’ve he could’ve-
“Is anyone here for William and Michael?” someone calls.
Jonathan shoots up and wipes his eyes, on his feet in a flash and over to the nurse who spoke.
“Yes! Yes, I’m Jonathan Byers. I’m Will’s brother and Mike’s… Mike’s temporary caretaker.
Are they okay?”
The nurse smiles. “They’re going to be okay. We just need to talk to you real quick. If you’ll
follow me?”
He glances over at Argyle. He’s passed out cold, and isn’t likely to wake up anytime soon.
He’ll be fine if Jonathan leaves for a few minutes.
Jonathan follows the nurse to a small room, where he immediately sits down in one of the
chairs across from a desk. “What’s up? What’s wrong with them?” he asks anxiously.
She sits down with a sigh. “Who are you to the patients?” she asks.
“I’m Jonathan Byers. I’m Will’s older brother and Mike’s… well, I’m dating his sister? I
don’t know. He’s Will’s best friend.”
“Do you have any way to get in touch with Mike’s parents or your own?” she asks. “We
really would prefer a legal guardian to be here.”
Jonathan goes to say the numbers, but then realizes that the government is listening.
“Um… no.” Jonathan says. “What’s up? What news is there?”
The nurse sighs. “Both boys have several concerning injuries, but we would really prefer to
talk to a parent.” she says.
“Well- Well, we can’t get in touch with them right now. I’m the best they’ve got.” Jonathan
says. “So- please, just tell me what’s going on.”
The nurse gives him a discerning look, before nodding. “You’re their temporary guardian?”
“Yes.” Jonathan says.
“Mike has a second-degree thermal burn across his back and shoulders, and he has a
concussion and mild brain injury to the frontal lobe. He’ll recover, and the personality change
and age regression from earlier this evening is already reversed. He’ll be fine.” she says.
“And Will?” Jonathan asks after processing for a minute.
The nurse sighs. “Some of his injuries, I can only tell a parent or legal guardian about.”
“Wait- wait, what? Why can’t you tell me about his injuries?” Jonathan asks.
“I can tell you about some.” the nurse says. “Just not all of them.”
“Why not?” Jonathan asks, and he doesn’t care if he probably sounds like a child, he loves
his brother and doesn’t want to be kept in the dark on what’s wrong with him.
“I- The nature of some of the injuries is extremely private. We are only required to tell a legal
guardian or parent, and as you are neither, we can’t tell you.” the nurse says.
"I- okay, fine." Jonathan says. "Fine. What else is there that you can tell me?"
“He had a mess of head injuries - a skull fracture, intracranial hemorrhage, and a traumatic
brain injury. The head injury also appears to have combined with a bad drug interaction to
trigger what seems to be a chronic seizure condition-”
“He has epilepsy?” Jonathan asks. “That- a chronic seizure condition. That’s epilepsy. He has
epilepsy?”
“...It appears so, yes.” the nurse says after a minute. “It may wear off when he fully recovers
from his injuries, but it doesn’t appear that it will.”
Jonathan sits there processing for a minute. “I- alright. Okay. What else?”
“The head injury and seizures were most concerning. However, he also had a mild
esophageal injury, sprained ankle, fractured kneecap, two bruised vertebrae, three broken
ribs, and a fractured cheekbone.” the nurse says. “Along with severe contusions to his face,
throat, chest, stomach, legs, and arms. There were also several cuts to his face, chest, and
arms.”
Jonathan tries not to cry. “Okay. Okay.”
“He should make a physical recovery, though there may be lasting effects such as scarring or
motor difficulties as well as complications of the TBI and seizure condition.” the nurse says.
“But he’ll survive? He’ll be okay? Like, he’s not going to be in a coma or anything? He’ll be
okay and awake?” Jonathan asks.
“Yes.” the nurse says. “He should be okay.”
Jonathan sighs in relief. He can handle Will being injured - he can take care of an injured
Will - but God, he doesn’t know what he’d do if Will was dying or dead or in a coma. That’s
his baby brother, that’s the boy he raised, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t
going to be okay.
“But-” the nurse clears her throat before speaking in stilted sentences. “Some of his injuries,
the way that he’d have gotten them- what happened to him is going to leave a lasting
psychological impact. I doubt that he’ll cope well, especially with past injuries and
experiences exacerbating.”
Jonathan doesn’t know what the hell that means, other than that this nurse thinks Will’s not
going to be able to cope.
“I- Ma’am, what’s the nature of Will’s injuries?” Jonathan asks, a sinking feeling in his
stomach.
“That I can’t tell you. What I can tell you is that he’s getting out of surgery now, and he’s
going to be put in a room where he can rest and recuperate for a while. He’s going to
recover.” she says. “If he wants to tell you when he’s awake, he can. If not, that’s his choice.”
As the nurse gets answers to a few questions (nothing major), Jonathan wonders what,
exactly, they aren’t telling him.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Jon, and poor Will. Let me know what you thought, leave a comment or Kudos if
(Also, yes the hospital is named Overlook after The Shining lol, I'm a huge Stephen
King fan)
Deaf
Chapter Notes
Hello! Hope you don't mind two updates in one day. I'm just excited to share this with
you. I hope you like it.

Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Surgery
- Self-isolation
- Mentioned sexual assault
- Loss of vision
- Loss of hearing
- Panic attacks
- Self-hatred
- Self-isolation
- Language
Florence walks by Will’s room yet again at 0600 hours.
She’s been making her rounds, and she checks on him every time, but each time he’s been
asleep. He looks like a little boy in the hospital bed, much younger than he actually is,
wearing a hospital gown and holding the stuffed tiger to his chest. He’s dwarfed by the
medical equipment, the oxygen mask over his face and the monitors and electrodes making
him look tiny.
His case breaks her heart. Based on his injuries, the staff guesses that he was repeatedly
beaten and brutally raped, as well as signs of medical neglect, improper medical procedures,
and repeated submersion in water. On top of that, there are obvious signs of self-harm and
disordered eating, with the scars and cuts all over his body, his emaciated state, and the marks
on his knuckles that Flo’s ever only seen in people with bulimia or another eating disorder.
He’s a little boy. He may be a teenager, but the way that he grabbed at the stuffed animal,
how small and fragile he is… he’s still far too young for any of this. He’s still practically a
baby. Nobody should have to go through that, least of all a child.
God, Flo’s a mom - twin toddlers, a boy and a girl, and between them and her job, she’s
exhausted - and she doesn’t know what she would do if Will was her baby.
On her third pass by the room, she pokes her head in, only to see Will trying to cover his face
from the lights with a hand.
“Hi there, honey.” she says, stepping into the room. On her way in, Flo flips off the light -
with the head injuries he sustained, it must be hurting him. “How are you holding up? I don’t
know if you remember me, but I’m Florence.”
He doesn’t respond, just putting down his hand and petting the stuffed tiger.
“Will?” she asks, stepping towards him and touching his hand lightly.
He practically leaps out of his skin with how he jerks, at which point he looks at her with
wide, frightened eyes. Did he not hear her come in?
He stares at her for a minute, squinting slightly (is he having trouble seeing?) before hugging
the tiger. “I remember you.” he says quietly, his words slurred slightly. “You’re Nurse
Florence. You were there when I was getting surgery.”
She nods and smiles. “I was!” she says.

Because Overlook is such a small hospital, only about twenty staff members, she was helping
as a surgical assistant. Flo’s a registered nurse, but she also got her license to be a surgical
assistant and technician a while back. Always a useful skill.
Luckily, even though they’re a small hospital, there’s a larger hospital about twenty minutes
away in the main part of the city, and two neurosurgeons came down to operate on Will.
His eyes widen again. “I- are you talking?” he asks.
Flo nods, a sinking feeling in her gut.
Will starts gasping, clearly having a panic attack. “Ma’am, I- I can’t hear, I can’t- I can’t
hear.”
The doctors and nurses are all standing around his bed, and Will knows they’re talking, but
he still can’t hear them.
He- everything’s underwater, he can’t hear. It’s like when you’re sitting at the bottom of a
pool and the water distorts the sound of your parents talking so that you can only hear the
slight up-and-down of their voices a little bit and none of the words being said.
“I can’t hear.” Will says, looking around in a panic at the doctors and nurses. “I- I can’t hear.
I can’t hear what you’re saying. I can’t hear. I- I can’t- I can’t-”
Will can’t breathe. Why can’t he hear?
Someone touches him lightly, and he flinches away, but soon a writing pad is put into his lap
instead.
Will has to squint and move his head around to make out the words, which are hard to read,
even though they’re written in large, blocky letters. Everything is blurry, too, and part of his
field of vision is dark - what’s wrong with him? What’s happening?
‘Take a deep breath. What do you mean you can’t hear? What can you hear, and what can’t
you? Can you register that we’re talking?’ the paper says.
Will nods. “I- kind of. It’s like you’re underwater and I can’t quite hear what you’re saying
but I know the pitch changes.”
Someone hands him Timothy the Tiger again, and Will hugs it to his chest and squeezes so
tightly that it makes his arms hurt.
The pad is taken away, then placed in his lap again. ‘Okay. We’re gonna have an audiologist
come in and see what’s wrong, okay? Is everything else feeling okay?’
Will pauses, then shakes his head. “My- my vision’s weird, too.” he says, because he’s an
artist and he needs to be able to see, he wants them to fix him. “It’s all blurry and there’s
some parts that are dark.”
The writing pad is written on again. ‘Okay. We’re calling in some specialists to help, okay?
They’ll be here in less than half an hour.’
Will nods. “Okay. I- okay. Can they fix me?”
Nurse Florence pats his knee and writes on the pad. ‘I don’t know, but I know they’re gonna
help at least a little.’
Will moves away from her hand. Please, don’t touch him, he’s dirty, he’s sick, don’t touch
him.
Oh. Speaking of…
He looks around the room, and when he sees that it’s just her in the room again, he speaks in
a quiet (he thinks?) voice.
“Do- do you know-”
He takes a deep breath.
“Do you know what- what happened to me?” he asks. “What’s wrong with me?”
She takes away the writing pad, and she writes for what feels like a long time before giving it
back.
‘Yeah, honey, we know. You had a pretty bad head injury, a couple breaks and sprains, and
lots of bruises and cuts that mean that you were beaten pretty badly. And there were bruises
on your throat, wrists, hips, perineum, and inner thighs and a rectal tear that point to sexual
assault.’
Will takes a shuddering breath. Okay. They know. Okay. That’s not good.
“What-” he takes another deep breath. “-what are you going to do?”
‘What do you mean?’
“I mean- are you- are you gonna call the cops or something?” he asks.
‘Not unless you want to press charges.’
“No.” Will says. “No, I’m not pressing charges.”
She nods and goes to pat his knee, but he flinches away again, and she takes the notepad
back.
She writes for a long time again before giving it back. ‘You’re not dirty, you know. That’s a
really common thought among survivors, but it’s not true. If you want to touch people, you
can.’
Will tries not to cry.
And even though he’s only talked to this woman a few times, he trusts her, and he decides not
to deny it.
“But…” he tries. “...if I’m not, then why does it feel like I am?”
It’s a minute before she responds.
‘Can I hug you?’
Will hesitates for a minute. What if he feels trapped again? What if it triggers something?
What if he contaminates her?
But, in the end, he nods, and warm arms are wrapped gently around him, Nurse Florence’s
chin on top of his head.
For the first time in days, he feels protected instead of threatened, and apparently that’s all it
takes.
He wraps his arms around her, and the simple human contact is enough to make him cry. So
he does, and all she does as he cries is hold him tighter.
They just sit there like that for a minute, her rubbing circles into his back as he cries into her
shirt. Eventually, though, she pulls away, squeezing one last time, before grabbing the writing
pad again.
‘The doctors should be here to take a look and see how they can help you. I’m gonna go get
them, okay?’
Will nods. “Okay.”
She takes his hand, squeezing slightly, before getting up and leaving Will alone again in the
dark room, left alone in the silent darkness without his hearing and with only a little of his
vision.
Mike’s up and pacing again when the nurse comes in.
“Mike!” she complains as soon as she walks in. “I told you to rest!”
“Sorry, Florence.” he says sheepishly. He really did try to listen, but… well, there was
nothing good on the TV, and he was going crazy sitting still in the bed when he can be up and
moving.
She busies herself by straightening the sheets and pillows. Mike was asleep for about three
hours, and he’s a sleeper who messes up the bed, so it’s probably a good thing that she fixes
it.
“I- Michael, did you take out your IV again?” she asks, looking at the stand, which is
definitely not attached to the port in Mike’s hand. This is the… third? Fourth? Time he’s
taken it out.
“Sorry.” he says again, pausing to look out the window before resuming his wandering.
“Sit down!” she sighs. “You have a head injury and a second-degree burn! You need to rest,
Michael! I’m serious!”
Mike continues disobeying, still wandering about the room. He’s going absolutely insane , he
can’t just sit here-
“Michael. Now.” Florence orders. “I’m not joking. You have to rest - and keep the IV in, for
God’s sake - or you aren’t going to get better. Sit down.”
Mike sighs, walks back over, and flops back down, letting Florence put the IV back in his
hand with a sigh.
“You know that I like you, but my God, you are horrible at being a patient.” Florence
mutters.
Mike laughs a little bit. She’s not wrong - his mom’s always seemed like she was about to
strangle him when he got sick and wouldn’t behave. “Yeah, I’m not gonna fight you on that.”
Mike agrees.
“You make Will look like a saint.” she mutters under her breath.
That makes Mike sit up, making Florence sigh in resignation when he unintentionally pulls
off one of the sticky monitor things that she’s been putting on him.
“Will’s okay?” Mike asks.
Florence nods. “Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”
“Wait, how is he? Can I see him? Did he get stitches for his head wound?” Mike asks.
“Where is he? Is he in the next room over? Is he asleep? Is he okay?”
Florence laughs at his rapid-fire questions. “I’ll ask him later if he wants to see you, but he’s
having a few complications from some of his injuries that are taking a lot out of him. So
don’t be offended if he’s too tired, okay? He’s with some of the doctors right now.”
She finishes hooking him back up to the monitors and IV (man, it’s beeping so loudly with
his heart and he’s about to fuckin punch it if it doesn’t shut up) and steps back.
“Instead of pacing or moving or taking out your IV - yet again - maybe put on TV?” Florence
suggests.
Mike nods. “Okay. I don’t think there’s much on, though.” he says.
Florence sighs. “Just- you don’t have to watch TV, just please stop getting up and taking out
your IV.”
Mike nods as she leaves the room with a fondly exasperated glare, grabbing the remote and
flipping through the channels.
Huh. The People’s Court. Maybe he’ll watch that.
-
Will’s woken up by a tap to the shoulder and the writing pad placed in his lap.
The writing is messy, unlike Florence’s neat, blocky letters, and it makes Will squint harder
than usual to read.
‘We figured out what happened. The bleeding caused damage to your temporal and occipital
lobes, which damaged your hearing and visual abilities. We don’t know to what extent,
though, and we’ll have to do tests to figure out what correction is needed.’
Will blinks. “I- okay. That’s not good. But- it can be fixed?”
‘It’s most likely irreversible, but it should be correctable with equipment like hearing aids
and glasses.’
Will tries to breathe. “Okay. Okay.” Oh, God. Is he disabled now? God, hasn’t he suffered
enough?
‘How about we assess the damage? The sooner we learn the extent, the sooner we can get
corrections.’
“I- okay. Yeah.” Will says.
He’s scared. He’s so scared to lose his hearing and sight. He doesn’t know what he would do
deaf and blind, without music and art and shut out from the world. But he’s going to figure it
out, whether that means he has aids or if that means he has to learn to survive in a world with
a hearing and vision impairment.
Will’s a survivor. And he’s gonna figure this out, even if he’s scared.
-
Jonathan paces in the lobby, back-and-forth as he waits for more news. He has been sitting
out here for fourteen hours now, and he’s sure that he looks and smells great, but he honestly
doesn’t care.
A woman with dark curled hair, dark skin, and flower-patterned scrubs comes out into the
lobby after a while.
“Hi there. Are you Jonathan?” she asks kindly, giving a light touch to his arm. “I’m Nurse
Florence.”
“Yes, I am. Is- is one of the kids asking for me? Are they okay?” Jonathan asks.
“Both Mike and Will are just fine.” she says. “Will’s had a few complications, but he’s gonna
be fine, don’t worry. He actually asked me to tell you that he’s alright and not to worry.”
“Wait- Wait, Will’s awake?” Jonathan asks. “Can I see him?”
It doesn’t matter if this nurse says that he’s okay, he still needs to see with his own eyes and
give Will the biggest hug he can.
“Um…” the nurse pauses. “He’s… actually asked to not have visitors or let anyone see him.”
What? But- he’s Will’s brother. He needs to see him.
“Honey, he’s gone through a lot. It makes sense that he’s isolating himself.” the nurse says.
Did he say that out loud? “But I can tell you that he’s fine and that he’s recovering.”
Jonathan tries not to let on how much Will’s ask for no visitors bothers him. “I- you said that
he’s had complications? What’s going on?” he asks instead.
“He’s lost some senses due to the brain injury.” she says after a minute. “He’s lost a lot of his
hearing and part of his vision because of where the bleeding was located. We have specialists
here now, though, from a hospital in a more urban area. They’re fitting him for disability aids
now.”
“What disability aids?”
“Hearing aids. They would attempt to do a cochlear implant, normally, but with the pre-
existing brain damage… it would be too risky. Hearing aids are the best option to mitigate the
loss. And they’re looking at another surgery to attempt to repair the occipital lobe’s
functioning so that he can see.” the nurse says. “He’ll be okay. He just has a little bit left to
heal before he’s fully okay again.”
Jonathan tries to hold it together and cling to that bit of hope.
He’ll heal. He’ll be okay. Everything’s fine.
Right?
Will waits in the bed for them to tell him the results. They did some eye and hearing tests,
and looked at both his ears and eyes with lights and tools, and now they’ve been gone for a
while, presumably talking about the results.
So, he’s been waiting here for about an hour.

It’s another few minutes of the painful silence and blurriness that scares him before someone
sits down, putting a hand on his knee and handing him a notepad. It’s Florence’s handwriting.
‘Hi, honey. Do you want the news about your eyes or ears first?’ the writing pad says.
“Eyes.” Will says, because he’s an artist and he doesn’t know what he’d do if he went blind.
The pad is given back to him with the scrawl of one of the doctors.
‘For your eyes, you can’t see out of the left side of your vision because part of your occipital
lobe isn’t working properly. The left part stopped processing due to a small blood clot, and
the right side of your vision is blurry because it’s slowed processing by about half, also to do
with the blood clot. If we were to remove the blood clot causing the issues with the occipital
lobe, your vision should be mostly, if not fully, restored.’
“Okay.” Will says. “Okay. You’re sure that I’d be able to see again?”
‘Yes. It would be a simple operation, and even at its worst, it would still be better than now,
and you could make up the difference with glasses.’
“Okay.” Will says. “That’s okay. I’m glad you can fix that. What, um, what about my
hearing?”
‘You’ve lost 90% of your hearing in your left ear, and about 70% in the right. Technically,
you’re deaf, but because of that little bit of hearing you’ve retained, we can fit you with
hearing aids. You won’t be able to hear quite as well going forward, and we would
recommend that you learn how to lip-read or use sign language when your hearing aid is
being charged or you get tired of wearing them, but you would be able to hear up to 70% of a
normal capacity.’
Will nods, ignoring the lump in his throat as he squeezes the tiger. He focuses on the softness
of Timothy’s fur, the feeling of the fabric ears under his chin as he squeezes him and rubs his
chin against Timothy’s ears. It calms him.
“Okay. So… everything’s going to go back to normal with a few operations and devices?”
‘Mostly. You’d still have to adapt to being hard of hearing and learn to navigate the hearing
world as a deaf person as well as the Deaf community, but your vision should be fine and
you’ll be able to hear for the most part.’
Will takes a deep breath and nods, mumbling ‘okay’s.
Okay. He’s deaf, and he’s partially blind, but they’re going to make it better. A surgery and
hearing aids. That’s not too bad compared to what could be. Right?
Right?
Chapter End Notes
Well, I hope you liked this chapter!
Nobody can tell me Mike would be a good patient. He wouldn't be lol, he'd be hella
restless and kinda a mess. Almost as much of a mess as Jonathan is right now.
Raise your hand if you stan Florence, by the way. Best nurse ever.
Also: DEAF! WILL! BYERS! EEEE I LOVE REPRESENTATION, ESPECIALLY IN

HIM!!!
Anyways, I watched a horror movie and now can't sleep so I'm writing, watching Red,
White, & Royal Blue and then The Goldfinch for the umpteenth time, and listening
obsessively to every little sound in case it's a serial killer lol
Social Worker
Chapter Notes
Hi! Hope you enjoy the 4th update in 48 hours lol. I'm losing my mind I think XD
Also, sorry if I take a bit to respond to comments, I'm so busy writing ahead to continue
updating daily.


- Self-isolation
- Self-hatred
- Vitim blaming
It’s quiet here, even with his new over-the-ear hearing aids.
Will doesn’t mind. It’s quiet, but in a good way. The sounds of the dripping of his IV, the
beeping of the heart monitor, his quiet breathing, and the sound of the tree and birds outside
of his window are all he can hear. It’s nice. Peaceful. Safe. They must have put him in a quiet
wing of the hospital.
He realizes that he’s started shaking again and adjusts the blanket. The hospital gown, with a
pattern of teddy bears (which is a bit young, but hey, it’s better than a gray sweatsuit) is too
thin, but Florence did give him an extra blanket when he asked. She’s really nice, checking
on him regularly and being very sweet, bringing him whatever he needs.
Will mindlessly strokes Timothy the Tiger again, who's lying on his lap. He loves Timothy -
he's so comforting, and he reminds Will of better, safer times.
Will looks back to the window. There’s a large tree outside, and he can see right onto the
branches because of his position on the second story. He likes that, especially as he can see
the birds that live in the tree.
He can recognize doves and finches, and there’s a couple small, gray birds with yellow heads.
He wishes that someone had grabbed his sketchbook when Jon carried him in from the van.
He would love to draw them. The birds are so beautiful. Watching them hop around the
branches, leave and come back with trophies like seeds, chirp and sing… it feels too beautiful
not to record it somehow.
The tree feels like it should seem out of place in the middle of the New Mexico desert, but
strangely enough, it feels like it belongs there. The hospital’s shaped like a triangle, with an
empty space in the center between the three parts of the building, and in the middle, they’ve
put in a courtyard with several small gardens, one of which grows the tree that Will spends
the day admiring.
He doesn’t mind this room. Will’s sure that some teenagers his age would mind the childish
decor, but it’s comforting. Somehow, it’s both sterile and colorful, the light blue-painted walls
contrasting with the polka-dot sheets and white tile on the floor. It’s better than gray. At this
point, he would take anything over gray.
Will adjusts in the wheelchair that they gave him. It isn’t too bad, but he likes to be able to
walk around. They said that he can’t really do that too much right now with the injuries to his
spine and legs, but maybe in a few days. He doesn’t feel trapped, though. The window and
the tree and the birds are helping with that.
He looks over as a robin joins the birds in the tree. Its red coloring contrasts beautifully with
the other birds and the tree’s colors. For the thousandth time today, he wishes that he had
some kind of medium to create art, whether watercolor or a sketch. There’s something about
them that’s just so… what’s the word… alluring? Enchanting? Will doesn’t know, but there’s
something about the scene that makes one want to create.
He’s taken out of his reverie by an interruption of the quiet. Three knocks come at the door,
and Will glances over his shoulder to it. It opens, and in comes a woman wearing a white
printed blouse, yellow cardigan, and blue jeans. She has a lanyard hanging around her neck,
glasses, and hair in a ponytail.
“Hi there. You’re William, right?” she asks softly, gently closing the door and walking over
to where Will’s sitting in his wheelchair next to the window.
He nods, and she smiles as she sits on one of the chairs. “I’m Camille, the social worker here.
How are you doing today?”
“I’m okay. I’ve been better, but I’m okay.” Will says quietly, so quiet that he worries that she
didn’t hear him.
It appears that she did, though, as she gives him a smile. “I’m glad to hear that. You aren’t in
too much pain? Forgetting anything? No change in symptoms?”
“No, I’m okay.” he says.
“Good. I heard you got admitted about sixteen hours ago. Are you feeling better?” she asks.
He nods.
“I’m so happy to hear that. So… according to your file…” she says, grabbing the clipboard
off of the end of the bed “you got admitted for seizures, which ended up being because of
epilepsy, triggered by a bad mix of a drug interaction, decompression sickness, and a
traumatic brain injury. You also ended up having many lacerations, contusions, sprains,
fractures, and breaks. There were also several internal injuries. That’s a pretty serious bill of
health. What happened?”
Will just looks back out the window, not answering.
“I saw in your file that you had many other injuries and hospitalizations in the past. If you
were released, would you be safe?” she asks softly.
Will nods. “I’d be okay. My family isn’t dangerous, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“If it wasn’t your family, how did you get so badly injured?” she probes.
He doesn’t answer. It’s safer that way. He’s learned that the hard way.
“Your brother says you were kidnapped. ‘Taken’.” she says. “That you were gone for the last
week and only just escaped. Is that right?”
“I guess.” Will says quietly.
“There wasn’t a missing report for you anywhere, so we can’t verify, but your physical
condition seems to corroborate. Do you remember anything about what happened to you or
where you were? Who took you?” she asks.
“No, I don’t remember.” Will lies.
She nods to herself. “That’s okay. It’s very common not to remember. If you do remember
anything, let someone know, though, okay? We want to find who took you.”
Will nods. He hopes that she buys the lie that he’ll tell them anything.
The social worker sighs. “Your brother also says that you won’t see him. Or anyone, for that
matter. Why is that?” she asks.
Because he doesn’t want his brother, the person who basically raised him and who he looks
up to more than anyone, to see him like this. Because he doesn’t want anyone to look at or
talk to or touch him. Because he’s afraid that Jonathan is going to look down upon or judge
him because of what happened. Because he just can’t talk about something so humiliating,
not now and maybe not ever. Because he’s better off handling this alone.
“I’m happier by myself.” Will says instead. “I just would rather be alone.”
She makes a hum of understanding. “Solitude can be comforting.”
“It can.” Will agrees.
It’s quiet for a moment. The social worker gives him a pitying, kind look before she speaks
again. “...There was also some rectal tearing and bleeding when you were admitted that
suggests a violent sexual assault, as well as over a dozen drugs in your system, many of
which are common in date-rapes. Would you want to have a forensic examination and press
charges?”
Will looks back out the window, not answering. He can’t do this.
“It would only take a few hours. The clothes you were wearing have already been prepared to
collect hair, fibers, and any other evidence. They would document your injuries through
writing and photography, take swabs and a little bit of blood, and comb through your hair and
under your fingernails. You would be able to decline any of this if you felt you needed to. It’s
already been about eighteen hours since you were admitted, and you’ve already bathed and
changed, so it might not get as much evidence, but it would still come up with some, most
likely. If you wanted to press charges, the police can be here to take your statement as soon as
the rape kit’s done-”
“No.” Will says, still staring at the birds. “I- I won’t have a- a forensic examination done, and
I don’t want to press charges.”
The social worker’s silent for a moment. “Why don’t you want to press charges? You were
kidnapped and raped.”
Will doesn’t know how on Earth to say it. How can he say that it wasn’t- wasn’t rape -
because he could’ve fought back? How can he say that he doesn’t want anybody to look at
him or touch him or even be around him right now? How can he say that he doesn’t want to
talk or even think about what happened, that he just wants to pretend nothing happened and
pretend everything’s like it was before?
“You want this to go away, don’t you?” she asks softly.
Will doesn’t answer. He watches the birds with tears in his eyes. He wishes he could fly away
like they can.
“Do you want me to go away?” she asks in the same tone. It reminds Will of someone trying
to soothe a spooked animal. Maybe that’s what he is. Maybe what happened made him into
an animal that people see and pity and try to calm. He hates it.
“I don’t want to talk anymore.” Will says after a moment. “Not about this.”
“Okay.” she says softly. She gets up and gives him a smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to
you. They said you might get released tomorrow, and I want to make sure you’re okay and
safe if you leave. Let me know if you change your mind on the rape kit.”
She walks over to the door, seemingly unbothered by his lack of response, but with her hand
on the doorknob, she pauses. “...you know that there are TVs in the rooms, right? You can
watch any channel you want.” she says.
Will nods. “I know. I like the window.”
“What’s special about it?” she asks.
“The birds. They’re beautiful.” Will says honestly.

“You like birds?” she asks.
“These birds, yeah.” he says. “I wish I could draw them.”
“You like art?” she asks.
“Yeah. I don’t have my sketchbook, though, so I can’t draw them.” he says.
“Hm.” she says before leaving the room.
About an hour later, a nurse comes in with a drawing pad, pencils, and oil pastels.
Will smiles for the first time in days as he recreates the birds with each stroke of the pencils
and pastels. His hands may be shaking because his brain’s damaged now, but it’s still
something familiar, something he can do, something lovely.
The drawings aren’t perfect, but they’re okay. They’re still done by Will, and they’re still a
reflection of something beautiful. At least he can still do - can still create - something good.
Even if he’s broken, he can create work that isn’t. A comfort that’s so familiar and old, yet
fresh and new all at once.
Things might change. Horrible things might happen, and Will might be damaged and hurt and
not who he used to be, but at least his love of art and making it remains.
Chapter End Notes
Sad :( but at least he got the birds
Thank you for reading and see you soon! Hope you liked it! Leave a comment or Kudos
if you did!
AIDS
Chapter Notes
Hi! Sorry I didn't post this chapter this morning, a hyperfixation on one of my old WIPs
was activated and I wrote over 10k words on it over the last 24 hours lol. 3 more
chapters! Should start the publishing process for that one by April. So anyway, enjoy
this chapter. Sorry it was short. Have a good day!
PS: I literally found gray hair on my head this morning. I'm 15 and I have gray hairs. I
think I need a vacation.

WalkinInHawkins, promisedreamer, A1exies, Crzytgtr, Byleriscannon7,

Trigger warnings:
- Internal victim-blaming
- Panic attacks
- AIDS and STDs (mentioned)
Florence comes into Will’s room early on his second morning of being at the hospital. She
quietly hums to herself as she fixes up Will’s bed while he looks out the window, sitting in
the wheelchair and hugging Timothy to his chest as he tries to work up the nerve to ask her
something.
Eventually, she comes over to him, re-tucking another blanket around his shoulders as well as
the one over his lap as she talks, and the second that she pauses to take a breath, he interrupts.
“Do you-” he tries to take a deep breath as he can feel his face turn red. “Do- do you know-
do you know- if I have- do I have AIDS?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and Will braces for the worst.
“You’re negative for HIV.” she says after a minute. “You don’t have any sexually transmitted
diseases. We ran tests along with the rest of the bloodwork panel. No HIV, no HPV, no
herpes, no syphilis, no hepatitis… you’re all clean.”
Will nods, still looking out the window as he squeezes Timothy the Tiger, trying not to cry.
At least he doesn’t have AIDS. At least he won’t die in a gutter somewhere.
Unfortunately, though, now that the circular thought process of ‘ AIDS, AIDS, you have
AIDS, those did that to you and you’re going to die from it, you’re going to die and be
another dead faggot on the street, you have AIDS, AIDS, AIDS, AIDS’ has been resolved, it
leaves more room for other anxious thought processes and stresses. Including what Jonathan
thinks.
He nods again, looking into the stitched face of Timothy. At least if his family knows and
hates him for it, the stuffed animal can’t abandon him.
“Have- have you talked to Jonathan? My brother?” he asks.
Florence nods. “I have, yes.”
“Did he- does he know? Did someone tell him?” Will asks. “About what happened to me?”
She sighs. “I… don’t know. He might not have, he might have, but I don’t know. I’m not
usually in charge of talking to family members.”
Oh, God. What if he knows? What if he knows and thinks Will’s weak or a failure or dirty or a
fag or-
“Hey. Hey, hey, honey, breathe.” Florence says, and Will must have started hyperventilating,
but he’s so caught up in his head that he doesn’t know if he is.
What if Jonathan hates him? What if he can’t look at Will anymore without imagining what
happened? Will he want to be sick when they see each other and he sees the hickeys and
fingerprints still left on Will’s neck and body? What if he thinks that Will liked it or wanted it,
thinks those men are right and that he’s a slut? What if he wants Will to stay away from him?
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, what if he hates Will?
“Sweetie, you’re having another panic attack. You need to breathe. Everything’s okay.”
Will shakes his head as he opens his mouth to get more air. He can’t lose his big brother, he
can’t stand to see hatred in his eyes, he can’t lose Jonathan, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t-
“Breathe in for three, hold it for three, then let it out for three. Okay? Everything’s okay.” she
says.
Will tries to follow instructions, and after a little bit, his head feels a little clearer, though the
thoughts are still spiraling.
“There you go.” she soothes. “There you go. Nice, deep breaths. Everything’s okay.”
Will shakes his head. She has no idea just how not okay everything is.
“Everything’s okay. He might not know, and you can tell him whenever you feel like it’s a
good time to. And even if he does, I’m sure he knows that it wasn’t your fault and that there’s
nothing wrong with you. If he knows, he’ll probably just give you extra love and care - and if
he doesn’t, that’s on him, okay?”
Will nods.
It doesn’t matter if his agreement is a lie, if he knows that it is his fault and there is something
wrong with him, if the reason that he’s so afraid of Jonathan’s disappointment and loathing is
because he feels the same way about himself and would abandon himself if he could, because
it makes Florence feel better, and she smiles before patting his knee and getting up.
As she leaves the room, Will starts to cry.
It’s quite odd that good news would make him cry, but here he is.
Chapter End Notes
This made me sad :( poor baby.
Thank you for reading, hope you felt things, and see you soon! Leave a comment or
Kudos if you enjoyed!
Discharge
Chapter Notes
Hello! Sorry I took 2 days to post, I got hyperfixated on my original work and ended up
writing over 10k words for it in less than 24 hours lol. It's a murder mystery, and the
protagonist is a police detective... who happens to be 12 years old. (It makes sense in
context, I swear lol). Nancy Drew meets Law & Order meets Criminal Minds. I love it
<3
Thank you so much for reading! I worry that I'm not appreciative enough, but I really do
love you guys. <3

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, amaragf, Shiftie_pixie, ToBeLonely, and

Trigger warnings:
- Going into debt
- Language
When Jonathan sees the nurse that he knows has been tending to his baby brother walk
through the lobby, he practically sprints to catch up with her.
“Hey! Hey, wait up!” Jon shouts, jogging over to where she’s slowed walking to turn and
look at him.
She just looks at him. “You’re Will’s brother.” she says.
“Yeah, yeah, I am. I- look, we can’t stay here.” Jonathan says, and he’s sure that his
desperation leaks into his words. “I- shit, I can’t explain it well, but there are people looking
for us. The same people who hurt them. And I- I’m Will’s brother, and I love Mike too, and I
can’t let them get hurt again. We have to leave. Not to mention, we can’t get into contact with
our parents, and we’ve been gone for a week, and- god, I’m sure they’re worried sick.”
She just stares daggers at him for a minute.
“He’s had some serious injuries. And he won’t tell us who he got them from.” she says after a
while. “You do understand why we would have some issues releasing him when we still don’t
know what happened.”
“I- of course.” Jonathan says, a lump in his throat. “Of course I understand. But- God, he’s
my baby brother. I need to keep him safe, and-”
“You already didn’t keep him safe.” the nurse interrupts, and she looks genuinely angry to the
point that Jonathan’s a little afraid. “You have no idea what he’s gone through. What
happened to him, it’s horrific, and because of the psychological effect, it’s not over for him
yet. He’s gone through so much, and he has physical and mental effects from it that clearly
require treatment. And you want to take him away from the hospital and from the medical
care and safety it provides out into the world. Are you kidding?”
And Jonathan wants to cry, because he tried, and he knows that he’s a horrible brother for
failing but he tried so hard and he loves his little brother more than life itself, and he’s failed
in the past but he’d do anything to keep him safe in the future, and why doesn’t she see how
much and how fiercely Jon loves them?
“No. Look, look, just listen. We need to get home. I’ll- I’ll take fantastic care of him and
Mike, but- we can’t stay here. We need to get home.”
“That would be a mistake.” the nurse says. “As a medical professional, I’m just going to tell
you that it would be in their best interest to stay here.”
“I- fine. Theoretically, could he leave? Are Will and Mike well enough to be discharged?”
Jonathan asks. He doesn’t want to have to go against the nurse’s advice, but they have to go
home. El is missing, they’re definitely missed by their families by now, and they’re in danger
the longer they stay here. They have to go.
She glares at him again before sighing. “Technically, yes.”
“Then I’m checking them out. We’re leaving. Just- tell me what I need to do to help them.
Please. I don’t want to hurt them, but- we really need to get out of here. As soon as possible.”
The nurse gives him one last long, hard look before her expression softens and she nods.
“Alright. Look, you’re going to listen very carefully to what I have to say, alright?”
Jonathan nods.
“One: Will’s going to have bandages around his ribs and head. He has to replace the one
around his head every eight hours, and rewrap the compression bandage around his ribs every
twelve. There are braces around his knee and ankle, and he keeps those on at all times. Got
it?”
“Yeah.” Jonathan says.
“Make sure that he follows instructions on those, and help him if he needs it. Two, he’s gonna
be on a course of medications. He has antibiotics, pain medication, anti-seizure drugs, and we
got in some of his old vitamins and mental health medications. Make sure he takes them.”
“Okay.” Jonathan says. “Are there any interactions?”
“Not that we know of. Still, keep an eye on him. That goes for seizures, too - he’s epileptic
now, and he’s probably going to have more seizures going forward. Watch him closely, and if
he falls and starts seizing, don’t hold him down, but cushion his head.”
“I can do that.” Jonathan says.

“And… look, he’s not going to be doing too hot. He’s gonna be having nightmares. He’s
gonna be having panic attacks. He’s going to have a really hard time. Be supportive. Listen,
make sure he knows that you still love him, and… just be there for him. And- it might sound
odd, but please just ask or tell him before you touch him or move quickly. Be gentle.
Capisce?” she says.
Jonathan ignores how much that hurts his heart.
“Capisce. I can take care of him. What about Mike?” Jon says.
“His case isn’t quite as complicated. He has antibiotics and painkillers to take, and he needs
to put on burn cream. Make sure he does that, everything should be okay.” she says.
“Okay. Thank you so much.” Jon says.
As he’s turning away to wake Argyle, she stops him, handing him a piece of notebook paper
with a number written in pen. “Here’s my number. Call if anything comes up.”
“I will. Thank you.” Jon says.
“And- wait. Okay, they told you about Will’s hearing, right?” she asks.
“A little. They said that he’s having problems with his senses.”
“Well, he had a surgery to fix his vision, and that’s healing up nicely, as is his eyesight. He
might need glasses later on, but for now, he’s fine. His hearing, though… it’s almost all gone.
He’s reliant on hearing aids right now, and he doesn’t know how to lipread or use sign
language yet, so he might not hear you very well. Just be patient and willing to repeat
yourself.” the nurse says.
Jonathan tries not to cry. Hasn’t Will suffered enough?
“Okay.” he says. “Okay. I’ll go check them out at the desk, then.”
The nurse sighs and nods. “I’ll get them ready to go, then. Even if I think it’s a bad idea.’
“Thank you.” Jonathan says, walking up to the front desk. They can do this. He can protect
the kids.
“Okay, are you all ready?” Florence asks cheerfully, helping him walk as they leave the
hospital room. He has a bag on his back, but inside is just the sweatsuit he was wearing when
he was admitted, Timothy the Tiger, and the medical supplies he’ll need. Will’s wearing a
pair of dark blue scrubs provided by the hospital and white shoes like the doctors and nurses
are wearing on his feet. He refused to put the sweatsuit back on, so they gave him an extra set
of their clothes instead.
“Ready.” Will says, and apparently Florence can hear the apprehension in his voice, because
she stops and turns to him.
“Honey, they still love you. Your brother kept talking about how you were his baby brother,
and Mike wouldn’t stop asking questions about how you were doing. They don’t know, and
even if they do, they sure don't hate you. Okay? Everything’s fine.” Florence soothes.
Will gives a jerky nod. “I just- I don’t know. What if they figure it out?”
“Then you have a calm conversation and you tell them what happened.” Florence says.
“I can’t tell them. Ever. They’d- it would change everything.” Will says.
“Well… sometimes, change is good. And it would be a load off your shoulders, right? It
could be a good thing to tell them.” Florence says. “But what’s not helping is worrying about
it. Take a deep breath and keep moving forward, okay?”
“Okay.” Will says quietly.
It’s quiet the rest of the walk over to the lobby, at which point Will’s heart is in his throat as
he sees Mike and Jonathan talking quietly.
Florence lets him go, and Will limps closer to his loved ones until-
Mike looks over and sees Will, and his calmly neutral expression goes to pure joy upon
seeing him.
“WILL!” he shouts, before all but sprinting for him and tackling him in a hug.
Will makes an ‘oof’ sound as Mike squeezes tightly, frozen for a moment ( he’s safe, he’s
safe, it’s not the Nova people, nobody’s gonna hurt him, he’s safe ) before tucking his chin
into Mike’s shoulder and closing his eyes as he hugs back. Everything’s okay. This is Mike.
He’s safe.
“Move. Move, move, move, move, move.” Jonathan says, shoving Mike out of the way
before grabbing Will in a similarly crushing hug. “I’m so happy you’re okay.” he whispers.
Will could cry as Jonathan, Argyle, and Mike push and shove to hug him before they all end
up in a group hug, with Will at the center.
Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’ll all be okay. They don’t hate him. They’re happy to see him.
Maybe it’s okay.
-
Jonathan watches them all go out to the van that’s still in the parking lot, both Mike and
Argyle attempting to help hold Will up, though he seems to be determined to stand on his
own.
He looks better than when he was admitted (though… that’s not hard to do), but he still looks
so small, so broken. The way that he flinched when Mike hugged him, the way that the nurse
stressed being gentle and careful so much…
It makes Jonathan want to know what happened.
Instead of chasing after Will and demanding answers to that burning question of ‘What
actually happened?’, though, Jonathan goes up to the front desk.
“We owe money, right?” he says.
“Yes, you do. One minute.” Brenda, the lady at the front desk (who Jonathan’s gotten to
know pretty well over the past few days of never once leaving the hospital lobby), says,
typing on the computer.
She winces. “With the surgeries and the medications, it’s going to be about fifty thousand
after your insurance. Blue Cross Blue Shield, right?”
Jonathan gags on the number. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Can he use the hush money from the
government?
She leans in quietly. “You know, we can give you a loan. You can pay it off immediately or
over time. I can get it to you at a low interest rate.”
Shit. They just finished paying off their credit card debt. They just got back on track and got
rid of their past medical loans. Shit. Are they really going to have to go back into that hole
and dig themselves out again?
Jonathan looks out the door to the van, where Mike is helping Will in.
Yeah. It’s worth it. He needs to take care of them.
“Okay.” Jonathan huffs. “Okay. Yeah. Give me the loan.”
She nods. “Okay. What address?”
Jonathan tells her the information she needs to give them the loan, ignoring the knot in his
stomach forming as he does so.
Once he’s done, he leaves the building, trying not to cry as he goes out to the van. They’re in
debt again. They’re in debt again. How are they going to pay it off? They just fixed their
financial situation. How are they going to pay it off? They’re in debt again.
Jonathan gets in the car, and with one check that everyone’s okay, he starts to go.
They drive, and as Mike and Will speak quietly in the backseat and Argyle rambles next to
him, Jonathan looks into the rearview mirror over and over.
It’ll be fine. He can figure out how to get them home safely, find El, keep them all safe and
watch their medical states, and figure out where to get the 50k to pay off their new loans.
Right?
Jonathan shakes it off.

There are bigger things to worry about than a little debt.
Chapter End Notes
Once again, sorry it took so long to update! Thank you for reading and see you soon!
Let me know what you thought in the comments, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up
Hotel
Chapter Notes
Hello! In honor of the fact that I almost died today (a cement mixer ran a red light while
speeding and almost hit me walking the crosswalk, it missed by less than a foot and
crushed my headphones, I deadass almost died today), I'm posting another longer
chapter. Enjoy!

TooGayForYourDrama, Silly_lil_scribbles, amaragf, Shiftie_pixie, ToBeLonely, and
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
- Vomit
- Self-harm
- Self-hatred
- Panic attacks
- Disordered eating
“Alright, guys. Time to get up.” Jonathan says, pulling over at a hotel at around 8 at night,
right as the sun’s starting to go down.
He sees the kids in the back both sit up blearily, looking over at him. They must have fallen
asleep.
“Hotel.” he says. “Come on, we’re gonna get a room.”

“I- Jonathan, no. We have to get to Hawkins. El’s missing, and Mom must be worried sick
and we have to call her, and-”
Like hell is he having Will and Mike sleep in the van with their injuries. Not to mention,
Jonathan’s slept in one of those stupid hospital chairs for three nights, and he would kill for a
bed and a shower.
“No debate. We’re stopping to rest on the way back. I’m not risking your injuries getting
worse.” Jonathan says. “I’ll be right back. I’ll rent us rooms.”
All of them mutter agreement, and Jonathan gets out of the van, but when he’s outside the
door of the motel, he pauses, taking some deep, shuddering breaths.
He has to be the grown-up. Mike and Will are so young, and Argyle’s not too helpful, and
there isn’t room to be scared of what the kids went through or of the debt that he just agreed
to or what’s going to happen next. He has to be brave, even if he just wants to sit down and
cry until he feels better.
Jonathan wipes his eyes and goes into the lobby.
“Hi. We need… two to four beds.” he says to the man at the front desk.
“Alright. Um… we can get you two rooms, or we can get you a room with two beds. Which
would you prefer, sir?” the man asks.
Jonathan thinks for a minute. Like hell is he letting Will out of his sight, and he’s not going to
make Argyle and Mike share a room/bed otherwise. “Room with two beds, please.” he says.
“Alright. One night?” he asks.
Jonathan nods.
“Fifty dollars, please.” the man says.
Jon nods again, pulls out his wallet, and forks over the cash. At least he can take a shower
and get out the kink in his neck from the plastic chairs.
“Room 1010. Have a nice night, sir.” the man drawls, handing over the key.
“Thanks.” Jon says, grabbing the key and going back out to the van.
He opens the back with the statement of “Room 1010”, and Mike hops out by himself,
getting to his feet and starting to walk towards the doors.
Jon goes to grab Will’s arm to help him out, seeing how he’s struggling to get out by himself,
but Will yelps and flies backwards from Jonathan’s raised hand so fast that he falls back into
the van.
“I- oh my God, I’m so sorry. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’m not gonna hit you, I promise.”
Jonathan says, his heart breaking on the words as much as his voice is as he holds out his
hands in a placating gesture. “Everything’s okay, Will. I promise.”
Will nods jerkily, refusing to look at Jonathan as he gets out of the van by himself before
limping into the lobby after Mike, Argyle next to him.
Jonathan doesn’t know what to do. How is he supposed to fix this? How does he make
everything better?
He doesn’t know, so he just gets Will’s bag that he brought from the hospital and brings it in.
They’re all waiting outside of Room 1010, and Jonathan opens the door and lets them all in.
“I’m gonna take a shower.” Mike says, dropping his duffel bag (that the government
apparently had never taken from the van) onto the floor and grabbing out some clothes and
toiletries.
“Okay.” Will says, looking over the bed. Jonathan sees that he’s looking for bedbugs. Smart
move.
He does the same, and when he finds none, Jonathan kicks off his shoes and falls onto one of
the queen-sized beds. “You okay with sharing with Mike?” he asks Will.
Will nods. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”
Argyle flops down next to him. “This is a sweet mattress, my dude. It’s nice.”
Jonathan smiles as he rolls his eyes. It feels so good to be with his family again - because, in
the end, Argyle and Mike are his family too, if not in the same way as Will.
Speaking of…
Jonathan picks his head up to look over at Will, who’s curled around something on the
room’s other bed and facing away from them. He can see his brother’s back shaking.
“Hey, you okay, Will?” Jonathan asks.
He hears a sniff. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
Jonathan knows that’s bullshit. He wants to get up and go over and just hold onto Will, just
keep him safe and get him to tell Jonathan the truth. But as he’s starting to sit up to go over,
Mike opens the bathroom door, coming out with a head of wet hair, a T-shirt and shorts, and
bleary eyes.
As Will sits up and starts going through his bag, Mike flops down on the side of the bed Will
hasn’t claimed and sighs. “Not a hospital pillow. My life is good again.”
Jonathan snorts at that.
Will gets back up from where he’s been going through his bag with an armful of medical
supplies. “I, uh… I don’t have any clothes. Can I borrow some, if anyone has any?” he asks.
Jonathan’s immediately up and trying to think of where he can get Will clothes, but Mike’s
already on it, rooting through his bag before holding out a stack of fabric.
“Sorry, it’s just sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I- it’s better than nothing, right?” Mike
says.
He sees Will nod. “It is. Thank you, Mike.”
Will takes the clothes in his other arm and goes to the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
he says. “I’ll be out in just a few.”
“Wait, do- do you need help rewrapping your bandages?” Jonathan asks as Will starts to close
the door.
Please say yes. I love you. You’re my brother. You’re my baby. I raised you. I love you more
than anything. I just want to help. Please, Will, just let me help. I need to keep you safe. I love
you. I can’t let my brother get hurt. I can’t let my baby get hurt. Please. Just let me help. I
want to help. I want to keep you safe. I want to protect you, I want to support you, I want to
take care of you, please just let me.
Will just gives a small, tight smile. “I’m okay. I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” he says.
With that, he closes the door, shutting Jonathan out.
The second he’s safely locked in the bathroom, Will sinks to the floor, lying in a jumbled
mess on the tile. Fuck. Fuck, he can’t do this. He can’t do this. How is he supposed to do
this?
He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to just feel better and not have the ghost of
what happened haunt him, both physically and mentally.
Will quickly turns on the shower as he starts to sob so that it’ll cover the noise. They all look
so exhausted, and he doesn’t need to add… whatever his emotional state is to their list of
problems. He’s better off handling this by himself. If they don’t need to know about the men
at the Nova Project, he won’t tell them. And he won’t tell them that he’s a Number if he
doesn’t have to, either.
The realization hits Will like a cement mixer. None of them know. They don’t know that he’s
like El, they don’t know about the tumor, they don’t know about the sensory deprivation tank
or anything Will went through. They’re completely in the dark. They don’t know.
Will can’t breathe as tears stream down his face and he hiccups and gasps, covering his face
in the hope that his clammy hands will keep him safe somehow.
After a minute, Will just wipes his eyes and nose and sniffles one last time before getting up.
A shower will make him feel better. In the hospital, he was only allowed to shower once
(with much begging - the hospital didn’t want to let him bathe until he’d had a- a rape kit-
and it took a solid day to convince the nurses and doctors to let him shower, at which point it
was only ten minutes), and maybe taking his time and scrubbing will help him feel better,
help him feel clean again.
He starts to strip and take off the scrubs and sweater and shoes that the hospital gave him so
that he can get into the (hopefully) hot water, but he makes the mistake of looking in the
mirror, and he almost throws up.
Hickeys are still left all over his throat and chest, littered along his torso, some with teeth
marks still left. There are bruises of fingerprints and fingernails on his throat and wrists and
coming up out of the waistband of his pants on his hips, dark enough that you can see the
shape of the men’s fingers and where they were holding as they-
Before Will can even think about what he’s doing, looking at the hickeys and bruises and cuts
that are proof of what happened, he’s over the toilet, throwing up what’s just stomach acid at
this point. It’s not enough that his body’s not even his own at this point, but it has to be
marked up as proof of that, too?
A knock comes at the door, and Will’s head snaps from resting against the vanity in the
bathroom next to the toilet to staring at the door.
“Will? Are you okay?” Jonathan asks.
“Y-yeah!” Will says hurriedly, wincing at the sound of his voice after vomiting as well as the
nasty taste in his mouth. “Everything’s fine! I’m just- gonna brush my teeth before I get in!”
He can almost feel Jon nodding. “Maybe hold off on brushing your teeth. I’m gonna get us
some snacks for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” Will says automatically.
“Too bad. We’re all eating.” Jon says. “I’m not taking any risks with your health. Enjoy your
shower. There’ll be food when you get out.”
Will quietly groans as he leans his head against the vanity again.
After he brushes his teeth with the complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste, religiously
avoiding looking down or in the mirror, he finishes stripping and taking out his hearing aids
before getting into the shower, immediately going for the bar of soap.
Will scrubs as hard as he can with the soap, pressing it down so much that it leaves a sting as
he drags it over his skin over and over.
He scrubs at his hands and legs and chest and hips and everywhere he can reach until his skin
bleeds and burns, and it’s still not enough, it’s still not enough, he’s still not clean, he’s still
not pure and he can still feel their hands under his skin, it’s not enough, but he’s scrubbed
until the entire bar of soap is gone and now there’s none left to start the process over with.
Fuck. He just wants to feel clean again. He just wants to feel okay again. Why isn’t there
more soap?
Will gives up on feeling clean and instead just shampoos and conditions his hair before
getting out. He dries off, staining the white towel with splotches of pink with the blood from
his zealous scrubbing, before putting on the bandages and braces and getting dressed in
Mike’s clothes.
It probably sounds creepy, but as he zips up the hoodie, he grabs the shirt and sweatshirt and
presses it to his face, letting the smell of the Wheeler’s laundry detergent drown out
everything else.
The clothes smell like safety and home, like nights spent sleeping in Mike’s bed between
sheets that were washed with the same formula of fabric softener and detergent and color
preserver that everything else of his was, like days that Will helped Mrs. Wheeler with the
laundry as Mike complained that she was stealing Will away and taking time out of their day
even if Will didn’t actually mind, like sunny days after the pool wrapped up in a towel loaned
by Mike.
The clothes smell like Mike. They smell like safety and home and love and happiness, and
Will just wants to drown in the scent instead of having to come back out of the fabric and
face food and the memories and his new reality.
With one last inhale, Will leaves the bathroom, entering the room where he sees his friends
and family eating pre-packaged snacks from a vending machine.
Will just lies down on his bed and grabs Timothy the Tiger again, hugging him to his chest as
he curls on his side.
He’s starting to breathe easier (though he still feels like there are rocks in his chest) when-
“Who’s this?” Mike asks, gently taking the stuffed animal from Will’s grasp. He turns it and
looks it over, smiling. The tiger’s cute, and it’s soft and plush. He can see why Will likes it.
“I- hey!” Will complains, grabbing for it. “Give it back!”
“Sorry, just curious. What’s their name?” Mike says, giving it back.
Will doesn’t answer, just burying his face in the tiger.
“Will?” Mike asks.
Still no answer.
“You want food?” Mike prompts.
He taps Will’s shoulder, and Will shoots up, giving him a weird look.
“You okay?” he asks.
Will touches his ear and apparently isn’t happy. “Shit.” he mutters. “Hang on.”
He gets out of bed and goes back to the bathroom, at which point he goes in for a second
before coming back, messing with something in his ear. “Sorry.” he says, sitting back down.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up with your ears?” Mike asks.
“Oh. Um… just a complication from the head injury.” Will says.
“Wait, what? What’s going on?” he asks. If Will’s hiding his injuries, Mike doesn’t know
what he’d do, Jesus Christ-
“I can’t hear anymore.” Will says quietly. “They gave me hearing aids. I lost most of my
hearing. 90% in one ear, 70% in the other. They gave me hearing aids, and they said that as
long as I was wearing them my hearing would be about 70% of normal people’s.”
Mike sits stock-still for a minute.
It’s so unfair. Will’s suffered through so much, and now he’s lost his hearing too. It makes
Mike want to cry.
Instead, he just nods. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that’s happening.”
Will nods and gives a shaky smile. “Yeah, I am too.”
“Are you going to learn sign language now? Should I learn sign language too?” Mike asks.
‘I’ll do anything to make sure that I can always talk with Will. I love him so much.’
Mike quickly quiets that thought.
Will shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe.”
Mike nods. “Well, if you learn it, I will too. Plus, then we can have secret sign conversations
as we’re ripping off Vegas, right?”
Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah. That would be cool.” he says.
“So, um… while your… hearing aids were out, I guess… I asked if you wanted anything to
eat and who the stuffed animal was.” Mike says.
“I don’t want anything to eat, but the stuffed animal is Timothy the Tiger.” Will says.
Mike ignores the first part of Will’s answer and instead just leans over and drops three
granola bars on the bed next to Will.
“Good to know the tiger’s name. Eat up.” Mike says.
Will opens his mouth, presumably to object, but Mike gives him a look of ‘I’m not taking shit
on this, eat the damn granola’, and he shuts it.
Will opens one of the granola bars with shaking hands and takes a bite, wincing as he does
so. Mike watches closely as Will finishes the food, then gets up and throws the wrappers
away.
At least he was able to get some food into Will.
“Alright, I’m gonna brush my teeth.” Will says quietly, looking guilty, probably about eating.
“I’ll come with you. I need to brush my teeth too.” Mike says, and sure, he does need to
brush his teeth, but it’s mostly to keep an eye on Will while he’s in the bathroom and keep
him from throwing up. He needs to gain weight, or at least not lose any more.
Even after the hospital and Nina and everything, Will’s eating… thing… is on his mind.
Will’s already hurt enough, and if Mike can even keep him safe and healthy in one way, it’ll
be better than now.
Will looks really awkward, standing there and fidgeting with the too-long sleeves on Mike’s
hoodie that he gave Will (Jesus Christ, he looks adorable) before nodding. “Alright. Come
on.”
Mike smiles and gets out of bed.
Argyle watches with mostly-closed eyes as Will and Mike go to the bathroom together.
They’re some weird kids - and this is coming from him, Argyle the stoner, Argyle the idiot,
Argyle the clown.
He watches them brush their teeth side-by-side in the cramped bathroom and feels so many
emotions that his first thought is to stamp them out with weed.
Well, first of all, he hopes those gay little knuckleheads figure it out and get together soon.
They’re so cute, it’s a crime that they haven’t made out yet. Well, according to Jonathan - he
says they’ve never dated or even kissed each other. Not even once!
Argyle thinks that’s utter bullshit. Mike’s so protective and loving towards Will, with his
obvious unwavering support. It’s clear that Mike’s very much in love with Will, and is
obviously willing to do whatever it takes to keep him safe and comfortable and happy.
Meanwhile, with the heart-eyes Will keeps giving Mike and the obvious complete trust as
well as the same protectiveness and love that Mike expresses, Will’s clearly very much in
love with Mike.
They’re soulmates. No doubt about it. If they don’t make out at least once, Argyle will not
die a happy man. They deserve to be happy with each other.
Well, Argyle can figure out how to get them together without outing them to each other later,
when they’re in better shape and in better spirits. In the meantime, he’s worrying about how
to keep them all together.
Jonathan’s clearly on the verge of a mental breakdown, Mike’s so concerned about Will that
Argyle’s gonna have to keep an eye on him so that he doesn’t end up neglecting himself, and
Will… that’s a whole other story.
Will’s a good kid. Argyle genuinely likes him, and he’s felt protective of him ever since
Jonathan got so high that he opened up about what he and Will went through at the hands of
their father and how bad the bullying was for both of them, but Will especially. And now he
feels so helpless when he looks at Will’s face.
The pain etched into Will’s face stings. There’s obviously a lot going on under the surface,
and Argyle knows that something really bad happened to Will that he isn’t ready to share yet.
And it breaks Argyle’s heart to see his younger friend suffer in silence.
He wishes he knew how to help. Something he could say to lift the burden off of all their
shoulders. To make that pain in Will’s face lessen. All he can do, though, is be there for his
friends when they need him.
Argyle rolls over with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes. He’ll do whatever he can to lighten
the mood and dispel the angst around all of his friends. He can be a jokester. He’s always
been good at making stupid comments and using his tendency towards oddness to make
people smile. He can do that.
He can just keep lightening the mood.
Jonathan wakes up to crying.
For a second, he just lies in the dark, trying to figure out where it’s coming from, before he
hears another quiet sob and realizes that it’s from the next bed over.
Jon reaches over and taps his brother’s shaking shoulder.
Will jumps, then turns over and grabs a hearing aid from where it’s lying on the nightstand
before putting it in the ear not pressed against the pillow.
“You okay?” Jonathan asks quietly. Will’s face is puffy and red from tears, and Jonathan
wishes that he had a time machine so that he could go back and protect Will from whatever
they did to him.
Will’s quiet for a moment before nodding.
“Bull.” Jon says, turning onto his side to face Will. “Utter bullshit.”
“I’m fine, Jon, really-” Will tries.
“Will, I raised you. I know when you’re not okay. You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine
with me. Whatever you’re going through - whatever you’ve gone through - you don’t have to
hide it. You can tell me. We’re family, and I’m here for you, and I love you no matter what.
Please, just tell me. Let me help.” Jonathan says.
He sees more tears come from Will’s eyes and hit the pillow as he shakes his head.
“I can’t.” Will whispers. “I can’t talk about it. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
He closes his eyes as another sob racks his body.
Jonathan doesn’t know what to do, so he just reaches out and takes Will’s hand lying on the
mattress, pulling it over so that their entwined fingers are hanging between the beds.
“It’s okay.” Jonathan says, because as much as he wants - as much as he needs - to know, he’s
not going to push Will when he’s so obviously hurting. “It’s okay. You can always talk to me,
but you don’t have to. Just know that I love you, okay? That’s never going to change.”
Will nods, still crying, as he squeezes Jon’s hand. “I love you too, and I’m here if you need
me too.”
Jonathan isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, because Will’s the one sobbing in the middle of
the night in a hotel room, but he’s still determined to make sure Jonathan feels loved too.
“Okay. I know. Do you want to take your hearing aid out and go to sleep?” Jonathan asks.
Will’s quiet for a minute before nodding, taking the hearing aid out with the hand not holding
Jonathan’s and placing it back on the table.
“Goodnight, Jon. I love you.” Will says.
Jon says it back, but Will can’t hear him, so he settles for just squeezing his hand one more
time before going back to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
Tell me the chapter wasn't this:

Jonathan: Anxious Older Brother™️
Mike: I am Irrevocably In Love with Will / I would die (or learn a whole other
language) for Will
Will: *thousand mental breakdowns*
Argyle: These bitches gay! Good for them!
Anyways, hope you enjoyed the longer chapter, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up
PS: Mike said 'Who is this' for Timothy the Tiger because he knows it’s a somebody <3
PPS: '1010' is because the roller skates at Rink-O-Mania that Will and Mike were
carrying both said '10' on them <3 wanted to share my lil Easter egg (and It's named that
because fluffy Byler next chapter!!!)
Also, I think we're all Argyle in this chapter lol

Dirty
Chapter Notes
So... this chapter is more hurt/comfort than Byler fluff, but it’s still cute, okay?!
Anyway, thank you for all the love on the previous 2 chapters. I'm gonna respond to
them all today. <3
Also, thank you for your love with my near-death experience! I haven't had any since!

WalkinInHawkins, promisedreamer, A1exies, Byleriscannon7, Silly_lil_scribbles,
amaragf, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you
enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!
Also, my friend Lilz made fanart for this fic!! Say 'thank you, Lilz' and check it out!!!
https://pin.it/1cm6xYJm4
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Flashback of sexual assault
- Panic attack
- Obsessive hand-washing
- Self-harm
- Language
When Will wakes up, he feels safe, for the first time in ages.
Jonathan’s hand is still holding his where their hands meet between the bed, and as if that
weren’t enough comfort in and of itself, Mike’s pressed to his back, his arm slung over Will’s
waist and his hand tangled with Will’s own over his chest as his hair and breath tickles the
back of Will’s neck.
Will’s not able to move, but instead of feeling threatened, he feels safe.
Well, until Mike snuggles closer. He makes a sleepy little noise as he hugs Will closer,
smushing his nose against the back of Will’s head and pushing his knees further into Will’s.
It then smacks Will in the face that Mike is spooning him right now. His sister’s boyfriend
Mike, his childhood best friend Mike, straight Mike, is literally spooning him.
Will panics a little, but he carefully lets go of Jonathan’s hand and extracts himself from
Mike’s grip, which earns mumbling and shifting from both Jon and Mike.
He gets up, puts in his hearing aids, and goes to the bathroom, where he shuts and locks the
doors before starting to scrub at his hands in the water of the sink. If they keep touching him
so much, he has to make sure that he’s as clean as he can be. He can’t contaminate them.
Will scrubs with his fingernails and soap until his hands are raw and bleeding. They still
aren’t clean. Will they ever be clean again? Will he ever be clean again?
Will dries them off before pumping more soap into them and starting again. He doubts he can
be, but he can try.
After eight rounds of scrubbing viciously at his hands until they burn, a knock comes at the
door.
“Will? You okay?” comes Mike’s soft voice. The one everyone’s always called the ‘Will
Voice’.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Washing my hands.” Will says, hardly looking up from the efforts that are
getting blood on the sink. Dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty-
“I- can I come in?” Mike asks quietly. “Please? You kind of disappeared.”
Will dries off his hands again before unlocking the door and starting to wash them again.
“Door’s unlocked.”
Mike opens it slowly before stepping inside and shutting it, turning around to face Will.
Apparently, whatever he was going to say is gone, though, as he sees Will’s hands, stained
red and raw.
“Will, what are- what are you doing?” Mike asks.
Will doesn’t answer. Mike won’t understand.
“Stop it.” Mike says. “You’re hurting yourself. You- you need to stop it. Will- Will, please-”
Will doesn’t. He takes another pump of soap.
“Will! Stop!” Mike shouts, grabbing his wrists and trying to pull Will’s hands apart and away
from the water.
Will shrieks and tries to shoves Mike away at the feeling of his best friend’s fingers aligning
too closely with the bruises on his wrists. No. Dirty dirty dirty have to get clean-
Mike lets go of his wrists, but before Will can be relieved, he’s grabbing Will around the
waist and lifting him up and moving him away, so that he can’t push Mike away or keep
scrubbing at his hands.
“STOP! YOU’RE HURTING YOURSELF! STOP!” Mike shouts as Will kicks and squirms
and screams.
The door swings open again as Will struggles, hitting at Mike in a panic. Don’t touch him
don’t touch him don’t touch him-
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Jonathan asks.
“HE’S HURTING HIMSELF!” Mike shouts, struggling to hold on as Will fights. “HELP!”
Jonathan curses as he turns off the sink. “Move him out into the room and make sure that he
can’t hurt himself!” he orders Mike.
With that, Will’s hefted up again, still crying and screaming and thrashing, before Mike
carries Will out of the bathroom, still fighting to hold on, and drops Will onto the bed.
Will takes the opportunity to struggle, and he attempts to hit or kick as he starts shouting
again. The can’t do this, they can’t do this, they can’t do this-
The man just pushes him down on the cot and pins his wrists to the mattress next to his head
as he gets over Will and starts to kiss him again.
Eventually, Will manages to get his knee up and knees the man in the dick, causing him to
keel over and be half-lying on Will. For a second, he’s proud of himself, until his wrists are
squeezed so hard that it elicits a pained gasp and the man leans over to hiss in his ear.
“I told you to fucking behave. You’re going to have to pay for every infraction. You know
that, right?” the man hisses.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Will snarls back. It’s all he can think to do.
The man laughs, a cruel, harsh sound. “You’re mine. Not yours. Your body? It’s not yours, it’s
mine. And what do we do with things that are ours?”
Will squeezes his eyes shut again as the man slips his fingers into the sides of Will’s
underwear over his hips.
“Whatever we want.” the man says.
He yanks Will’s underwear down, and Will wishes he were dead. He’s fucking naked and
there are six men in the room who clearly want to have sex with him. Oh, God, he’s so scared,
no, no, no-
“NO! NO! STOP! I DON’T KNOW WHERE EL IS! PLEASE!” Will screams. Don’t touch
him, just please don’t touch him, stop, he doesn’t know where El is-
“WILL! CALM DOWN! IT’S ME!” Mike shouts. “YOU’RE SAFE! CALM DOWN!”
No, no, please, he can’t do this, he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this, leave him
alone-
Will’s world goes dark, and what are they doing, what are they going to do, oh, God-
“Breathe.” Mike tells Will, clearly winded but no longer yelling. “Everything’s okay. It’s
okay. Everything’s okay.”
Will looks up from where he’s been trying to twist his head away to see Mike’s face a few
inches above his, eyes wide and pleading and frightened. The way that he’s crouched over
Will, is blocking the light from the ceiling. “It’s okay.” he whispers. “You’re safe.”
Will can’t breathe, but when Mike carefully taps their foreheads together and moves a hand
from holding Will’s arm down to brush his hair out of his eyes, somehow, that feeling of not
being able to breathe turns into crying again. (Man, he's been crying a lot the past few days).
He cries, and Mike stops holding him down now that he’s not thrashing anymore, instead
rolling off him before pulling Will close against his chest, murmuring soothing words into his
hair.
Will cries and focuses on breathing in Mike’s scent, that Wheeler’s-laundry smell combined
with the hotel soap with something that’s just Mike. Just focus on how he smells. It’s a good
smell. Everything’s fine. Just focus.
Over time, Will can finally breathe again, and the tears slow, before they finally stop.
Eventually, Mike pulls away, cradling Will’s face in his hands and wiping away the leftover
tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay.” he repeats. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay. We’re safe.”
Will nods numbly.
Mike hugs him again, pressing his face into the top of Will’s head, and maybe he’s imagining
things, but he thinks that he feels Mike press a kiss to the top of his scalp and whisper ‘I’m
sorry. I’m sorry, but you’re too precious to bleed’.
After another minute, Mike pulls away again, carefully taking Will’s hands and bringing
them up to look at them. They’re still raw, still bleeding from the sides of his nails and from
the skin on the back of his hands.
Mike’s face crumples as he carefully turns his hands to look at them. “Jesus Christ, Will.” he
whispers. “God, you can’t- why did you do that?”
Will goes to scratch at his hands again, make himself feel better, but Mike grabs them and
entwines their fingers. “Nu-uh. No way. There’s no way you’re doing that again. Everything’s
fine. Stay calm and focus on me, okay?”
Will nods. Are they all mad at him? Is Mike mad at him? Oh, no.
Argyle quietly comes up beside them. “I brought some supplies to patch him back up.” he
says.
“Thank you.” Mike says. He sits up and helps Will up with a hand on his back too, still
watching him closely to make sure that he doesn’t freak out again as he lets go to use the
medical supplies.
“I- I don’t think it’s- it’s that bad-” Will says as Mike puts antibiotic ointment on his hands
and starts to unwrap some gauze.
“No.” Mike says simply, wrapping Will’s hands carefully and well. Will appreciates that
Mike leaves his fingers out of the bandages, even if they’re still bleeding, too. At least he can
still touch things.
Argyle gets Jonathan and gives them a look before they leave the hotel room, leaving Will
and Mike alone.
“I-” Mike says, clearly trying to think of what to say. “Can- are you okay now? You know
where we are? Who I am? You’re okay?”
Will nods, avoiding looking at Mike’s eyes. He doesn’t know what Mike thinks. Does he
think Will’s going crazy? Has he figured out what happened? What did Will say while he was
having the flashback?
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Will asks in a whisper.
Mike shakes his head. “No.”
And with that, he surprises the hell out of Will by raising his newly-bandaged hands to his
mouth and pressing a light kiss to the back of each one.
Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck-
“And even if you were… crazy together, right?” Mike whispers, and- is he looking at Will’s
lips?
Before Will knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning forward a little, hoping that if Mike really is
looking at his lips and wants to kiss him, he’ll pick up on it. And… if Mike isn’t and Will’s
imagining things, he can play it off as nothing.
Mike leans in too, but before they’re close enough to kiss-
“Alright, guys, I brought snacks. We have to hit the road in a few minutes, so once you feel
better, Will, go ahead and start packing up, okay?” Jonathan says as soon as he opens the
door.
Mike and Will spring apart in a panic at the door opening, though Mike still keeps his hold on
Will’s hands. Will sees Argyle glare at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye.
As they get up and pack up what little they brought after Jonathan’s been sufficiently
convinced that Will’s not going to hurt himself, Will doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling or
what to think, but there’s plenty of time to try to decipher it in the van ride back to Hawkins.
Chapter End Notes
Jonathan 'Cockblock' Byers strikes again! Muahaha!
Also, yes, Argyle was glaring at Jonathan like 'DAMMIT MAN MY SHIP WAS
ALMOST CANON, FUCK YOU'
Byler are our favorite idiots guys <3
Also poor Will 😢

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you
soon!
Worry
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's another chapter. Sorry it's so short!

Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Mentioned flashback
- Language
Mike watches Will through his bangs as the van drives down the highway, keeping an eye on
him as he looks over the painting again.
His hands are still so raw and bloodied that it makes Mike wince to look at them where
they’re resting on Will’s knees as he quietly looks out the window.
No matter how hard he tries, Mike’s thoughts keep going back to what happened in the motel.
Sometimes to the almost-kiss (holy shit), but mostly to Will’s breakdown.
Mike’s heart just about stopped when he went into the bathroom and saw what Will was
doing. He just… how could Will do that? It had to be hurting him to do that. It was obviously
clear that he was going overboard with how they were bleeding. What possessed him to keep
going? Can’t he see that he’s too beautiful to be hurt?
And he can’t even begin to describe the pain that came with Will’s screaming and begging
and thrashing as they tried to stop him. His heart broke as Will was panicking and crying and
trying to hit him to get away, and it took all his effort not to cry as he was holding Will after
he was done fighting.
Mike’s mind keeps going back to what he was saying while Mike was pinning him down
onto the bed to keep him from hurting himself. ‘No! No! Stop! I don’t know where El is!
Please! Please! Please, stop! I don’t know where El is! Please, I’ll do anything you want!
Please! No! Don’t touch me! Please, just don’t touch me! I don’t want to! Stop!’
Mike doesn’t know what happened at the Nova Project, but whatever it was, it makes his
stomach sink. Something really bad happened to Will, and he’s been racking his brain to
figure out what it was, but he just can’t think of anything that could make Will act like that.
But… well, there’s a surefire way to find out.
As he’s opening his mouth to ask Will what he was talking about during the episode, he’s
interrupted by a girl appearing out of nowhere and hitting the floor in the van.
She sits up, and El looks at Will and Mike in surprise, but Mike doubts it’s anywhere near as
much surprise as he’s feeling right now.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Chapter End Notes
OOOH! WHERE WAS EL?! YOU'LL HAVE TO SEE! :D
Let me know what you thought in the comments! Leave a Kudos or comment if you're
up for it, and see you soon! Once again, sorry it's so short!
Eleven
Chapter Notes
YOUR QUESTIONS ARE BEING ANSWERED. YOU'RE WELCOME.
Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter :) sorry it's short

Also!! On Pinterest, I found someone recommending this fic and posting about it. If you
see this, thank you so much!!! You literally made me scream with shock and joy.
Congratulations on 50 chapters, by the way!

Trigger warnings:
- Mentioned torture
- Language
“El?” Will asks in a whisper.
She just stares at him. She’s filthy, covered in… Will doesn’t even know, and she looks
exhausted and hungry and haggard.
“Will.” she finally says, giving him a watery smile.
Will doesn’t care that she’s dirty (so is he, after all), and he just launches himself at her,
squeezing her like she’ll disappear again if he lets go too long.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he says, and if he’s crying with relief, that’s his business.
She hugs back. “You are okay too?”
Will nods. “Yeah, I- I am. What happened? Where did you go?”
Mike hugs them too, turning it into a huddle around El.
“I- holy shit, is that El?” Jonathan asks, pulling over.
Once they’re on the side of the road and all in the backseat, El takes a deep breath before
speaking.
“After they threw the bomb, I do not remember much.” El says. “I do not know how I
disappeared.”
Will feels a pang of guilt. He knows. He knows that he sent her away, but he didn’t even
know she was safe. The only thing his choice to hide her did was make everything worse. He
was tortured, Mike and Jon and Argyle were held in captivity, and El was apparently
somewhere that wasn’t safe. Can’t he do anything right?
“When I woke up, my head hurt and I was in the dark. I was locked in the basement of
Mike’s house.” El says.
“Wait, WHAT?” Mike asks, looking to Will in a confused panic. “Did my mom find you?
What happened?”
“It was not your house. It was the Upside Down. I was in your basement in the Upside
Down.” El says to Mike. “The door was locked. The windows were locked. I could not leave,
even with my powers.”
Will can’t breathe. He locked El into a basement in the Upside Down. Oh, God. Oh, God, he
hurt her.
“What? How’d you get there?” Jonathan asks. “Why couldn’t you leave?”
“I do not know. I was not awake.” she says. “I woke up there. There were blankets and
flashlights, and I was able to find water bottles and food.”
“Oh, thank God. You’re okay?” Mike asks.
“Yes. While I was in the basement, I heard things. Nancy and Steve and Robin and someone
else were in the Upside Down-”
“WHAT?!” they all say at pretty much the same time.
“-and I also heard Dustin and Lucas and Max and our friends talking. There is a new
problem. People are dying in Hawkins. Max is in danger. She was about to die, but Lucas
saved her. Something bad is coming.” El finishes.
“I- holy shit, okay. Okay. But- El, how did you get here?” Mike asks.
She looks upset as she speaks again. “My head hurt a lot. I could hear Will scream and cry.
Everything hurt a lot. I could feel his pain and fear.”
Will’s hand flies to his mouth as he tries to hold back a strangled sob. Could his sister feel as
the men did- that ? Did she feel the tube down his throat, the pain of the seizures, the head
injury? Oh, God.
“When I was young, I sent 001 to the Upside Down. I tried to do it again, but to bring myself
home. I spied on you, and I opened a gate to where you were. And I am now here.”
Will hugs her again, still crying, and he holds her as tightly as he can, as if he can reabsorb
the pain he put her through and keep her safe.
He just tells himself that it doesn’t matter if everything’s going wrong, it doesn’t matter if he
hurt her by sending her to the Upside Down, it doesn’t matter if she knows what they did to
him, because they’re all alive and okay.
She pulls away and looks around at them one last time.
“It does not matter. Everyone is in danger. 001 - he wants everyone dead. He is killing
everyone. He will start the apocalypse if he wins. He cannot win, but Hawkins is losing.”
Will opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off. “We must get back to Hawkins
soon. Or there will not be anyone left in Hawkins - and maybe not even the city - when we
get back.”
Chapter End Notes
What are your thoughts? I'm switching up the timeline and Vecna's stuff little bit, but
let's see if you like it!
Once again, sorry it's short.
Also, so so excited for what's coming up!!! Eeeee!!
Anyways, hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much and see you soon!!
Strong
Chapter Notes
Hi! Sorry this is late, I had a breakdown and ended up sobbing to my friend who is now
very worried and protective and watchful of me, so whoops. Here's the next chapter!

amaragf, Richietherich, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to write this
chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!

Trigger warnings:
- Mentioned torture
- Mentioned vomit
- Pain
- Language
El watches Will as they drive.
She is worried about her brother. When she was in the Upside Down, it was like she was in
the ocean, and wave after wave of pain and fear pulled her down over and over.
She did not feel his specific injuries, but she felt the stabbing pain that he was feeling all over
her body, her head hurting badly and filled with her brother’s pain and fear.
El screamed and cried with him as she felt him throw up and cry and scream and pass out, go
through so much pain with no relief.
There was one period that makes her think a lot. Will was in more pain than usual, but it was
emotional pain, and it had a strange feeling about it, like… not nostalgia. The feeling of
reopening a deep wound.
El had screamed as he pleaded for whatever the people were doing to stop, talked to God in a
plea to be saved and then to curse him out for not saving Will, as he cried and begged. She
could feel him try to distance himself from whatever they were doing.
She had collapsed from where she was pacing and screaming in the basement when the pain
had become more even but still strong. She had thought it was the end, but it was not long -
maybe a few hours - before the wound was dug into again, and it happened over and over
during this period.
‘Don’t be weak. Stay strong and stay quiet and it’ll be over soon enough. Just pretend you’re
little again. You’ve lived through this before, you can do it again, right? But your family
wouldn’t be able to. So just let it happen, and everything will be just fine. Better you than
anybody else. At least you can take it.’
El watches her brother, trying not to wince at the memories of the words that drifted through
the pained haze in both of their heads.
‘No, this is happening to someone else. This is happening to someone else, this is happening
to someone else, you’re okay, everything’s okay, this is happening to someone else- fuck-’
She holds back tears as Will sits and quietly looks out the window.
‘God, God, please, make them stop. Please, nobody’s helping me, please, please, save me,
God. God, please, make them stop, I’m so scared, please, save me, God, haven’t I suffered
enough, please, please, please, just make them stop, please, I’ll never ask for anything ever
again, please, just make them stop-’
‘What did he do to deserve this? Hasn’t he suffered enough?’

‘Why do you keep putting me through this? Why did you abandon me, God, you lying piece of
shit? I trusted you. I put my faith in you. Why didn’t you save me? Why are you doing this to
me? What did I do to deserve this? Why do you hate me so much that you make me live
through all these horrible things? God, God, why would you let this happen? Why don’t you
just let me die? Please, please, just let me die already. I don’t want to do this anymore.’
El fails to keep it inside. She starts to cry as she crawls over to him and hugs him, hoping that
maybe she can absorb the pain and memories like their kitchen sponge at home in Lenora.
“Hey, what- oh, El, I'm sorry you're hurting.” Will says, hugging her and making himself the
big hugger as usual.
Do not protect me. You are the one hurting. You need protection, not me.
El does not understand why she can feel Will like this. She does not understand what
happened to Will or how their bond works or how she went into the Upside Down. But she
will figure it out. She will save her brother from the pain and Hawkins from 001.
El is strong. She can do it.
Chapter End Notes
Aww. Poor El and poor Will :(
Sorry this was short, I wrote it on my phone 5 minutes before posting! Thank you for
reading, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Liar
Chapter Notes
Hello! Here's another short chapter. It's a doozy.
Also, thanks for all your well-wishes. I had an extra therapy appointment today and I
feel much better now. <3


Trigger warnings:
- Self-hatred
- Language
- Derogatory language (slut)
Will almost jumps out of his skin when his hearing aid is taken out of his ear as he looks out
the window.
“I- hey!” Will says when he looks and sees El turning it over in her hands curiously.
“What is this?” she asks.
“I- it’s my hearing aid. I lost my hearing while you were gone.” Will says, holding out his
hand for her to give it back. It’s throwing him off to only have sound on one side.
She looks at him with a devastated expression, and as she just looks at him, Will reaches over
and takes the aid from her hand, putting it back in his ear.
After a minute, she scoots towards him and wraps her arms around him, lying her head on his
shoulder.
“I am sorry.” she says.
“It’s okay. It could be a lot worse. We’re all safe, and we’re all okay.” Will says, hugging her
back.
She squeezes tighter. “Will, you are not okay.” she says quietly.
“What? Of course I am.” Will lies.
“I know you are not.” she says. “I can feel it. While I was in the Upside Down, I could feel it.
I could hear you. I hurt with you. It was very bad. It made me scream.”
Will tries not to cry. She was in pain, and it was his fault. It was his pain, and his problem,
and he forced it on her instead.
“I’m sorry.” he says.
“It feels like an old cut being opened and made deeper. It hurts very much. If it hurts me very
much, it must be worse for you.” El says.
He just apologizes again. He put her through this. This is his fault.
“I heard what you were saying and thinking as they were hurting you, Will.” she says. “You
prayed. And you cried and you talked to yourself. You were hurting a lot. What they did was
very bad.”
“Do you- do you know what happened, then?” Will asks.
She just looks at him. “Some.”
Will exhales and tries not to cry as he whispers to her, wary of Mike or the others hearing. “I-
El, I- I swear, I-”
He takes a deep breath and forces out words that are barely audible.
“I- I’m not a slut, okay? I know that’s- that’s what they said, but- El, I- I didn’t have a choice.
And I know that it’s gross and that I’m gross and dirty, but I- I didn’t have a choice. I
wouldn’t have if I had a choice. And- please don’t hate me, I didn’t want to, I- I know they
called me a slut, and I guess I kind of am, but- El, I didn’t want to be, I swear.”
She looks at him with a dawning horror. Oh, God. Oh, God, that wasn’t part of what she
knew.
“What do you talk about?” she asks as she stares at him. “Will, what do you talk about?”
His eyes dart between hers before he looks out the window instead, unable to stand the look
in her eyes.
“Will?” she asks.
Will takes his arm from around her and wraps it around himself, rocking a little bit as he
looks out the window and cries in pain and terror.
She knows. She- he just basically told her what happened, and there was no reason to. Shit.
Shit, she probably hates him now, oh, God-
“Will. What- what did they do?” El asks.
“Will. Tell me.” El demands.
“Please don’t.” Will says. “I- I’ll tell you later, okay? I just- I can’t right now, okay?”
That’s a lie. Like hell will he ever tell her. She’s too innocent and pure (and he loves her too
much to have her leave) for him to tell her.
She gives him a look. “You will tell me later. Promise.”
Will nods. Liar.
She hugs him one last time before letting go. “Alright. Later, we will sit and talk about it.”
Will nods again, and as she scoots away again, he cries. She knows. She knows - or at least
has some idea - and if she learns more she’ll know he’s dirty. If she learns more she’ll hate
him and she’ll leave him and she’ll tell everyone and they will too.
Will cries as the flat landscape of Kansas flies by the window.
It won’t be long before they get to Hawkins. If he can just delay telling her until they’re in
Hawkins, El will get so distracted by the danger she talked about that he won’t ever have to
tell her.
Just have to be a liar for a while longer, and then this’ll all be behind him.
Just have to hold on.
Chapter End Notes
I have a poll for all of you readers.
Do you want to go straight to Hawkins? Or do you want to have the Surfer Boy Pizza
scene? Everyone would stay alive, but it would be some good Byler angst. Let me know
in the comments!

Piggyback
Chapter Notes
Hey! Sorry this is late, I failed a class, had to drop it, and got subsequently grounded.
Wrote 12 out of the 20 pages tonight. Anyways, enjoy! Or not. This is a many-emotion
chapter.

ALSO!! RICHIETHERICH!!!! I LOVE YOUR FANART SO MUCH IT’S MY

SCREENSAVER!! EEEEEE! If anyone else wants to make fanart I will literally marry
you I love it all so much
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Choking
- Language
- Drug use
- Suicidal thoughts
“No, no. Like I said, I… I’ve tried everyone. Yeah, TWA, Pan Am, Eastern… No, it doesn’t
have to be a one-way. I’ll take one seat if you have it.” Jonathan says into the phone.
Will stands awkwardly as he listens to Jonathan try to convince the airline employee he’s
talking to that they need to get to Hawkins tonight.
El had woken them up in the van, saying that Vecna was going to strike again tonight and try
to kill Max. She said that they needed to stop him now, so here they are trying to get airline
tickets tonight.
“I mean, please, there has to be something you can do. One of our family members is really,
really sick, and I don’t know if she’s gonna make it through the night.”
Will glances over at Mike, watching Jonathan with his arms crossed. He gets the random urge
to snake his arm around Mike’s bicep and just rest his head on his best friend’s shoulder
instead of just standing here. Instead, he just crosses his own arm and bumps his elbow into
Mike’s arm like a cat, which makes Mike freeze before he relaxes again. Well, that was
weird.
“Is there any way that you could just- no. No, no, like I said earlier, I’ve tried them already.
I… okay, then, is there any way that I could speak to a manager?”
Will idly thinks about Bobert the Plant in the yellow room in California. God, he hopes that
the plant isn’t too far gone. Maybe his mom got home from Alaska a few days ago. If she did,
he hopes that she watered it.
“There’s… there’s nobody there? No, that’s the problem, I can’t call back.” Jonathan says.
Will kind of tunes out the conversation as he just thinks. He hopes his mom isn’t too worried,
and he hopes that Max and the Hawkins gang are okay, and he worries about his plant-
Would they even care if you died if they knew?
Will tries not to get upset as he dismisses the unwelcome thought. It doesn’t matter if they
would hate him if they knew everything, because they won’t. He won’t let them know. He’ll
just push it deep down until everything is hidden as deep as he keeps the truth about Lonnie,
and then he’ll just keep operating like he did in California until all of the Upside Down stuff
is for sure gone and he can die knowing everything’ll be fine. But- oh, crap, his suicide note
is in California. Dammit.
Who cares? You don’t have to give them the letters. Just tell them the truth about everything.
Push them away and make them hate you, and then they won’t even care.
Will just keeps thinking about the mechanics of his death, staring off into space, before
Jonathan slams the phone back into the hook.
“Damn it!” he says, glaring daggers at the phone.
“What did they say?” Will asks.
“Earliest is tomorrow.” Jon sighs.
“No, that’s- that’s way too late!” Mike says. “Shit!”
“I know.” Jonathan says.
“Hey, dudes. Ask them if we can ride in the baggage compartment.” Argyle chips in.
They all just stare at him in silence for a minute.
“The- the baggage compartment? We’d suffocate.” Jonathan says.
“Dogs ride in there all the time, man. They don’t suffocate.” Argyle nods.
“Jesus Christ.” Jonathan mutters at the same time as Mike mumbles “What shit is he
smoking?”
“I have a way.” El says from where she’s standing next to Will. “A way to hurt One and
protect Max from here.”
She goes up to the foggy window and starts drawing stick figures. “This is Max. When One
attacks, he will be in her mind. But I can do that too. I went into Mama’s mind, into Billy’s. I
can go into Max’s. She can carry me to Vecna. I can piggyback. I can protect her. From One.
Fight him from here.”
“Mind fight. Righteous.” Argyle nods.
“Wait, are you actually sure this’ll work? I don’t want you getting hurt.” Will says.
“A bathtub would help.” she says instead of an actual answer to the question.
“Yeah. Gotta be clean to enter the mind.” Argyle says.
“What?” Mike asks with a judging glare towards their pothead friend. “No, no. It’s a sensory
deprivation tank. It helps her calm down and focus on her powers.”
Will winces. While the voice in the back of his head that’s constantly egging him on to use
his powers says that he should be doing this too, that he could help fight One and push as far
as his limits can go (hell, even see what his limits really are), that he should be the one
getting into a sensory deprivation tank and not El.
Um, no. Not after his past experiences with a sensory deprivation tank. Besides, he’s not as
powerful or trained as El - he couldn’t do it anyway. Not to mention that they don’t know, and
he’d like to keep it that way.
“Wait, we… we just passed a motel.” Jonathan says.
“Yeah, but they won’t have enough salt.” Mike argues.
“Well, how much salt are we talking here, my dudes?” Argyle asks.
“Well, depends on the size of the tub, but… a lot.” Mike says.
“Does 600 pounds suffice?” Argyle asks.
Will and Mike give each other ‘what the hell’ looks before looking back to Argyle.
“You know a place that has 600 pounds of salt in Nebraska.” Mike deadpans.
“Let’s see…” Argyle says, looking deep in thought for a minute. “Yep. It’ll work.”
“What will work?” El asks.
“I know a magical place that has all you need, my brave little superpowered friend. That
mind fight is on.” Argyle nods. “Come on! Vamanos! Let’s go! Pronto!”
As they get back into the van, Will idly wonders if they’d have as good of a reaction to his
powers if he told them.
“You gotta be shitting me.” Jonathan sighs as Argyle pulls them up to a Surfer Boy Pizza.
“Trust me on this one, my dudes.” Argyle says. Mike rolls his eyes, more out of habit than
anything.
Man, maybe he really should stop being so bitchy.

They get out of the van and go into the pizza place, only to find an employee who clearly is
too tired to be here inside.
“Surf’s up, my dude.” the guy deadpans.
“Uh, whoa. That’s a nice shirt, my dude.” Argyle says.
“Thanks, my dude.”
Mike thinks to himself that if there is one more ‘my dude’ thrown into this conversation, he’s
going to punch someone in the teeth.
“Uh, listen. I would love to feed a fellow Surfer Boy, but the kitchen closed, like, five
minutes ago, so no more pies tonight, man.” the guy says.
Argyle chuckles. “That’s alright, my dude. We’re not here for your tasty pies. You see this
weird girl behind me? She needs a tub with a bunch of salt so we can enhance her psychic
power so she can save the world from this super bad dude.”
All of them give ‘what the actual fuck, man’ looks to Argyle.
“But to make this salty tub, we require your kitchen.” Argyle says.
The guy stares at them like they’re crazy. Well… Mike would think they were crazy if he had
just had Argyle give that explanation, too.
“Ah. Well… it’s just, uh… I’m supposed to meet Chaz at Taco Bell, in, like, ten minutes.
So…”
“My dude.” Jonathan says (Jonathan???), stepping forward and plucking a joint from
Argyle’s shirt pocket in a weirdly intimate move. “We’re not asking you to help for free. You
ever partake in… Purple Palm Tree Delight? It’ll make all your troubles float away like the
seed pods of a dandelion in the wind.”
Less than a minute later, they’re standing in the kitchen around a long freezer.
“First-ever mind fight held in a pizza dough freezer. Pretty rad, right?”
Mike smiles and shakes his head. He’d underestimated the power of three potheads to get
access to a pizza place’s kitchen.
He and Will fill up the fridge with a hose and a sink, and once he’s done, he looks over at El,
standing nearby.
“Hey, um… want to come sit with me?” Mike asks her.
She looks at him, gives a small smile, and nods.
“Hey, um… can I come, too?” Will asks, looking incredibly awkward.
Mike feels bad saying no, but it would probably be bad to have his girlfriend’s brother and
his best-friend-slash-love-of-his-life sit in on their breakup talk.
“Um… no.” Mike says, feeling immediately guilty when he sees Will’s dejected expression.
“It’s okay. Come on, let’s stir in the salt.” Jonathan says, coming over and grabbing Will
around the shoulders before leading him away, throwing Mike the dirtiest look known to
mankind on their way back to the freezer.
Mike feels bad, but hey, it’s better to break up with El sooner (and thus get to confess to Will
and hopefully get to date and kiss him sooner).
He and El go over to one of the empty tables in the main area and sit down quietly.
“Um… Hey, El?” Mike says once they’re seated.
She looks at him. “Yes?”
“I… I think we need to talk.” he says.
She nods. “Yes. I think so too.”
Mike takes a deep breath and he forces the words out. “El… I don’t think we work. And I
don’t think we should date anymore.”
She sits there very still for a second, and Mike’s worried that she’s upset, but then she says:
“We are already not together?”
“Wait, what?” Mike asks.
“The note. I broke up with you.”
“You what?” Mike asks. “I- that wasn’t clear!”
“I think it was.” El says. “‘I have gone to be a superhero again. From El.’”
“That’s- that’s not a breakup!” Mike laughs. “That’s being petty!”
“Same thing!” she says.
“No, it’s really not!” Mike says.
She shrugs and smiles. “Very close, then.”
It’s quiet for a moment, both smiling.
“I was so worried I was going to hurt you.” Mike says, looking down and smiling.
“No!” El smiles. “You would not hurt me like that! I already dumped your ass twice!”
“True. And- besides, we always fight more when we’re together than when we’re friends.
That’s weird, right?” Mike says.
“Yes. We do not work as boyfriend and girlfriend. We work as friends.”
“Exactly. And I really do care about you so much, but… we just won’t work.”
“No, we will not. I care about you so much too, Mike. Even if we do not date.” she says.
They smile at each other, and then it gets quiet, but it’s a calm, content silence, not an
awkward silence.
“Still friends?” El asks after a minute.
“Oh, yeah. Best of friends.” Mike smiles. “And I’m always gonna be here for you.”
“I will always be here for you too, Mike.” she says.
They smile at each other, and the weight that’s been sitting in Mike’s chest is gone.
She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing.
Mike then remembers the cardboard glasses in his pocket.
“Oh, wait, I made you something.” he says, grabbing them out of his pants pocket. “Okay, so,
hopefully this blocks out any peripheral light, right? And it’s totally dark, which means it
works.”
Mike puts them on. “But I have one more important question: do I look cool? Feel like I look
really cool.”
El laughs.
“Are you giggling? You’re giggling because I look awesome.” Mike jokes. “I can’t see it, but
I know you’re smiling because I look so good. Right?”
“Mike.” El says, a smile still in her voice.
“Yeah?” Mike asks.

“I missed you.” she says.
Mike nods. She has no idea. “Yeah. Yeah, I missed you, too.”
He’s quiet for a minute, before he decides to tell her. It’s better to get her blessing before
confessing his love for her brother, right? Even if it’s not, she deserves to know.
“You know, the last few days, I… I’ve had to think about the last talk we had. You know,
before the cops and the whole world went to shit? I… I guess I… I just… I don’t know.”
Stop stumbling. Tell her.
“I guess I just wanted to say that-” he tries, but he’s interrupted.
“Surf’s up, Romeo!” Argyle says, dropping down a pizza on the table. “Oh- uh, too much
flavor awesomeness can’t overpower your battery, right?”
Mike looks at the pizza and frowns. Another good man lost to Hawaiian Pizza. How could
you, Argyle?
“Dude, this is pineapple.” Mike complains.
“Try before you deny!” Argyle says as El takes a piece and begins to eat.
Her eyes go wide and she nods. “Good.”
“It’s good? What do you mean?” Mike says jokingly.

“Really good.” El says. “I like it.”
“What? That’s insane. Blasphemous. Putting fruit on pizza?” Mike rants.
“Did you try? Try before you deny!” El says.
“No, I-” Mike tries.
Argyle gets behind him and puts him in a headlock, and El smiles evilly as she comes
towards him with a piece of pizza. “Try before you deny!”
“Stop! Enough! I’m not a dog!” Mike says, laughing as he tries to push away from the pizza
being put in his mouth.
“Aww, baby needs to open his palette.” Argyle teases.
“No, not a baby, thank you!” Mike says.
“Try some. Try before you deny.” El says.
“No! Ah! Stop it!” he laughs as El tries to feed it to him.
Eventually, he gives. “Okay! Okay!” he says, finally opening his mouth and taking a bite of
the pizza.
Dammit, it’s actually pretty good.

“I… fine, you’re right, it’s good.” Mike sighs.
El and Argyle both cheer.
“I hate you guys.” he mock-pouts.
“Love you too.” El says.
“Nah, brochacho, you love us.” Argyle says.
Mike smiles.
Everything’s gonna be fine.
Will watches Mike and El have fun with the pizza as his movements to stir the water cease
for a minute.
The way Mike just flat-out said ‘no’ earlier… does he really not want Will around so badly?
Will just tries to ignore it and goes back to stirring.
“Hey, do you remember that time you told me you had a Lego stuck up your nose?” Jonathan
asks out of nowhere.
“What?” Will asks. Is he still high?

“Yeah! Like, it was like a… like a construction guy. You’d call him Larry. Come on, you
don’t remember?” Jonathan says, gesticulating wildly. “He had the high viz jacket and
removable hat. Come on, you don’t remember?”
“Yeah… vaguely.” Will says. Where’s he going with this?
“Well, I remember it like it was yesterday. Man, I was… I was freaked. Cause… cause this
Larry… I mean, Larry was way, way up there. I don’t even know how you got him that far
up. I had to do surgery. I… I had to get tweezers to pull him out.”
“Bull.” Will smiles.
“No, no, I swear on my life!” Jonathan laughs as they go back to stirring the saltwater. “I
just… I don’t know, I feel like you used to come to me more for help. Or just to… talk, you
know? Cause you don’t do that anymore.”
That’s because I can’t tell you, Jon. You’d hate me.
“At least, not like before. A lot of that is probably my fault. This last year… I know I’ve been
distant.”
“Or stoned.” Will adds.
Jonathan gives a halfhearted smile. “Or stoned. Yeah. But that has nothing to do with you.
That’s me dealing with my own shit. Hiding from my own problems. But the truth is, Will…
I really miss talking to you. I, like, really miss it. And I think, right now, with the apocalypse
and the whole Nina thing… we need to talk more than ever. Because things are complicated
and scary and messy. A lot more complicated and scary than Legos up the nose.”
Will listens quietly, his paddle still in the water.

“I just… don’t forget I’m here, okay? I’ll always be here. Because you’re my brother, and I
love you. No matter what. And there is absolutely nothing in this world that will ever change
that. You can tell me anything. It doesn’t matter what you’ve gone through, or who you
become, or what you think or say or feel, I will always love you. Always. You got that?”
Jonathan says.
Will’s tearing up, because… maybe someone’s always got his back. Maybe he always has his
brother.
“And I- I’m always here for you, too.” Will says.
“I know. I know you are. Come here.” Jonathan says, putting down the paddle and pulling
Will into a tight hug.
It’s a small thing, but part of what’s getting to Will is that he’s making himself the big hugger.
Will’s the protected one, not the other way around, and it feels safe.
So he cries into Jonathan’s shoulder, feeling safe and truly loved.
“It’s gonna be okay.” Jonathan murmurs after a while.
“Yeah?” Will says, pulling away.
“Yeah.” Jonathan agrees. He looks over at the tub and sighs. “Alright, I think it’s ready.”
“It’s time.” El says from where she’s appeared in the doorway. “I am ready.”
-
Mike and Will watch El in her mindscape on one side of the freezer, Jonathan and Argyle on
the other. If Mike’s a bit close to Will, their elbows touching… well, that definitely wasn’t
intentional.
She’s been in her calm, zoned-out state for a while, but eventually she twitches and starts to
move.
“She’s fighting him.” Will murmurs from next to him. “Come on, El, you can do it.”
It’s a minute more of calm before everything goes wrong.
She starts to sputter and choke, gasping for air as she starts to thrash. Her hands come up to
claw at her throat.
“El! El, can you hear me?!” Will asks, patting her face. “EL!”
“El, come on! Wake up! Wake up, El!” Mike pleads.
“She can’t breathe!” Jonathan shouts.
“El, get out of there!” Mike begs. “God, El! Wake up! Wake up!”
He can’t lose one of his best friends.
“Get her onto the table!” Jonathan orders, and all of them work together to lift her out of the
water and onto the table.
“El! El, can you hear me? El!” Mike pleads.
“Mike.” she chokes out.
Mike’s staring in terror at his friend’s trembling form before there’s a light touch to his back.
“Don’t stop, okay? You’re the heart. Okay? Remember that. You’re the heart!” Will says.
“El?” Mike says. “I… I don’t know if you can hear this, but… but if you can, I want you to
know that I’m right here, okay? I’m right here. And…”
Mike looks up at Will, who nods. “Say it, Mike, you can do it.” he says.
He wants Mike to say ‘I love you’ to El.
He wants Mike to be with El.
He… doesn’t love Mike.
That’s the only reasonable explanation. He doesn’t love Mike. Why would he love Mike and
push him into the arms of his sister?
The painting… there were two that Will brought. Maybe the other one was the one for a girl.
Maybe El really commissioned this one and the other was Will’s original design.
Oh, God. Mike’s just been projecting.

My biggest mistake, Will, wasn’t falling in love with you, it was thinking that maybe you loved
me too. How could someone as good as you love someone as worthless as me, after all?
I’m sorry. I won’t be a creep anymore, I promise. I’ll stop projecting and I’ll leave you alone.
I’m sorry I got it wrong.
I just wish you loved me, too.
“I love you!” Mike says. “El, do you hear me? I love you!”
What harm can these words do? He’s alone again. El doesn’t need him, Will doesn’t need
him… he’s alone and useless again. Who cares what he says?
“I… I’m sorry I don’t say it more. It’s not because I’m scared of you. I’m not. I’ve never felt
that way. Never.”
It’s all lies.
“But I am scared that one day you’ll realize that you don’t need me anymore. And I thought
that if I said how I felt, it would somehow make that day hurt more.”
At least that was true, if not in the way he’s implying.
“But the truth is, El, I don’t know how to live without you.”
Well, that’s toxic.

“I feel like my life started the day I found you in the woods! You were wearing that yellow
Benny’s Burgers T-shirt, and it was so big that it almost swallowed you whole.”
You looked like Will for a minute. You brought hope that we would find him.
“And I knew right then and there, in that moment, that I loved you. And I’ve loved you every
day since.”
That’s a lie, I literally wanted to send you to an asylum.
Mike takes a deep breath. Just pretend.
“I love you! I love you on your good days! I love you on your bad days, I love you with your
powers and without your powers! I love you for exactly who you are! You’re my superhero!
And…”
Jesus, what’s wrong with him? He literally just broke up with her!
“...I can’t lose you! Okay? Do you hear me? I can’t lose you! You can do anything! You can
fly, you can move mountains! I believe that! I really do! But right now, you just have to fight,
okay? El. Do you hear me? You need to fight!”
Mike takes a deep breath.
“You have to fight! Fight! I believe in you! Fight!”
After a minute more of gasping, she can breathe again, and she takes off the glasses that he
made and falls into Mike’s arms, eyes watering and shaking.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I lied. I lied about everything.
When Mike and Will were younger, they would always tell each other that they loved each
other. They said it because it was true - they were best friends! They were each other’s
worlds! It made sense!
Over time, though, as life got harder every time they said those three words to another boy,
they stopped saying it.
Will’s wondered what ‘I love you’ would sound like in their newer, deeper voices rather than
the voices they had as six-year-olds. What ‘I love you’ would sound like from Mike now.
He didn’t want to hear it right after the statement that the best day of his life was the day he
found out Will died.
As El collapses into Mike’s arms and lies there, Jonathan immediately there to rub her back,
Will quietly slips away. She doesn’t need him right now, and he definitely isn’t able to be of
much use right now.
He stumbles to his feet and out of the pizza place, his head filled with so much chaos that
he’s having trouble even walking as he struggles to breathe.
My life started the day I found you in the woods.
The best day of Mike’s life was the day he found out Will was dead.

Mike wishes he were dead. The best day of his life was the day Will was gone.
He never should have come back from the Upside Down.
He should have succumbed to the Mindflayer.
Will goes out to the pizza van, getting in the passenger seat as he fights not to sob.
He leaves the door open as he sits there for a minute. Who cares if it’s open?
Will wants to stop feeling like this.
So he opens the glovebox and digs through with shaking hands until he finds a joint and a
lighter.
Will raises the joint to his lips, his hand trembling, and lights the end with the lighter. He
takes a puff, coughs, then takes another. It tastes terrible.
He just stares out the windshield as he tries to numb the pain as much as possible with drugs.
He'd sell his soul for just a second of not feeling like this.
“Will?” says the boy in question from outside of the van. “I- are you okay?”
Will doesn’t answer or even look over. He just takes another hit.
“Are you smoking? Are you crazy?” Mike asks. “I- you smoke weed? Since when?”
“Crazy together.” Will says in a scarily level voice that doesn’t match how he feels, still
staring straight ahead. “That’s what you’ve always said. ‘Crazy together.’”
Mike’s quiet for a minute. “I- yeah, that’s- that’s been our thing. But… seriously, you
shouldn’t be doing that. I mean, smoking’s really bad for you, and-”
“Why do you hate me so much?” Will asks levelly.
Mike’s ramble about weed stops dead in its tracks. “I- what? I- I don’t hate you, Will.”
“Really?” Will asks. “You don’t hate me? Even though the best day of your life was the day
you found out I was dead?”
Mike doesn’t answer for a minute before he says in a shaky voice: “That- that wasn’t how I
meant it.”
“How else could you mean it, Mike?” Will asks. “You- you said ‘My life started the day I
found you in the woods’. News flash: that was the day you found out I disappeared. Or do
you not remember that? Do- have you just blocked out from your memory everything that
isn’t to do with El?”
Will can hear the tears in Mike’s voice. “I- I didn’t mean to. I- Will, that was one of the worst
days of my life-”
“But it was the day it started?” Will says. “‘My life started the day I found you in the woods’.
Jesus, Mike, you don’t have to make everyone happy, but don’t be so contrary, either.”
“I- I never meant to-to hurt you-” Mike says.
“Then maybe don’t say that the best day of your life was the day I died.” Will says.
He looks over for the first time, and Mike is standing there with tears rolling down his cheeks
and a broken expression.
He’s so obviously hurt by Will’s words.

Good. Let him hurt.
“You know, I don’t know what I did to make you hate me like this. What did I ever do to you,
Mike? Why- why do you hate me?” Will asks.
“I don’t.” Mike says.
Will explodes.
“BULLSHIT!” he shouts. “STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME! YOU DON’T SAY THAT
YOUR LIFE STARTED THE DAY SOMEONE YOU CARE ABOUT DIED! YOU
OBVIOUSLY HATE ME, AND I THOUGHT WE WERE GOOD! SO TELL ME WHY
YOU WOULD FUCKING SAY THAT!”
Mike takes a step back. “I- I’m sorry-”
“TELL ME!” Will shouts, and his eyes are welling too much for him to seem angry.
And that’s because he isn’t angry. He’s just so damn hurt.
“I- I thought it was what- what El needed to hear.” Mike says.
“What about me?” Will asks, his shouting voice reduced to a broken whisper. “I know that
I’m not your priority, but- but what about me? That day wasn’t a beginning. It was the end. I
haven’t been happy since, Mike. Not really. But that doesn’t matter because you found El. It
doesn’t matter that I was a scared little kid being hunted in an alternate dimension because
you found El. I- I mean, what the actual fuck, Mike? Why would you say that?”
Mike’s crying now, tears streaming down his face. “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You know, I- I thought that all of this time I was around my best friend, but apparently I was
just around someone waiting for me to die so that his life could start.” Will says. “Did- did
ten years of being best friends not matter? Did I not actually matter to you? Wh-why? How
could you say that? You know what I went through. How could you?”
“I never- I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter- Will, you- you mean
everything-” Mike tries.
“Do I?” Will asks. “Because ever since El’s been back for good, ever since we were thirteen,
I’ve been nothing. You’ve made fun of me, you’ve teased me, you’ve ignored me, you’ve just
treated me like shit. I'm tired."
“I- I thought it was what El needed to hear. I- I was trying- I was trying to help her-”
“What about what I need?” Will asks. “I- Mike, I’m never your priority. I’m always your
second choice. You can stand me, but- but you never pick me. You pick El. I- I’m always
second choice, if I’m even that anymore. I- I can’t take it, Mike. I- I understand why I’m not
first, but- God, you could at least settle for not wishing I was dead.”
“That’s not what- God, I would never want that, Will, I swear-” Mike whispers. “I would
never want you hurt-”
“I don’t believe you.” Will sobs. “I- I want to, but I can’t believe you. That’s not what you
said ten minutes ago. Just- God, stop lying to me. Honestly, I wish I had never come back
from the Upside Down, and apparently you agree."
“Will- Will, no. I’m sorry.” Mike whispers. “I’m- I’m so sorry, I- I don’t want you hurt. I- I
never want to hurt you. I- I didn’t realize how much saying that would affect you. I- I wanted
to help El, not- never make you feel like you don’t matter.”
Will glares at Mike through tear-filled eyes. “But you did, Mike, you did. You did make me
feel that way. You have since last summer. I- I thought you were my best friend, but-
apparently you aren’t.”
“I- I’m so sorry-” Mike says.
“I just- God, I don’t have to be your priority, but I- I still want to feel important to you. I- one
phone call. One letter. You just not- not telling me that the best day of your life was the day
mine ended. That’s all I want. To just feel a little bit important to you. That’s it.” Will sobs,
and he knows how selfish that is, but he doesn’t care, how could Mike say that - even think
it?
“Will, you- you are important, you’re the most important person in the world-” Mike tries.
Will just gives a broken, bitter laugh. Bullshit. “Important enough that the best day of your
life was the day you found out I died? Important enough to be teased and ignored and left
behind? Important like that?”
Mike visibly flinches. “I’m sorry-”
“Fuck you.” Will says, and though there’s no true bite to his words, just an angry hurt, Mike
falls apart.
He loudly sobs, wrapping his arms around himself as he tilts his chin into his chest and cries,
apologies spilling from his lips as he rocks.
Will feels bad for a minute, because that’s Mike, that’s his Mike that he’s hurting, but then-
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!

Well- Well, maybe you should have reached out! Why am I the bad guy? If you want things to
go well, you should try harder!
Well, the common factor in all the shit in your life is you! So maybe it is your fault!
That’s why you’re miserable? Not because of, you know, the fact that you were just publicly
humiliated?! No, that’s fine, but God forbid you aren’t the center of attention!
Instead of saying another barbed set of words, though, Will starts to break too.
Will’s voice cracks on his next words. “I’m drowning, Mike, I- I’m drowning, and no matter
how hard I try, I can’t reach the surface. But- but instead of helping me out, you push my
head under. And- I- you’re the one I trust - trusted - most. But instead of caring about me you
just hurt me.”
Mike shakes his head. “I- I didn’t mean to. I- don’t hate you.”
Bull. Shit.
“You said crazy together, but no, I’m just losing my mind alone. Fuck ten years of friendship,
fuck what we’ve gone through, because I’m nothing to you.”
The buzzing in his veins gets louder. It occurs to Will that it’s not being high, but it’s his
powers.
“IT’S NOT FAIR!” Will shouts again, the quiet gone back to anger as the electricity snakes
through his chest until his chest and arms and fingers are thrumming, begging to be used.
Mike flinches again. “YOU MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME! AND I APPARENTLY MEAN
JACK-SHIT TO YOU! AND EVEN THOUGH YOU HATE ME, I CAN’T HATE YOU NO
MATTER HOW HARD I TRY! NO MATTER WHAT STUPID SHIT YOU DO AND SAY, I
ALWAYS COME CRAWLING BACK! I’M SO SICK OF THIS!”
He takes as deep a breath as he can and steels himself.
“You know what, Mike? I’m just gonna do you a favor since you hate me so much. We’re no
longer friends. And as soon as we’re back in Hawkins, you can stay the hell away from me.”
Will says, and he tries to snarl the words, but it doesn’t work, he’s sobbing too hard.
Mike shakes his head. “Will- Will, please-” he sobs.
“I’m done with your shit. Just go be with your girlfriend. She probably needs you.” Will says,
the dam breaking further. He swipes at his eyes angrily with his sleeve. In the back of his
mind, Will notes that the street lamps are flickering.
“No- Will, you- you’re everything- please-” Mike says, voice shaking so much that it hurts
Will. “You matter more than everything- please-”
“Go be with your girlfriend, Mike.” Will sobs, turning away. “Just leave. You don’t owe me
anything. We aren’t even friends.”
“Will-” Mike tries.
He tries to grab Will, presumably to pull him into a hug, but then all Will can think of-
When he gets crowded further into the corner, all he can make himself do is try to turn away
to the wall.
The man tsks and pulls him back to face him. “Now, now. All you have to do is be good and
do what we tell you, and it’ll be over before you know it. Can’t you do that, darling?”
Will just turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Come on, Brian, it’ll learn by doing. Let’s just get started.” another man says.
It takes Will a minute to realize the ‘it’ is him.
The man - Brian - starts to speak. “I think you might be right.” he says, and Will can hear the
smile in his voice. “I’ll go first.”
The pressure on him disappears as someone else grabs his wrists, and Will doesn’t
understand - what’s happening?
He gets the hint when his shoes are gone, and his pants start being tugged down by the
bottom of the legs.
“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Will screams as he twists away.
As he does, the lights on the street lamps within a hundred feet all shatter at once, sending a
spray of glass as they flare, then break.
Mike yelps and covers his head, but Will just stands there, breathing heavily as blood starts to
drip from his nose, head cast down.
It’s not enough. The hum in his veins is becoming too loud. It’s not enough.
“Oh my God-” Mike gasps. “Will, what-”
Will opens his eyes and sees electricity arcing over his arms and hands, crackling in his
fingertips.
His chest heaves as he tries to keep the electricity in his veins and maintain control.
Mike takes another step towards Will, but Will just takes another step back. “I said don’t
touch me.” he hisses, head still bowed.
“Will, you- you have powers?” Mike asks. “I- oh my God. Oh my God, you have powers.”
Will’s hands tremble at his sides as he balls them into fists. He can’t lose control. He’d be a
monster. What if he hurts Mike? He can’t lose control.
“Okay. Okay, we can talk about this, but- if being with El taught me anything, it’s that you
need to stay calm. They’re emotion-based, right? Just- calm down, okay?”
Mike steps forward again, reaching a hand out.
If he touches Will, he’ll get shocked-
Will takes another hurried step back. “Don’t.” he warns.
The lights down the road flare as his powers do too.
“Will, you’re scaring me. Just calm down and we can- we can talk, okay?” Mike says.
Will shakes his head. “Leave.” he whispers.
“I- Will-” Mike starts.

He reaches towards Will again.
“I SAID LEAVE!” Will screams.
The lights everywhere, including in the pizza place, go out as another surge flows through
him.
Mike stays there.
‘Fine. I’ll make you leave.’ Will thinks.
He turns around, storming over to the side of the road about twenty feet away, at which point
he screams again before sending bolt after bolt into the ground, leaving charred marks in the
grass as he screams and throws all the electricity he can muster into the ground.
Once the hum is gone again, Will just sags in relief, stumbling back over to the pizza van and
getting into the passenger seat. The joint is still on the console.
“Will… you… you really have powers?” Mike asks in a whisper. “Holy shit.”
Will gives a bitter laugh. Fuck it.
“Yeah, Michael, I fucking do! They figured it out at Nina, and they promised that they were
going to get rid of them, but instead they just tattooed a fucking number on my arm and
fucking tortured me! Yeah, Mike, I have powers! In fact, I’m a whole-ass Number! Number
Nineteen! Isn’t that just fucking grand?!”
Mike opens and closes his mouth, staring at Will in what looks like terror in the dark.
“I’m so sick of this! I hate this! I hate these powers! I hate all this shit that keeps happening
to me! I hate myself! And I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” Will screams.
“Will, no-” Mike says, raising a placating hand to touch Will.
“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Will screams, using his telekinesis to shove Mike a few feet
away. “STAY AWAY FROM ME! I HATE YOU! STAY AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY
FROM ME, I’M DANGEROUS! I HATE YOU! STAY AWAY!”
Mike just stands there staring at him in pain and fear before Jonathan comes running out.
“Guys, what the- Will?”
Jonathan’s immediately reaching out, pulling Will out of the van and into a tight hug against
his chest.
Apparently, Will really needed it, as he just wraps his arms around his brother and cries into
his shoulder for the second time tonight.
Mike stares at the Byers, trying to untangle the mess in his head. What the hell just
happened? Will has powers and apparently hates him now?
Jonathan turns to Mike with a barely-contained rage as he holds Will, whose arms are
hugging tightly around Jon’s midsection as his shoulders shake, keeping him up from where
he seems to be likely to collapse onto the ground.
“Leave. Now.” he hisses.
“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to-” Mike tries, starting to cry again.
“GO BACK INSIDE!” Jonathan shouts.
All Mike can think as he turns away is that it’s amazing how you can lose everything in one
fell swoop.
Chapter End Notes
MANYTHOUGHTS
Mainly what the fuck you gay miscommunication losers
Tell me them in the comments please! Each one makes my day 100x better!
Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it and see you soon!

Disappear
Chapter Notes
Hey hey hey, motherfuckers! (Affectionately)
Enjoy this depressing chapter!! See ya soon! Love ya!

EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS FANART:

https://www.tumblr.com/fanboom/741615794447876096/fanart-of-a-fic?source=share
Overall rating: R.
- Self-harm
- Self-hatred
- Language
Will wants to disappear.
That’s all he can think as he sits in the van, on the outcrop serving as a seat before the bench -
he couldn’t make himself sit next to Mike after everything, or even watch Mike and El be
together.
He actually started out sitting on the bench, but then Mike sat down next to him, so he got up
despite the ache it caused and moved away.
It all hurts. Mike wants him dead. Everyone knows about his powers. Other than checking in
on him and comforting him originally, Jonathan hasn’t said a word as they drive. And El
hasn’t said a word since she had cried and told them that Max had died and she had brought
her back, but barely.
The silence is crushing, and on top of the weight of the external pressures, Will’s heart feels
like lead. He feels like he’s an anchor and he’s been tossed overboard into the ocean, unable
to get back up.
As the van continues to drive along the flat Iowa-Missouri border, Will just stares straight
ahead and sinks further, going down, down, down, down into the dark. Out of the corner of
his eye, the tall grasses blur into a haze, as do the clouds in the sky.
He can’t breathe right anymore. Every new emotion that surfaces is more suffocating than the
last.
The thoughts of what happened at Surfer Boy Pizza stings like salt in a fresh wound, a
constant reminder that not only does Mike hate him and wishes he had died, but that he
spilled so many secrets in his high, pained state. They know he has powers, and on top of
that, he admitted that he wished he had just died and basically told Mike he was in love with
him. Fuck.
Will can’t seem to shake the feeling of isolation. It’s bad enough that he feels lonely even
around his friends and family, but he’s made it even worse. He wishes that he could just
disappear into a place where his pain couldn’t follow him.
Jonathan’s silence says a lot, and it wrecks Will even more. It makes his guilt feel even
heavier. He’s always been a burden, but he’s become even more of one. It won’t be long
before Jonathan sees just how broken and worthless and weird Will is and realizes that he’s
not worth the effort. It won’t be long before he’s truly alone, not just feeling like it.
And El - God, poor El. She just watched Max die and had to try to save her. She was choked
by the Upside Down vines (Will sure knows what that feels like, and he hates that El had to
go through it). Will can see that she’s becoming distant, that she’s trying to manage and hide
her pain and grief by herself, and he wants to be her strength, but he’s too broken to be
strong.
In the suffocating silence of the van, Will’s thoughts spiral deeper into darkness. He feels like
he’s drowning, and honestly, he wants to succumb. They don’t need him around or even want
him. He’s going under in this tide of despair. All he wants to do is escape and flee from this
crushing weight, or even ease it by hurting himself physically to balance his mental pain out.
But they took away his razor with his shoes at the Nina Project, and it was his only one.
Maybe the lighter in the glovebox? No, they’re all together in the van. No privacy to do so
safely and undetected.
But then Will sees a sign for a rest stop out of the corner of his eye, and it occurs to him. It
doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have any razors around. He can get some.
“Hey, can we pull over at this next rest stop? I need to go to the bathroom.” Will lies.
Jonathan gives him a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, sure. I could stand to stretch
my legs.”
As the van pulls over and slows to a stop in the rest stop parking lot, Will’s heart races with a
mixture of anticipation and adrenaline. This is reckless. He won’t have much time. He might
get caught.
He doesn’t care. The overwhelming desire to escape this pain outweighs any rational, self-
preserving thought.
Will gets out of the van with the others, still not saying a word to any of his loved ones as he
leaves and goes inside.
He immediately goes over to the hygiene section, luckily close to the bathroom, and looks,
and lo and behold, there are boxes of razor blades.
He pretends to browse as he opens the box, fumbling with the cardboard lid before finally
prying it open, immediately sneaking five or six thin, small blades out of the pack of thirty.
Will takes a shaky breath and quietly stuffs them into the pocket of the hoodie (another taken
from Mike’s suitcase - it hurts to have him so close but so far) before going into the
bathroom.
Once inside, he goes and locks himself inside the stall that looks the cleanest, the fluorescent
lights casting shadows on the tiled walls. His hands shake as he takes a blade back out of the
pocket and he takes short, ragged breaths as he rolls up the left hoodie sleeve and moves it to
just above his wrist.
For a second, he hesitates - isn’t his body hurt enough? - and his mind fills with about a
million different thoughts, leaving him in chaos.
No. He wants to escape, even for a moment.
Will presses the blade into the skin of his wrist, relishing the sting and beads of crimson,
before pushing further down until the blood runs down over his hand and drips onto the floor.
He does it over and over and over and over, covering his entire forearm in dozens upon
dozens of cuts. He cuts four times over the ‘019’ tattoo. It feels so much better to have the
brand split apart.
They all think he’s a freak.
It won’t be long before they leave him.
Mike wants him dead.
His best friend hates him.

His brother is ignoring him.
His sister’s a wreck because he didn’t help fight against Vecna.
Max is dead, or at least severely injured.
And he doesn’t blame his loved ones. He would leave if he could. He hates him too.
As the cuts on his arm turn a red so dark they’re almost black and blood runs over his entire
forearm, wrist, and hand, a wave of numbness washes over him. It dulls the pain, if only for a
moment.
He missed this. He hasn’t truly hurt himself since the convenience store over a week ago (the
scrubbing doesn’t count), and God, he missed it.
Will feels serenity as his arm turns red and he goes lightheaded, still gripping the razor blade
in his right hand so tightly that his fingers are white.
He’s just leaning against the door for a while, listening to the quiet dripping of blood off his
fingers, when someone calls quietly into the bathroom, “Will?”
Oh, shit. It’s Jon.
“Hey, you’ve been in here a while. Come back out once you’re done, we have to hit the
road.” Jon says.
“Okay. I’ll- I’ll be right out.” Will says, looking at his arm. Which is crazy bloody and has
left a small puddle of blood on the floor. Shit. Shit shit shit. Can Jon see it?
“‘Kay.” Jonathan says. Will hears the door close again.
Shit. The bleeding hasn’t stopped. He- if he waits to go back out, he’ll raise eyebrows, but if
he doesn’t, they might see the blood. Shit.
And they’re deep. Did he cut too deep? It’s really fucking deep. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, he wants
to die, but not in a gas station restroom during the apocalypse.
Don’t panic. Think of a plan.
Will grabs the toilet paper and starts to wrap it around his arm. It bleeds through the first four
layers, but by the seventh layer of paper around the forty-six wounds he’s counted, it looks
like it’s just paper over normal skin,
He wipes off the razor blade on the edge, puts it back into its packaging, and tucks it and the
rest of the blades into his sock where it's in his shoe. They’ll come in handy later.
Will quickly wipes up the blood on the floor with more toilet paper, flushes it down the toilet,
takes a deep breath, and leaves the stall, pushing the door open and going over to the sink,
where he scrubs his hands until the only blood is under and along the edges of his nails and in
the deeper grooves of his hands.
He takes a deep breath, pushes down on the toilet paper bandages just to make sure that
they’re staying in place and not bleeding through (one of the deeper ones is, but just a little
bit), before he rolls down the sleeve and tugs them over his stained hands.
Will leaves the bathroom behind, arm still stinging as he goes over to where Jonathan’s
waiting by the door of the rest stop.
“Let’s go.” he says with one more look over at Will before they start to go back out to the
van. “Mike, Argyle, and El will be back in a few.”
Will nods meekly and follows him out to the van. Is he mad? Does he hate Will now?
As they approach the van again, Will’s heart pounds with terror and anxiety. Everything’s too
uncertain. Everyone’s too quiet. It makes him nervous.
Will starts to move to get into the backseat again, but Jonathan grabs his bicep gently,
keeping him from getting in.
Jon’s expression is too confusing for Will. Normally, he can read his brother, but not right
now. Is he angry? Worried? Stressed? Will can’t tell.
His gaze flickers over Will a few times, and he tries to subtly keep his bleeding arm out of
Jonathan’s view. He doesn’t need Jon to worry or be disappointed or angry. He can’t face
that, not with everything else.
He forces a weak smile. “Everything okay?” he asks.
Jonathan just gives him a scrutinizing look. “I was just about to ask the same thing.” he says.
“You okay?”
Will just gives another shaky smile as he replies way too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m fine.
Just needed a minute by myself, you know?”
Jonathan gives him another long look before shaking his head and sighing.
“Will, why didn’t you tell me you had powers?” he asks. “I- I love you. Nothing will change
that. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped. It wouldn’t have changed how much I love
you.”
Will shakes his head. “I- I didn’t want you to worry, Jon. I- Owens and Brenner, they found
them at the Nina Project. It’s- it’s a brain tumor. It’s a type of cancer that gives me these
abilities. I- I didn’t want you to freak out. We were all scared enough, and- they said they’d
remove the tumor so I thought you wouldn’t have to find out, and- I’m sorry, Jon, I just didn’t
want you to worry.”
Jonathan stares at Will, clearly overwhelmed.
“The- the tumor, the cancer, it’s not dangerous. It- they said I’m in no danger from it. I just
have powers. Telekinesis and electrokinesis. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I… I was just
scared. Of what I could do, of what you’d say or think, that you’d get worried… I was just
scared, Jon. I’m still scared. And I’m sorry.” Will says in a trembling voice.
Jonathan just pulls him into another hug. Will carefully adjusts so that his arm doesn’t hurt or
bleed again. “Will, you gotta stop hiding stuff like this from me. If there’s something that’s a
big deal like this, you gotta let me know, okay? You gotta tell me this stuff. This is very
relevant to… like, everything. This is important, and I gotta know if something big is going
on, okay? I’m not mad or anything. I’m just… Will, you gotta tell me this. Okay? Promise?”
“Promise.” Will lies. He doesn’t need to be a bother.
“Okay. Just… I love you, okay? And I know where your brain is going and I’m not mad at
you at all. I know you were just scared, but next time let me help, okay?”
“Okay. Love you too.” Will says.
Jonathan gives a small smile and pats his shoulder. “Alright. Hop in the van, okay? We gotta
get back to Hawkins.”
Will nods and returns Jon’s smile before getting in the van.
He rests his head against the window once he’s seated and sandwiches his bleeding arm
between the wall of the van and his leg. Maybe he can subtly apply pressure until it stops and
he can take off the toilet paper. Maybe next time they stop.
At least Jon doesn’t hate him yet, though. One win, at least.
Mike looks over the snack aisle yet again. Reese’s, Reese’s, Reese’s… where the fuck are the
stupid peanut butter candies?
Will may have told Mike that he hates him and doesn’t want to be friends, but Mike still has
hope. With enough apologies and gifts (gifts always make Mike feel loved and happy -
maybe it’ll do the same for Will), maybe he can at least convince Will to talk to him so that
he can give him a proper explanation and apology.
Besides. Maybe Reese’s will not only bribe Will into forgiving Mike and taking him back,
but maybe it’ll also bribe Will into eating. He’s still so thin that Mike’s chest aches when
Will’s clothes happen to stretch and show that he’s bone rather than fat or muscle.
“Yes!” Mike whispers when he finds the Reese’s. He gets several packs of both Reese’s
Pieces and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups along with his own candy, and he quickly checks out.
He walks back out to the van with a shopping bag on his arm and El and Argyle walking
behind him. He’s tried to talk to her a few times, but she hasn’t responded. Then again,
though, Mike can’t blame her - between Max being hurt and his stupid bullsit speech, she
probably needs some space to think and breathe. He’ll try again in a bit.
Mike gets in and sees Will leaning against the window on the outcropping that can’t be
comfortable, and it hurts a little. It had stung earlier when he had tried to sit next to Will and
he had completely gotten up and moved without a word, but… God, what Mike had said? He
honestly would have smacked him. He kinda wishes that he could smack himself for saying
that shit.
“Uh… hey. I- I got you candy. Reese’s are still your favorite, right?” Mike asks.
Will turns a little bit, and Mike takes it as a sign that he’s listening.
“Well, we now have peanut butter cups and Reese’s Pieces. They’re in the bag when you get
hungry, okay?” Mike says. “They’re right behind you.”
“Thanks.” Will says flatly. It stings a bit, but hey, at least he’s acknowledged Mike’s
existence.
Mike smiles a little bit as he sits down and rests his head against the seat as they start to drive
again.
He knows that he fucked up big-time. But Will’s his best friend. A few words can’t erase ten
years of history, right? If he just fights hard enough to prove that he’s worthy of Will’s
affection, prove that he really does care about him, maybe he’ll get his best friend back, even
if Mike can’t have him as his boyfriend.
He can do this.
Chapter End Notes
Win back your man, Michael! You can do it!
Hope you enjoyed this sad chapter! It makes me sad to not have Byler on good terms :(
they make up soon though!!
Also gift-giving is definitely Mike’s love language, I don’t make the rules :D
Thank you so much for reading and see you soon!

Apologies
Chapter Notes
I was gonna wait longer to have them make up but here we are
separate for too long apparently
😭 I can't have Byler
Sorry this chapter is short, next chapter will be longer. And I'll post it on Monday
probably <3 enjoy!


Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Mentioned death
- Past arguing between friends
- Language
“Okay. We stop for a few hours at this motel, and then we run the rest of the drive to Hawkins
in about four hours. Sound good?” Jonathan asks.
There’s a chorus of agreement from everyone in the van, though Will stays noticeably silent.
It makes Mike’s heart ache. He really ruined everything.
It's quiet in the van as Jonathan gets a room, and when he comes back, he nods. “Two beds
and a pull-out couch. Argyle, if you want to take the couch, El and I can share and so can
Mike and Will.”
While Argyle rambles his agreement, Mike thinks about why Jonathan would have him share
with Will. He yelled at Mike for hurting Will… why wouldn't he share with Will instead of
Mike?
Oh. He probably doesn't want El and Mike sharing a bed. Or to have Mike share with him or
Argyle. Oh.
Makes sense. Kinda.
They all go inside, and as Jonathan takes the first shower and the rest settle in, Argyle turns
to Will.
“Hey, can you get me some snacks?” Argyle asks Will. “I'm starving. Any kind of chips or
candy are fantastic, brochacho. There's a vending machine area down the hall to the left.
“Sure.” Will says, getting up to his feet.
Argyle smiles as he hands Will some money out of his pocket, at which point Will gives a
small smile back before leaving the room.
Mike watches him go from the bed.
“Actually, Mike, I think Will might need some help carrying the food. You should go help!”
Argyle says, giving him a cryptic look that Mike doesn't quite understand. “Go on!”
Wait. Is Argyle trying to give him the chance to talk to Will?
Thank you, weird pothead friend.
Mike nods and smiles, getting up and going down the hall to the vending machines after Will.
Now's his chance to apologize.
Mike follows him out to the vending machines, where he corners Will so that he can’t avoid
him.
“What do you want, Wheeler.” Will snarls, avoiding eye contact as he punches in the
numbers for the vending machines. The words feel wrong in his mouth, but that doesn’t
matter. Mike needs to leave.
“Will- Will, please just listen.” Mike says, wide brown eyes filled with regret. “Five minutes.
That's it. And then you can tell me to leave you alone and I will.”
Will turns to him. “Five minutes.” he says. “That's it.”
Mike sighs and nods. “Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I- Will, I will never be able to
make up for what I said. I hurt you, and I am so sorry for saying that. I really am. You have
no idea how much I wish I could take it back. Honestly, how much I wish I could take back
all of the stupid shit I’ve said and done. What I said and did last summer, how I treated you
while we were thirteen, Rink-O-Mania, the pizza place speech… God, no wonder you're
pissed at me, I keep fucking up.”
Will gives a small nod. He isn’t gonna argue with that.
“But- Will, it was a lie. I- I didn't mean it. Honestly, when we first found El… it did feel like
my life started. But it was only because it had ended that morning when they had told me you
were gone. She promised she could bring you back. I just wanted you back, and that promise
that I could see you again was the only reason I kept going. And while I did grow to like her,
I- she didn't replace you. She could never replace you. And even if I met El on that day, it
will never make up for the fact that it was the day I lost you. I do care deeply about El, but…
Will, she could never, never, make up the emptiness I feel when you're gone. And she didn't
make up how dead inside I felt when you were missing.”
Any of Will’s remaining anger towards Mike is starting to dissolve as tears well in his eyes.
“I don't hate you. I will never be able to hate you. And I don’t wish you were dead. Honestly,
if you died…”
Mike looks away, biting his lip as his eyes tear up. “...God, I don’t know how I'd be able to
live. I said I can't live without El, but… truth is, I don't want to live without you. You've
always been the best part of my life. My best friend. And- Will, I don’t want to lose you
because I'm a dumbass who doesn't think of the consequences of his actions and words. I
can’t lose you again. I've lost you too many times to lose you over the stupid things I said.
I'm so sorry. And- please don't ever say that you shouldn't have come back from the Upside
Down. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't. I don’t even want to think about it.
That thought… it’s honestly too scary. The thought of you gone scares the shit out of me.”
Will’s flat-out crying now, and Mike is a little bit too, but he still keeps talking.
"I didn't realize. I- I didn't see how much I was hurting you," Mike says, his voice shaking. "I
was so caught up in everything... in El, in everything that was happening… But that's no
excuse, Will. None of it justifies what I've done. What I've said. I can’t forgive myself for
saying that the day my life started was the day you died. I can’t forgive myself for lying like
that. But I don't want to lose you.”
Will opens his mouth to tell Mike stop, stop, I've already forgiven you, you’re gonna make
me really cry, stop before I break down, but Mike keeps talking.
"I've been a terrible friend, Will," Mike continues. "I should have been there for you. I should
have thought about what I was saying. I should have been better. I should never have said
that, never should have made you feel like you didn't matter. You do. You matter more than
anyone. You're the world. And I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Will says, his voice shaking. “It's okay. I forgive you.”
“No, it's not. I hurt you.” Mike says, crying. “I'm so sorry.”
Will steps forward and pulls the taller boy into a hug, who immediately hunches to fit into
Will’s arms better and smashes his face into Will’s shoulder. He hugs back so tightly that Will
wonders if Mike’s afraid he'll disappear if he lets go.
“I'm sorry, Will. I'm so sorry. For everything.” Mike whispers. “I can't make it up, but I'll try.
I'll make it right, I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right.”
“You don't have to make it up to me, Mike.” Will says gently, softly stroking Mike’s hair.
“You apologized and feel bad. I forgive you. What matters is the future, okay? That's enough
for me.”
Mike pulls back slightly, and the sadness and forgiveness in Will’s gaze meets the
determination in Mike’s. “No, Will, it's- it's not enough. I hurt you. Badly. And I need to
make it right. I need to figure out how to show you that you aren't second choice. You are
never second choice. I need you to understand how sorry I am and how much you matter to
me.”
Will gives a soft, sad smile. “Okay, Mike. I appreciate that. But- you really don't have to. I
forgive you.”
“I want to. You deserve better.” Mike says earnestly. “You deserve more than just an apology.
You deserve everything.”
Will’s gonna cry more, so he just pulls Mike back into a hug.
“We're friends, right?” Mike asks from his shoulder.
“Best friends. Always.” Will tells him.

He and Mike just hug for a while, Will defending himself against both the bittersweet
emotions and the urge to kiss the side of Mike’s head before he pulls away.
“It's getting late and we have to get back to Hawkins tomorrow. Should probably head to bed,
right?” Will suggests.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Mike says, wiping his eyes. “Besides, Argyle probably wants his
snacks.”
“Yeah.” Will agrees.
He reaches out and squeezes Mike’s wrist in a comforting motion. “Everything’s gonna be
fine. We’re friends, and we’re gonna stay that way. And we can figure out how to stop the
apocalypse when we're in Hawkins, and we'll do that together, too. We got this, okay?”
“Okay.” Mike nods.
When they get back to the room, they give Argyle his snacks and all eat (even though Will
doesn’t want to, it makes his loved ones happy) before getting ready for bed.
They all take showers and eventually head to bed over the next hour, and though Mike’s on
his side of the bedand Will on his own, the gap still seems less than it has in quite a while.
Chapter End Notes
Aww. We love Byler make-up (even if no makeout :( that comes later though) and Byler
shipper Argyle. And did you like Mike insisting that Will deserves more? Let me know
in the comments!
Thank you so much, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Home Again
Chapter Notes
Hey! You know how I said I'd post Monday? I'm a liar <3 doubt y'all mind though <3
Enjoy!
Special thanks to Heidi for getting me out of my head and getting me writing again, and
special thanks to Richietherich and Ngalu for the fanart (listed below)! Love you guys!


THANK YOU SO MUCH RICHIETHERICH
AND THIS ONE:

https://www.tumblr.com/ngalu/741979811318251520/just-kiss-already?source=share
NGALU I LOVE YOU
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Blood
- Nightmares
- Language
At one in the morning, Mike still can’t sleep. It’s too quiet, and the bed is too big, and the
space between Mike and Will still feels so vast. His brain won’t shut up, still going in circles
about their conversation earlier. They’re best friends again, but… Mike had thought they’d be
more than that. But he read everything so, so wrong. Of course Will isn’t… unnatural… like
Mike is. It was all just wishful thinking. Mike feels so damn stupid. And he hates himself for
thinking Will could love him back, for taking advantage of Will’s vulnerability time after
time to be close to him, for even feeling this way in the first place.
Unable to shake the ache in his chest, he rolls from his back onto his side to face Will. The
moonlight through the half-closed curtains shines on Will’s face, illuminating his features.
Mike can’t help but admire him, even if he hates himself for it. It’s hard not to marvel at Will
in general, actually. The way that he’s so kind and soft even though he’s had to be strong and
suffered so much, the way he loves so much and so fiercely… hell, even the way that the
moonlight is making his sleeping face look downright ethereal. He's so beautiful and kind
and brave and fundamentally good, and it makes Mike fall even harder.
Which he can't do. Fuck.
He's pulled out of his thoughts, though, when Will’s steady, quiet breathing picks up, and he
starts to pant in his sleep, his face scrunching up as he starts to move.
Oh. He’s having a nightmare.
“Will. Hey, Will.” Mike says, reaching over and patting Will’s shoulder. Will's breathing just
becomes more erratic as his eyes move rapidly behind his eyelids and his eyebrows furrow in
distress. Mike’s heart aches at the sight along with the worry for Will. He wishes he could
suffer instead.
“Will, hey, it's okay.” Mike murmurs softly and as soothingly as he can as he pats the side of
Will’s face in an attempt to wake him. “You’re safe. You're here with me.”
Will’s eyes fly open and he scoots away from Mike’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut and
breathing heavily, clearly disoriented and still half in his dream. But when his hazel eyes
open again and his gaze focuses on Mike’s face, the pain on his face seemingly goes to relief
and recognition.
“Mike?” Will asks, and his voice is hoarse with sleep and fear, but there's trust in his eyes as
he grabs his hearing aid and puts it in his left ear.
“Yeah, just me.” Mike says, giving a soft smile. “You were having a nightmare, but we’re
safe, and you're awake and okay now, okay?”
Will nods and takes the deep breath he always takes when he's trying to slow his heart rate
down. “Thanks.” Will says. “For waking me up. Sorry to wake you.”
“You didn't.” Mike says. “And it's no problem. Just want you to be safe.”
Will gives a jerky nod and smile. “Thanks.”
Mike nods back. They’re just friends, but in these moments when nothing seems real and
they're both vulnerable and raw, it's hard not to wish for more, and it's hard not to try to get
more.
They both settle back into their sides of the bed, Will obviously still on-edge, Mike still wide-
awake.
It’s a while of both Will and Mike quietly breathing and lying in the dark before Mike, in a
one-in-the-morning moment of stupidity, decides to speak.
“Can I-” Mike takes a deep breath. “Can I come over there?”
Will’s silent for a moment before he nods, scooting over to one side of his pillow and shifting
to make himself smaller so Mike'll have more room.
Mike slides over, the sheets rustling as he crosses the invisible, unspoken line. They’re
sharing a pillow now, and Will’s close enough that Mike could count his eyelashes if he
wanted, close enough that their knees knock together and Will’s breath tickles Mike’s neck.
As Mike settles in closer to Will, unthinkingly laying an arm over his best friend’s waist and
leaning in to touch their foreheads together (leave him alone, he's tired and it's the middle of
the night and it doesn't matter if he's taking advantage because he isn’t thinking about the
touch in that light, it's not romantic, it's just comfort, okay?), he just focuses on the warmth
radiating from Will’s body in his arms, a comforting presence in the darkness of the room. It
isn’t long before Will's breathing evens back out and his earlier distress disappears as he
relaxes, and Mike’s own eyelids are starting to get heavy.
“Thank you.” Will murmurs softly, barely above a whisper, as he clearly starts to drift off.
“For being here. I missed you.”
Mike smiles, his heart fluttering at the closeness. “Anytime” he replies, his voice soft as he
brings his arm up from over Will’s waist and hanging off the bed to brush Will’s bangs out of
his eyes. “I've got you.”
They lie there in comfortable silence for a while, though eventually Mike moves the arm over
Will’s waist to grab the TV remote from the nightstand.
“What do you want to watch?” Mike asks quietly.
Will yawns, and Mike wrinkles his nose at the cuteness. He’s so adorable. “Doesn’t matter.”
he says, snuggling closer to Mike in his sleepy state and wrapping an arm around Mike too,
moving from his head pressed against Mike’s to bury his face in Mike’s chest. “Happy with
whatever.”
Mike’s heart is in his throat as he murmurs an ‘Okay’ and flips through the channels until he
finds Star Wars. “You want Star Wars?” he asks.
“Mm.” Will mumbles, snuggling even closer.
“Man, alright, hang on.” Mike smiles, putting aside the remote and shifting until he’s on his
back. “There.”
Will’s immediately wrapping his arm around Mike’s waist and burying his face in his chest
again, mumbling something sleepy as Mike wraps his own arm around Will’s shoulders and
presses a kiss to Will’s forehead before he can think about it. Oh, God, why did he do that?
“Alright. Goodnight, Will.” Mike murmurs.
“Night.” Will yawns back.
With the safety of Will in his arms and resting on his chest, safe and warm as Luke and R2-
D2 go to Dagobah in the background, the TV lighting up the hotel room, Mike’s restlessness
ceases as he slips into sleep.
Will smiles at Mike from across the van (he’s still sitting on the outcropping, but turned so
that he can face Mike and El now) as Argyle announces that they’re only about two miles
from Hawkins. Last night was… well, he’s pretty sure he was dreaming. How gentle and
sweet Mike was when he woke Will up from his nightmare, how he asked to come over to
Will’s side of the bed, how he put his arm over Will’s waist and then moved so that Will
could lay on his chest (and then kissed his forehead! What the fuck!)... God, Will wouldn’t
mind if he and Mike shared a bed every night if it meant he got that treatment after each
nightmare.
As the van trundles closer to Hawkins (and traffic gets a lot worse on the road to get out -
what on Earth happened?), Will still can’t shake the warmth from last night. Even though he’s
terrified of what he’ll find in Hawkins - even if he’s terrified of what his friends’ conditions
are like or if they’ll still care about him after so long - he feels strangely peaceful. It’s like
Mike’s put a damper on his anxiety, like his presence - his comfort - has left a protective
bubble around him.
Then again, Will just slept the longest and best he has in at least a year (not counting being
drugged). That probably doesn’t hurt either. But Will’s gonna choose to believe that Mike has
magic healing superpowers.
Will smiles over at Mike again, and Mike meets his gaze and gives an awkward, nervous
smile back.
This is scary, but Mike’s with him. It’ll all be okay.
Will looks out the window as he starts to see the cracks in the earth that are causing
everybody to flee, and he can’t help but reflect on how much has changed since he was here
last time. Instead of the place where he grew up, the place where he knew every crack in the
sidewalk and every neighbor’s name, it looks more like a war zone.
More like the Upside Down.
He tries to swallow the lump in his throat and not think about it.
It isn’t long before they cross the border, the sign of ‘Welcome to Hawkins!’ graffitied to read
‘Welcome to Hell’.
And the second they do, Will’s nose starts to gush.
Will’s immediately cupping his hand on his upper lip to catch the blood and looking around
for a tissue. Is he using his powers? What’s happening?
As he’s looking, he sees Mike in a similar predicament, his nose bleeding too. He meets
Will’s eyes, silently asking the question ‘What’s happening? Why are we both bleeding?’
Okay. Maybe it’s not just him.
Still weird.
El roots around under the bench until she finds a box of tissues, at which point she wordlessly
holds it out to both Mike and Will, who both take wads of it.
Will presses on his nose until the bleeding stops, and then he cleans his face and hands with
another few tissues, packing them into a small, bloody ball once he’s done.
He looks out the window again, and this time, he feels frozen as he sees the vines crawling
out of the red cracks in the ground. Oh, God. Has it come back to get him?
‘Don’t be self-centered. You aren’t that special.’ he chastises himself.
As Mike’s nose stops bleeding too, they drive down the streets that Will knows every inch of.
He sees the street corner where his favorite ice cream stand would set up in summers, the
parking lot where his mom took Jon to learn to drive as Will quietly sat in the backseat and
drew pictures, the clothing store they would go to when hand-me-downs weren’t enough or
didn’t fit anymore, the stretch of the sidewalk where Mike fell on his bike (and as Dustin was
asking if he was okay and lightly teasing Mike, he crashed too, causing Lucas and Will to fall
as well - they all skinned their hands and knees and made a blood pact to stay best friends
forever before going to Lucas’s house because it was closest, where Mrs. Sinclair clucked her
tongue and complained as she patched them up).
He’s back. He’s back in Hawkins. Back in the town that’s caused so much pain but so much
joy, as well.
It isn’t long before they’re pulling up to Mike’s house. Mike’s fidgeting in his seat, clearly
excited and nervous based on which fidgets he’s doing.
Will sees Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler, Steve, Robin, and Dustin all in the driveway (and all so
different from the last time he saw them) and he could cry in joy. He missed them so much.
As the van stops and they get out to the sight of their friends and families, Will can’t help but
beam.
This is home. Not California, not any building, the feeling he has right now of seeing them
after so long.
While Jonathan runs to Nancy and Mike runs to his mom, Will runs to Dustin, grabbing him
in a tight hug. He looks so different - good different, but still.
“WILL!” Dustin shouts as Will grabs him in a hug. “Holy shit, man! I can’t believe you’re
here!”
“Me neither!” Will smiles. “God, I missed you!”
“Holy shit! I’m so happy to see you!” Dustin says, smiling and laughing as he squeezes Will
tightly. “Argh, I missed you too!”
He takes a step back and looks at Will at arms-length. “Dude! You grew, like, a foot! You’re
taller than me now! Shit, now I’m the shortest in the Party…”
“Six inches, actually.” Will says, smiling sheepishly. “And I’ll always be shorter than you at
heart.”
“And… you apparently lost fifty pounds.” Dustin says, happiness gone to concern as he looks
at Will’s body. “You’re basically a walking skeleton. Why haven’t they been feeding you in
California?”
Will shrugs and looks away. “I- it’s not a big deal.” he says. “I eat plenty.”
“Doubt it, you’re way too scrawny. It’s alright, though. I’m trying to wage a war against Ted.
You can help me eat all the food. It pisses him off. We’ll get some meat on you, don’t worry.”
He looks at Will again. “You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept? If you can
see things that aren’t there, tell me. It’s for science.”
“I slept last night.” Will says. “Solid few hours. It’s just… everything’s really stressful right
now.”
Dustin nods sympathetically. “Yeah. Apocalypse isn’t exactly great for feeling well-rested.
Still, you look dead on your feet. Should try to get a nap later.”
“And- you're limping, Dustin! What happened?” Will asks.
“Broke my leg. It’s fine, though.” Dustin says nonchalantly.
“WHAT?!” Will freaks out.
“No, no, it's okay! Just a small fracture. The cleidocranial dysplasia makes my bones more
fragile and break more, remember? I'll be fine in no time. It’s just that it’s usually my fibula
that breaks, not my femur.” Dustin reassures.
Well, that makes him feel better.
“Dustin!” Will complains. “Shouldn’t you be resting, then? Whenever you break a bone
because of the CCD, you’re supposed to rest, remember? That’s what you’ve always done!”
“Well…” Dustin starts. “...with everything going on, there isn’t time to rest like I normally
would.”
Will looks around. “Why? What’s going on? I saw the cracks.”
Dustin’s uncharacteristically quiet for a minute. “Yeah. That’s just part of it. Hawkins… it’s
not good. Right now, Mike’s basement is serving as base of operations, but… well, it’s just
up to us. It’s up to The Party to stop this, and Jesus Christ, I’m glad you’re here, but… yeah.
It’s not good.” he says.
Will looks around. “I- okay. Wait, if this is base of operations, where is everybody? Where’s
Lucas?”
“Oh, he’s at the hospital.” Dustin says.
“Why? Is he hurt?” El asks from where she’s come up next to them.
“No, no. He’s with-”
Dustin stops, looking devastated and horrified.
“Oh, God. You don’t know.” he says.
Will just stares at him until it hits him.
Oh, God. Who’s dead?
Chapter End Notes
Mike: *angstily* I'm a Creep... I'm a Weirdo... he could never love me... What The Hell
Am I Doing Here... I'm unnatural... I Don’t Belong Here...
Will: Michael we are literally cuddling and watching Star Wars at like 1 in the
morning?? After you tenderly and lovingly woke me up from a nightmare?? And I
initiated this snuggle?? Are you fucking kidding me, you overdramatic bitch?
We love them very much <3
Also! We love Byler snuggles and forehead kisses and Will’s memories of Hawkins and
Byers-Henderson besties and just !!!!! I love this chapter so much!!!
Also! Nosebleeds! Do y'all know what that means? :D

Max
Chapter Notes
Hi!! Enjoy this depressing-ass chapter where we all learn info we already know. Leave a
comment or Kudos if you like this fic, and tell me your thoughts!

Also, thanks to Camel-Casing on Tumblr for being a fantastic person, Heidi for
inspiration, and Ngalu and Richietherich for fanart. I love you all!
Richietherich's amazing work #1!!

https://www.tumblr.com/fanboom/741615794447876096/guys-guys-they-did-fanart-of-
glimmer-holy-fucking?source=share
LOOK AT THE HEARING AIDS EEEEE

https://www.tumblr.com/fanboom/741995368187920384?source=share
Ngalu's masterpiece #1!!

WILL’S HEARING AIDS GUYS!!!!!
What I think of as the Ngalu Chibi Squee art! LOOK AT THE HEARING AIDS!!!
https://www.tumblr.com/ngalu/742005405859889152?source=share
Thank you all so much and see you soon!
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal thoughts
- Implied child abuse
- Language
- Death
- Survivor’s guilt
- Murder
Will silently creeps into the hospital room without a word, Mike holding the door for him and
El. Silence feels like it has a place here where his friend lies.
He learned how to move silently before he can even remember. Walk on the outsides of your
feet - not only does it make your steps quieter, but it silences the soles of shoes. Make sure
your clothes don’t make noise as they rub together (jeans - they’re the devil when you’re
trying to be quiet), and if they do, bow your legs out as you walk and hold your arms away
from your sides. Walk by furniture because the floor is more settled, and keep your breathing
as quiet as possible, whether by making sure you regularly blow your nose so it doesn’t
whistle or by covering your mouth and nose with a cupped hand. And always be light on your
feet. Keep every step calculated and light, watch every single step, be careful never to creak
or step on anything, and be ready to run if you need to.
When you live with Lonnie, that’s how you stay alive. You stay silent and you pay attention
to where he is. Listen for his footsteps, the sound of M*A*S*H on the TV, or the sounds of
shouting. And you always know where he is. If you don’t, you figure it the fuck out and stay
away. And if he’s not home, you listen for the car pulling up the driveway every minute,
constantly pausing the TV or the music or silencing your conversation to make sure that he’s
not gonna come through the door.
That skill had always been handy. Whether creeping through the Upside Down or hiding
from Lonnie or sneaking about to ease the constant buzz of hypervigilance, it’s always been
helpful.
Now, it feels more like Will’s afraid that one wrong step, one noise, will disturb Max and end
up with whatever precise balance being thrown off and her dying.
“Oh my God.” Lucas says, getting up from the chair he was sitting in at Max’s bedside.
“Guys.”
“Hey.” Mike says from next to him as both he and Will hug Lucas, their hands meeting over
his back.
“We’ve been trying to call you guys.” Lucas says.
“We know.” Mike says. “I’m sorry.”

Lucas pulls away after a minute and nods. “It's okay. You're here now.” With that, he goes
back to the plastic hospital chair he was sitting in before.
Will silently comes further into the room, heart sinking as he sees Max on the bed.
The beeping of the several monitors she’s hooked up to is quiet, but in the silence of the
room, it's overwhelming. Max lies still on the sheets, limbs encased in white plaster, neck in a
brace, the veins under her eyes dark and very visible.
With Max's fire, both in her personality and in her hair, she's always seemed a bit larger-than-
life. But lying against the sterile white sheets, she just looks washed-out and small.
Will wipes his eyes and approaches the bed with small, cautious steps, trying to make his
movements so quiet that you can't tell where he is. He holds his breath as he stares at Max,
searching for any sign of life, any reason to hope.
He sighs in relief when he sees the faint rise and fall of her chest. She’s breathing. She's still
holding on. She's still alive.
He still stays silent, his fear lingering. One wrong step, one misplaced noise, and everything
could unravel.
Will realizes that he’s just standing stock-still next to Mike, and so he moves forward,
coming up next to Max. He reaches out a trembling hand and hesitates before he tucks a
piece of long red hair behind Max's ear. She looks so fragile in the hospital light.
Will has to swallow and look away for a minute before he can be sure he isn't going to cry.
He sits down carefully next to Max on the bed, reaching out and resting his hand over hers.
Will wishes that he had made more of an effort with Max. Of course they were friends, but
Will and Max, they had never quite reached the level of best friends that he and the original
Party had. He doesn’t know every single thing about Max like he does Dustin and Lucas and
Mike, doesn't remember every single like and dislike and quirk. He wishes he did.
Will decides that when they save her, he's gonna do that. He's gonna fight for her friendship
and become best friends with her, too. He just has to figure out how to get her back first.
“What happened?” Will asks quietly.
“It’s One. Vecna. Henry. Whatever.” Lucas says. “He’s in the Upside Down and killing
everyone from there. El sent him there, and- well, apparently he’s a raging psychopath that
got experimented on by Brenner. But yeah, he’s doing all this. The Demogorgon was a
soldier, the Mindflayer was an overarching bad guy, and Vecna… he’s the four-star general.
He’s behind everything.”
What’s the Mindflayer? Will still remembers. How it felt to have cold, icy darkness so deep in
your bones you’d never be warm again, how it felt to be trapped in his own body and
somehow a part of every Demodog as they killed left and right, how it felt to
He still remembers its voice.
It sounded like Lonnie, whispering horrible things in his ear.
That’s how Will knew it was a ‘he’.
“Vecna, he’s Freddy Kruegering people. He shows them their worst memories and preys on
their worst thoughts and fears and memories and uses it against them until he either traps
them or they give in.” Lucas says. “All of the victims so far - um… they were all going to
therapy for various mental health issues. The… the connection is that all of them had a
history of trauma and suicidal thoughts. So… yeah. I think we should all be okay, but…
yeah.”
“So One… he targets suicidal people?” Will asks with a sinking feeling. He has trauma and
has both attempted and thought of suicide and he has mental issues. Oh no.
“Yeah. Chrissy Cunningham, she apparently had an eating disorder. Fred Benson, he
apparently had PTSD, and Patrick, my teammate… I think his dad hit him. According to the
school therapists’ files, they all had symptoms of depression and anxiety, and they all had
nightmares and headaches and were hallucinating, and all of them had apparently thought
about or tried killing themselves.” Lucas says quietly. “I- I- why didn’t I help Max? I knew
something was wrong when she started pushing us away. I- I didn’t think she wanted to die, I
thought she just needed space. And- now she’s gone-”
Lucas puts his head in his hands and starts to rock in the chair as he starts to cry. “She’s gone-
and Patrick, he was my friend, and- he’s gone too-”
Will reaches out and grabs Lucas’s hand from over his face and brings it down to the
bedspread, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb instead of thinking about what this
could mean for himself. “It’s not your fault, Lucas. Nobody blames you, okay? It wasn’t your
fault. And Max isn’t dead, she’s in a coma. She’s not gone. There’s still hope. As long as
she’s breathing, there’s still hope, right?”
Lucas gives a teary-eyed nod.
“And… on the front of Patrick… I didn’t know him, but I don’t think he’d blame you. Not if
you were friends. Believe me. I know that when I was possessed or in the Upside Down and
about to die, I didn’t blame anyone. Not for a second. When horrible things happen, Lucas,
we don’t blame other people. But we do end up blaming ourselves. And even though none of
it was your fault, you still blame yourself. I understand that better than anybody, okay? But-
Lucas, you’re the only one who blames you. I don’t. Mike doesn’t. Erica doesn’t. Nobody
does - I doubt even Max or Patrick would and they’re the ones who got hurt because of
Vecna. You are the only one who blames you, and I know that I’m not gonna convince you
that none of it was your fault, but I think you need to hear that it isn’t.” Will says, taking a
deep breath once he’s done.
He can’t stand to see Lucas talking like that, feeling like that. It wasn’t his fault, after all, and
it’s not right to watch him blame himself.
Lucas nods, face scrunching up. He stands up from the chair, Will copying and getting up,
before he walks over to Will and just collapses into his arms with a sob, wrapping his arms
around Will’s waist and burying his face in Will’s shirt as he cries.
“I- I didn’t push hard enough-” Lucas sobs. “And- they’re dead, they’re- they’re all gone-”
Will’s hand comes up to gently cup the back of Lucas’s head, the other rubbing circles on his
back. “It’s okay.” he soothes. “I know how hard this is. Just get it all out, okay? I’m right
here. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna leave you alone. We’re gonna find a way to bring Max
back, and we’re gonna make things right for Patrick, okay? I’ve got you. I’m your best
friend, and I’m sticking right by your side. We’re gonna get through this, okay?”
Lucas sobs harder and squeezes harder too. “I- I can’t-”
“And that’s alright. You don’t have to be strong and perfect all the time. You can just cry,
alright? That’s okay. A lot’s going on, and you’ve been keeping it together so well, but I’ve
got you. It’s okay.” Will soothes. “It’s okay. Just take your time. I’m here. I’ve got you,
Lucas. It’s just me.”
Lucas cries in Will’s arms for a while, and though Will’s arms are getting tired of holding
Lucas up, he's not going to stop, not while Lucas still needs him.
Eventually, though, Lucas pulls away, wiping his eyes with hands that used to be the same
size as Will’s but are now much larger. “Thanks. I- I didn't mean to break down, sorry.”
“It's okay.” Will says, brushing Lucas's tears away with his fingertips. “I understand. And
you're having a really hard time. I can’t even imagine. You can break down to me anytime,
anyway. You're my friend.”
Lucas gives Will a watery, sad smile. “I really missed you.” he says. “I- God, I missed you.
And I'm so glad you’re here. I missed my best friend.”
Will smiles back and holds Lucas's cheeks in his hands, and to anyone else it might seem
romantic, but it’s Lucas, it’s Will’s best friend and one of the only people who ever
understood when Will got frustrated and ranted about how shitty it is to be a hispanic Jew in
Hawkins, AKA White Christian-ville. He’s the boy who Will's been on so many campaigns
with, the boy who's always looked out for Will, the boy who he's both fought for and who's
fought for him.
It might seem weird to other people, but to Will, it’s just Lucas. They've always been like
that. While it might seem odd to other people for Will to platonically cradle Lucas’s face and
hold him as he sobs, it's just them, just like always.
“I missed you too.” Will says. “And I'm glad we're here too. We can figure this out, and we'll
get Max back, okay?”
Will gets on tiptoes and presses a kiss to Lucas's forehead. “We can do this.” he says.
Lucas just kinda looks at him for a minute, and Will panics a little (sure, he used to use top-
of-the-head and cheek kisses to show affection to his friends when they were younger, but
now that they're older, is it okay? Or is it too gay now?), but then he just pulls Will into
another hug. “God, I missed you.” he says into Will’s shoulder. “I really fucking missed you.”
Will smiles as he hugs Lucas back again. “Missed you too.”
Eventually, Lucas pulls away again with a wet smile. “Okay. Okay, I have a lot that you need
to know.”
He looks over at Mike and El, standing by Max’s side. El's looking at Max and crying, and
Mike’s looking up from Max at Lucas and Will with a broken expression. “I have a lot that
all of you need to know.”
-
They all sit down on the couch in the corner of the room. Will notes with a broken heart that
Lucas has clearly slept on it.
“Okay. So… you guys know who Vecna-slash-One-slash-Henry is, right?” Lucas asks.
They all nod. El had given a basic rundown before the Surfer Boy Pizza Mind Fight.
“Well, yeah. He gets in your head and messes with you, and then… well, he decides to kill
you. He puts you into a trance and then he breaks all your bones and bursts your eyes.”
They all look over at Max. God. Poor Max.
“Um… Vecna, it… he takes about three to five days. It starts with your nose bleeding and
headaches and the nightmares, then… well, the hallucinating starts. He tries to egg you into
letting him kill you and uses all your bad memories and thoughts and feelings against you to
try to make you suicidal. After a while, you start hearing and seeing a clock. It- it means you
have less than 24 hours before he starts to put you into a trance. The way to get you out is
your favorite song.”
Will’s silent. Fuck. He’s gonna get targeted.
“It's okay, though. He only targets people who are traumatized and suicidal. I think we're all
okay.” Lucas says. “Right? I mean- none of us want to die. Right?” Lucas asks, looking
between them all.
Will isn’t sure whether to cry or laugh as he nods and says something along the lines of ‘of
course not’.
Fuck. He’s gonna get Vecna'd, and he can’t tell anyone because then they'll know. They'll
know he wants to die, and then they'll get upset or worried or ask questions, and then it's
over. They'll know.
He can’t tell them.
But he’s going to be murdered.
By the ruler of the place that destroyed him.
It's already destroyed his soul.
But now it's going to kill him too.
Mike’s twelve. Troy's holding a knife to Dustin's face, threatening that he’s gonna torture him
if Mike doesn't jump off into the quarry. Dustin’s shouting that he can take it, just don't do it,
Mike, please-
Mike looks down. He knows there's no way he survives.
But who cares? Will's dead. Will’s dead and Mike’s alone.
Maybe if he leaps, the rock in his chest that hasn't left since Chief Hopper sat them down and
said Will was missing will stay on the ledge and he’ll be free and fly.
Maybe death will free him from the grief. Maybe he won't hurt when he dies in the same place
they found Will’s body.
He ignores Dustin’s screaming and begging.

Mike steps forward off the cliff and goes into freefall.
Mike’s breath catches in his throat. Holy shit. He's- Vecna's coming for him. He’s gonna die.
Mike tries not to cry as he nods and lies to Lucas that he doesn't want to die, that he never
has.
He can’t tell them. And he's about to die.
Fuck.
Chapter End Notes
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
😭😭😭😭😭😭
Platonic Byclair >>>
Poor Lucas and his survivor’s guilt
Also gotta love how Will completely ignores his own advice and reassurances 😭
Poor Mike and Will :(
Also! Vecna only targeting suicidal people: what do you think?
Thank you so much and see you soon!

As The World Caves In
Chapter Notes
Hey! Sorry this was late, I got hyperfixated on writing a future chapter (over 13k words,
but the way) for this as well as my new SPN fanfic. It's called 'Fading Shadows, Rising
Light', and if you want to check it out, you can go on my profile or search it up. <3
Enjoy the chapter! It's the end of an era and the beginning of another.
Also, yes, the title of the chapter is from Matt Maltese, I'm on a music kick and you can't
stop me.




Overall rating: PG.

Trigger warnings:
- Death
- The apocalypse
- Language

As they walk into Hopper’s broken, devastated cabin, El immediately goes to her room and
shuts the door almost-closed, presumably to three inches.
“Has she… talked to you at all?” Will asks from next to him. Mike glances over at the boy he
hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since they cuddled last night (well… hasn’t been able
to stop thinking about more than normal) before shaking his head.
“Not much.” Mike sighs. “A little bit.”
And only then to get mad at him for saying what he did in the Surfer Boy Pizza.
‘Do not lie to me. We are friends. Friends don’t lie. You do not love me like that, and it did
not help to say that. Never do that again. I am going to go to bed now. I am tired and do not
want to deal with you.’
“Dr. Brenner, he… he said that she wasn’t ready. And now she’s starting to think that he was
right.”
“That’s crap!” Will snaps, and then Mike realizes that he might have heard the same thing
from Brenner if he was a Number too. “If it wasn’t for her, if she hadn’t left the lab, we
wouldn’t be alive right now! Max wouldn’t be alive right now!”
“I know.” Mike says, still too busy thinking about Will’s powers to be completely focused.
“It’s just that she’s, um… she’s never lost before. Not like this.”
Mike starts to walk away and Will follows until they’re both sitting on the overturned couch
in the dusty, dirty living room.
“She’ll have another chance. We all will.” Will says quietly, staring straight ahead as he
wrings his hands.
“Let’s… let’s hope not. Let’s just hope that One is dead and rotting.” Mike says.
“He’s not.” Will says immediately.
Mike can see tears in his eyes as he starts talking.
“Now that I’m here, in Hawkins… I can feel him.” Will says, his eyes tearing and his voice
wavering but still staying strong. Just like Will: hurt but still so strong. “And he’s hurt. He’s
hurting. But he’s still alive. If anything, he… he’s more dangerous. He has nothing to lose.”
Mike tries to breathe. It’s sunny and still in the cabin, but Will’s words add a chill to the air.
“It’s so strange, knowing who it was the whole time now, but… I still remember. I still
remember him. I can still remember what he thinks, and how he thinks, and what he feels.
And he’s not going to stop. Ever. Not until he’s taken everything and everyone. He… he
wants the world to end. To destroy everyone and everything. And, Mike… I can still feel
him. I can always feel him. He’s just stronger now. But… I think once he gets inside your
head… you can’t get him out. It won’t matter how far you run, where you hide… he’s going
to get you. There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. He’s waiting, and… there’s no
escape. He’s going to win every time, and everyone is going to die. We… we have to kill
him, Mike. We have to kill him before he can kill us.”
A tear slips down Will’s cheek as he keeps talking.
Mike wants to comfort him, protect him, but this isn’t the motel. He doesn’t need to wake
Will up from a nightmare. This time, it would be a completely different touch.
But Will needs him.

“And we will. We will.” Mike says, reaching out after a second and grabbing Will’s shoulder
in a comforting squeeze.
“But… what if we don’t?” Will asks. “We can’t let him win, but… that doesn’t mean we can
win, either. He’s powerful, Mike, and he’s angry. What if we lose? Or… what if we can’t stop
One from killing more people? We can’t let the death toll rise, but… I don’t know what to
do.”
“We’ll figure it out together.” Mike says. “We can’t let him take everything, and we won’t.
We’ve faced things before, and we’ve come out the other side alive. We can do this.”
“Mike…” Will whispers, giving Mike the most haunted look. “...I don’t know if we can.”
As Mike opens his mouth to ask what, exactly, he’s thinking, what’s causing that look in his
eyes, they’re interrupted by the sound of a car.
They give each other looks.
“Government?” Will asks nervously.
“Oh, hell no.” Mike mutters, getting up to look out the broken window.
But instead of armed men come to drag them back to the hell they escaped, it’s two men and
a woman, all of whom are familiar.
Will practically runs in his haste to get outside, at which point he goes to his mom and
practically knocks her over in a hug. Mike follows his best friend outside (albeit slower) with
a smile, and while Will just stands there holding onto his mom for a bit, Mike walks over to
Hopper.
He’s sure he looks ridiculous. He kind of bops his head and does this weird little dead smile
as he goes over to Hopper, and he’s sure he looks like a weird penguin, but he is genuinely
happy to see him.
“Hey.” Mike says.
He thought Hopper was dead and he says ‘hey’? What is he even doing?
Hopper smiles. “You’ve grown.” he says.
“You’ve shrunk.” Mike jokes back, though Hopper really does look too thin.
Almost as thin as Will. Guess now he has to shove food down two people’s throats now.
Hopper takes a few steps toward him and pulls him into a hug. Mike smiles and moves his
chin to rest on Hopper’s shoulder. He doesn’t think about the fact that Hopper is hugging him
tighter than his dad ever has - honestly, that Hopper, who hated him last summer, even is
hugging him at all.
“You okay?” Hopper asks quietly into Mike’s ear.
“Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. How about you?” Mike asks.
“I need food that isn’t moldy bread and a good shower, but other than that, I’m gonna be
good.” Hopper says.
They just stand there hugging for a second until Hopper sighs. “I’m glad you’re okay, and it’s
damn good to see you. But for the record, if I learn that you hurt El while I was gone, I will
still kill you.”
“Don’t worry.” Mike says. “We decided that we’re better as friends. Not dating in the
slightest.”
Hopper pats his back. “Good. You were obnoxious as her boyfriend.”
Mike smiles. “Then stop hugging me.”
Hopper hugs tighter. “Nope. We’re all alive. That entitles me to a hug.”
They squeeze one more time before Mike pulls away. “Alright. Glad you’re alive.” Mike
says.
“Same here.” Hopper says.
They stand there for a minute before there’s the rumble of lightning in the distance and the
ground shakes for a second.
Mike turns to where the lightning came from, only to see Will standing there, grasping the
back of his neck and staring out at the sky.
Will starts to walk towards whatever the noise was, and Mike and the others follow.
It’s not too long before they come to the hill where Mike had picked flowers for El at the
airport… God, was it over two weeks ago?
The flowers all turn gray and black and ashen as gray flecks of ash fall from the now-red sky
like snow and the red cracks in the ground expand outward.
Mike looks over at Will in worry as his nose starts to bleed, still gripping his neck with his
left hand, his right at his side as he stares in horror and terror at the sky.
As they watch the sky turn to an ashen red, struck with lightning and dark clouds as the city
splits into pieces, Mike looks over at Will one more time.
As the world begins to crumble, Mike gently takes Will’s hand.
The world may be ending, but Mike? Mike’s not losing his world.
No matter what.
Chapter End Notes
We have now hit the end of Season 4. Welcome to the new age.
Thank you for reading, leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it, and see you soon!
Everything Can Burn
Chapter Notes
Hi! This is Will’s POV of the last chapter. Hope you enjoy!




I LOVE THIS NGALU WORK SO MUCH, IT’S MY SCREENSAVER <3

ANOTHER NGALU MASTERPIECE OF LUCAS AND WILL! I LOVE IT!

Thank you so much!

Trigger warnings:
- Implied assault
- The apocalypse
- Hallucinations
- Guilt
- Language

“MOM!” Will shouts as he runs towards her and grabs her in a hug so big that she almost
falls over.
“Will! Oh my God!” she says, hugging him back. It hits Will that he has to lean down to set
his head on her shoulder, and he tries to suppress the weird feeling that comes with the
realization that he’s a head taller than her.
Logically, he knows that he’s bigger than his mom. She’s 5’3, and Will’s 5’8 - he is
completely indisputably taller. But he still remembers when he was hardly up to her shoulder,
when he was able to fit in her lap and tuck his head under her chin, and now he would have to
curl up and be small just for her to be able to set her head on top of his.
He doesn’t like it. He wishes he was still a kid that could feel protected in his mom’s arms.
Still, Will pushes away that thought and just feels relieved that his mom is here and okay.
“So… Alaska, huh?” Will asks.
She pulls back and smiles. “Yeah, that… wasn’t exactly true.”
“I guessed.” Will says, nodding over to Hopper.
“Wait, Will- oh my God, what happened?” his mom asks, reaching out to touch his neck.
Oh. Will forgot that he still has the remnants of the finger-shaped bruises and hickeys. They
must have become more visible when he turned his head.
He flinches backward the second she touches the bruises. Don’t touch them. It brings back
bad memories. “It’s not a big deal. A lot happened while you were gone.” he says.
She gives him a questioning look. “Will, what happened?”
“It’s not a big deal.” Will says. “We kinda got captured by the government, but it’s fine.”
“What?!” his mom asks. “What?! What happened?!”
“It’s not a big deal.” Will repeats.
She crosses her arms. “William Jacob Byers, tell me what happened right now.”
“I- it’s nothing.” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you later. What’s important is that we’re
all okay.”
She glares at him before nodding. “Okay. Anything I should know about?”
Will shrugs. “Well… I kinda had a brain injury. And now I have seizures and lost my hearing
and use hearing aids now.”
“WHAT?!” his mom shrieks. “WHAT?!”
“Yeah, he… has epilepsy now.” Jonathan says from beside him. When did he get there? “He’s
on medication, though, so it’s fine.”
“Oh my God, I never should have left, what the hell-” his mom stresses.
“It’s okay.” Will says. “We’re all okay, and Hopper’s back now too. We’re all good.”
She doesn’t look happy - in fact, she looks downright crushed as she reaches out to touch
Will again.
Will instinctively pulls away from the unexpected touch before giving her a small smile.
“Mom, it’s- it’s really not a big deal. With everything else happening right now, we can worry
about my health later. I’m managing, and I’m well-taken care of. Okay?”
His mom doesn’t answer, looking at Jonathan as if she’s asking for answers or help.
Jon steps forward, by Will’s side like always.
“He’s telling the truth, Mom. He’s fine. I’ve been helping take care of his injuries and
keeping an eye on him, and everything’s fine. The doctors at the hospital we went to said that
he was going to be fine, and that his injuries and the effects were under control. Will’s fine.
Everything’s fine.” Jon soothes.
She looks at them both with tears in her eyes. “I never should have left you.” she says. “I
should have been here. How- I should have known better than to leave- I should have known
better after everything, I shouldn’t leave you-”
“Stop.” Will says. “Just… don’t. You brought Hop back, and we’re all happy that you did.
Besides, if you’d been here, you’d just have gotten hurt too.”
His mom nods slowly after a minute before pulling both Will and Jonathan into a hug. “Well,
I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Will smiles into her shoulder, squeezing for a while before letting go, at which point his mom
walks over to where El is and wraps her in a hug after running a hand over her buzzed scalp.
Will watches his family, and he wants to smile and be happy at their reunion, but his head’s
too much of a mess. The thoughts of the looming threat of Vecna, the tingling in his neck and
nagging feeling in his stomach and mind, and the memories of… where the bruises and
injuries came from… all make a jumble of conflicting thoughts in his head, so much so that
he’s getting a bad headache.
But he doesn’t have time to sort out his thoughts before the hair on the back of his neck
stands up, sending a shiver down his spine. He knows that feeling.
He’s here.
Will clasps his hand over the spot on his neck, now with a newly-forming scar from the
surgery to free his powers, and he turns to look at the sky as clouds start to roll over and turn
the blue sky to dark gray.
Apparently, everyone else turns to look too, and Will starts to walk towards where the pull on
the back of his neck wants him to go.
They all follow as Will goes forward through the woods until he comes to the hillside the
Party trekked up the previous summer to set up Cerebro, on which the grasses and flowers
are rotting and turning gray with ash.
Will clasps his hand over the back of his neck and watches in horror, blood dripping from his
nose.
He’s never considered Hawkins home. Not with how much he’s suffered here.
But those were the streets he’s been riding his bike across since he was old enough to. The
elementary school was where he met his friends, that cul-de-sac where he and Mike would
color patterns in chalk, those woods where Jon and Will played in the summers and built
Castle Byers, that record store where he found his favorite bands and songs.
Hawkins has been the home of a lot of the bad things that have happened to Will. But it’s still
his hometown, the place where he grew up and the place where everything good has
happened to Will too.
Hawkins has been the home of a lot of bad things. But it’s Will’s home, too.
Will’s too consumed with the sight of pretty much everything he’s ever known going into the
expanding cracks of hell in the earth, the ash raining down from the dark clouds and red
lightning, to think about much else.
But the hand at his side gets picked up, warm fingers gently threaded through his, snapping
Will out of it.
Will looks over at Mike, who looks back at him and squeezes his hand, a silent ‘I’ve got
you’.
He squeezes back before looking back at the town that’s being pulled into the place of Will’s
nightmares.
As he watches, though, he hears something beyond the rumbling of the earth and sky.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
You’re running out of time, William. Your world is slipping away, and soon, there will be
nothing and nobody left to save. Be grateful you’ll be gone long before you can watch
everyone and everything you’ve ever loved burn to ash.
Because, in the end, anything can burn.
And it won’t be long before it does.
Chapter End Notes
Ooh! What do you think of that ending? I got chills writing it lol. Hope you liked this
chapter! Thank you so much and see you soon!
Confess
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's the next chapter and the true start of Season 5.
Speaking of Season 5, y'all see the new set leaks? EEEE!!
This chapter is specially dedicated to Heidi, my fiancèe <3 and I love you too Ngalu, my
dearest friend

Fanarts (which I love so much!!):

1: https://www.tumblr.com/fanboom/741615794447876096/fanart-of-a-fic?source=share
2: https://www.tumblr.com/fanboom/741995368187920384?source=share
3: https://www.tumblr.com/ngalu/741979811318251520/just-kiss-already?source=share
4: https://www.tumblr.com/ngalu/742005405859889152?source=share
If you want to do fanart, I will love you forever tbh. Thank you so much! Enjoy!
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal thoughts
- The apocalypse
- Guilt
- Self-hatred
- Language
- Panic attacks
- PTSD
Will doesn’t know what to do. He watches the world crumble as 001 whispers to him, and he
has to fight not to cry.
Honestly, Mike’s hand in his is pretty much the only thing keeping him sane, which is part of
why he’s relieved when Mike keeps holding his hand as they walk back to Hopper’s cabin.
The other part of why he’s relieved… Well, he’s selfish, and he wants Mike, the person who’s
always been able to keep him feeling calm and secure and the boy he loves, close.
Which is a bad idea. With whatever’s to come, Will should be steeling himself, and with him
clearly being Vecna’s next target, he should be pushing everyone away and isolating himself
so that his death will hurt them less (if it actually does hurt them, his brain supplies. Will tells
it to shut up). He shouldn’t be getting closer to Mike. If anything, he should be pushing him
away. But instead he’s holding his hand.
The hand of his sister’s boyfriend. Yet another reason why what he’s doing is wrong.
But Will’s scared, so instead of letting go, he just squeezes Mike’s hand tighter.
Mike squeezes back, and Will wonders if he’d still do that if he knew what Will was.
But he can worry about that later. The thought of letting go of Will’s favorite person, the
person who’s always been there for him, fills him with a deep, gut-wrenching terror.
He feels guilty and selfish and scared, but he’s not gonna let go of Mike’s hand.
They all go inside the cabin, through the door in a row, at which point they all sit on whatever
seats and surfaces they can find as a blanket of silence suffocates the room.
Eventually, Will clears his throat and starts to speak. “I… so… the apocalypse.” he says.
“Um… look, everything seems really bleak right now, but we’ve faced the Upside Down
before. We know a lot about it, and if we use enough strategy, we have a shot.”
They all just look at him, but Will doesn’t know what else to say.
Luckily, Mike has his back, just like he always does.
“Will’s right. We’ve had impossible odds before and come out on top. And yeah, the Upside
Down’s apparently stronger now, but so are we.” Mike nods, squeezing Will’s hand where
they’re intertwined on the couch between them.
“Yeah, sorry if I seem blunt, but this isn’t the time for pure optimism.” Murray (is that
Murray? He shaved his beard) says, leaning against the wall. “The Upside Down is a lot
stronger, and you two kids might be blind to it, but we sure aren’t up to fighting another
dimension. We aren’t stronger - at least, not enough. We need an actual plan, and we need it
now.”
Mike looks over at Will and nods, squeezing his hand again.
Will immediately knows what he’s asking, and the thought makes him nervous, but he just
nods and takes a shaky breath.
“We are stronger, Murray. Max might be in the hospital, and we all might be injured and
traumatized, but we have a secret weapon.”
“Don’t you dare say ‘friendship’, Mike.” Nancy sighs.
“No, not just friendship, though teamwork doesn’t hurt.” Mike says, giving Nancy a glare.
“But we have superpowers on our side.”
“What? Jane’s powers are gone.” his mom says.
“Not anymore.” Will says. “We, um… we got captured by the government. And not only did
they bring back El’s powers, but, um…”
Mike squeezes his hand. “They gave Will some, too.”
It’s a moment of silence, before it’s a cacophony of ‘WHAT?!’s.
Will’s immediately starting to panic, his breath coming in short as everyone starts yelling. In
an attempt to calm down, he starts rocking, shaking his head repeatedly. Everything’s too loud
and they’re mad and oh no-
Mike lets go of his hand for a minute, and Will’s starting to get even more upset, but then
warm hands are covering his ears and hearing aids. “EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
he shouts, and though Will flinches, the fact that Mike’s covering his ears and carefully
keeping the sound out makes it a lot better than it would have been if he didn’t think ahead.
As Mike’s hands stay over Will’s ears, the chaos goes back to quiet again. Will’s breathing
starts to slow down, as does his frantic rocking.
Slowly, Will opens his eyes again, and Mike’s hands lower from his ears to his hands again as
he gets off the couch and sits on his knees on the floor in front of Will, his soft brown eyes
filled with concern.
“Sorry.” Mike murmurs, his voice gentle. “I didn’t mean to startle you. None of us meant to
upset you. We’re ready to listen now, okay? Nobody’s gonna shout again.”
Will nods. “Thanks. I… I’m okay. I can explain now.”
Mike nods, squeezing his hands again. “Okay. Take your time.”
Will takes a deep breath, so glad that he has this boy on his side, constantly caring for and
grounding him. “Okay.” he says, voice shaking a little. “Yeah. When I was at the Nina
Project, they, um… they did some blood tests and MRIs and stuff and found that I have a
brain tumor. Just like El does.”
They all start to talk again, but Mike covers his ears again and shouts “I’M NOT KIDDING!
SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN! I’LL KICK YOUR ASSES IF I HAVE TO, DON’T
FUCKING TEST ME!”
Once they’re quiet again, Mike holds his hands again and smiles. “Go ahead. All good.” he
says.
“Okay. Um… they said it was cancer, but that it was a good thing. They said it wasn’t
dangerous, but that it gave me the tumor and the powers along with it. They also found
something in my neck. A little metal device. They said it was suppressing my powers, so they
took it out. I… um, yeah. They set my powers loose and made me a Number.” Will says.
There’s silence for a minute.
“What can you do, sweetie?” his mom asks.
“Um…” he sniffs. “I can control electricity. And I can do the whole telekinesis thing like El.
And I can sense the Upside Down, just like always.”
El comes over and rests her hand on Will’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Will can remote
view and spy, just like I can. And we have a psychic bond now.”
Will nods. “Yeah.”
The room stays silent.
When Will looks up from his and Mike’s hands, which are resting on his thighs and with
Mike’s thumbs rubbing circles on the backs of his hands, he sees a mix of emotions in
everyone, most notably astonishment, concern, and fear, everyone’s eyes wide as they look at
him.
“Someone please say something.” Will whispers.
“So… just to recap, you have powers now?” Hopper asks. He has a stern and calm
expression, but Will can’t see what emotions are lying underneath and it makes him nervous.
“Uh… yeah. But I can’t control them very well, and I don’t want them.” Will says.
Will’s mom walks over, stepping around Mike and pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s head.
“It’s okay. I can’t imagine how scary this must be, but we’re here for you, Will. We’ll help
you figure this out, okay?”
Nancy nods. “Yeah. You aren’t alone, Will. You’ll learn to control the powers, and we’ll keep
you safe.”
El leans forward and rests her chin on top of Will’s head. “I will help train you. We will use
our powers to help everyone.”
“We have your back, kid.” Hopper says. “No matter what. And this is a hell of a shock, but
it’s not a bad thing if you aren’t in danger. Hell, it’s a good thing. We’ve faced a lot worse
than this, right?”
“We’ll kick Vecna’s ass, don’t worry. You can do this.” Jonathan says.
Mike squeezes Will’s hands again, his gaze steady and sweet. “We’ve got this, Will. You’re
not alone, and we’ll all figure out the Upside Down and powers stuff together, alright?”
Will nods, squeezing back. “Thank you guys.” he says, smiling (and maybe his eyes are a
little misty, but that’s not important).
After a minute, Will nods and sniffs one more time. “Alright. We need to get everyone
together and come up with a plan. This is… a big deal, and we need to come up with a plan
as soon as possible.”
“Will’s right. Everyone needs to be on the same page and in the loop.” Nancy agrees. “My
house has been serving as base of operations. We could go to the basement tonight and have a
meeting with everyone.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. In the meantime, we can work on fixing up the cabin, right?”
Jonathan says.
“Yeah. Place is a mess.” Hopper says.
They all mumble agreement, getting up and starting to work together to organize.
Though there’s a lot to be done, Mike’s never more than an arm’s length away from Will, and
between tasks, he reaches over and takes Will’s hand or squeezes his shoulder. Even when
Will goes across the cabin, Mike’s close behind, sometimes dropping whatever he’s doing to
follow.
Everything’s messed up, and Will’s terrified, and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to
him, but his family’s here. They care about him. His friends care about him. Mike cares about
him.
Everything’s messed up, and Will’s terrified, but maybe he can at least help stop the
apocalypse before Vecna kills him.
Chapter End Notes
1. Aw, Mike covering Will’s ears <3 so cute, so sweet. And I laughed pretty hard writing
him yelling at them to shut up lol.
2. Poor Will :(
3. WHEELER’S HOUSE!! YAY!!
Anyway, thank you for reading and see you soon! Leave a comment or Kudos if you like
this fic, and if you want, click on my profile and read some of my other writings! Thank
you so much!
Disorder
Chapter Notes
Will tells someone in this chapter! Thank fucking God! It's about damn time!
Anyway, enjoy!
dearest friend

amaragf, Richietherich, Dixie, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to write
this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!

Also this is Will Byers 100%:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/5277724556929010/
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Disordered eating
- Language
- Mentioned vomit
- Self-hatred
- Internalized misogyny
- Teenagers being weird
The Wheeler’s basement is surprisingly crowded with a dozen people in it.

Will sits with his hands fidgeting in his lap as they all whisper among themselves. The only
reason Lucas is here is because the hospital made him leave when Max’s mom showed up to
be with her, and his mom, Hopper, and Murray decided to stay at the cabin in the rooms that
were mostly cleaned up - they were all exhausted from their escape from Russia, which-
Russia?
He dropped the whole powers bombshell on them, and after the initial questioning, it just
lapsed into silence.
“So… what do you guys think?” Will asks quietly.
Dustin plops down on the couch next to him.
“Well, you’re a superhero, dude. Between El and you, I feel like I’m in an X-Men comic.” he
smiles. “Besides, you’re our best shot against Vecna. With you, we’re gonna win. You know
why?”
“Because…” Dustin says, clearly trying to suppress laughter. “Where there’s a will, there’s a
way.”
They all groan, and Will grabs a pillow and smacks Dustin with it with a smile.
“I’m right!” Dustin complains. “Lucas, back me up!”
“Nah, that’s a bad one, dude.” Lucas laughs. “You got it coming.”
They all tell Dustin how bad his joke was, and Will just has to smile. They don’t hate him,
and on top of that, they’re acting downright normal.
“But… seriously, dude, we love you.” Lucas says after a minute. “Nothing’s gonna change
that, and if anything, this just makes you somehow more awesome.”
“Yeah.” Robin agrees. “Superpowers are pretty sweet, Will. Way cooler than none.”
Will smiles at the older girl. He just has this… odd feeling about her. A pull, like he just
wants to hang out with her, you know?
“Yeah. Like, why would we be upset with you?” Steve asks. “That’s cool, if anything.”
“Exactly. We got your back.” Erica agrees.
Will smiles at them all. “Thank you so much, guys.” he says.
There’s a chorus of ‘Of course’s and ‘We love you’s, and each makes Will’s heart warm.
It’s quiet for a minute, but it’s comfortable as the sun starts going down outside. It’s almost 9,
after all - no surprise there.
“Okay. So the plan is that we sleep here and strategize in the morning, right?” Dustin asks.
They all agree.
“So… Mike, when’s your mom making dinner? We can put on Ghostbusters and eat.” Dustin
finishes.
Mike gives a halfhearted glare. “Why are you trying to drive my parents to bankruptcy?” he
asks.
“Because you’re rich and your mom makes good food.” Dustin says. "And I have beef with
your dad. What time?”
“Should have just finished around 8:30 on Saturdays now that we have people over.” Mike
says.
“Alright, then. Let’s go, I’m hungry.” Dustin says.
A few minutes after his friends all go up and get their food before coming back down to the
basement-turned-movie-theater, Mike gets up, stretches, and walks toward the stairs.
“You coming?” he asks, looking back at Will.
Will doesn’t want to eat, but he’d follow Mike to the end of the world.
So he nods, taking a deep breath and following his best friend up the stairs and through the
house to the kitchen.
Will stands in front of the almost-buffet that Mrs. Wheeler has made the counter and he’s
overwhelmed. He can’t eat - the feeding tubes at Nova and in the hospital as well as the
snacks in the motel rooms must have put a ton of calories in his stomach, and he’s probably
over 75 pounds again. Probably at least 80 or 85 now. If he eats, he’ll look even worse and
even fatter than he already does, and he can’t do that.
Will takes a few pieces of broccoli and cauliflower, about 3 each, and puts them on a plate.
They’re about 5 calories each, and 30 calories in a day isn’t too bad. They’ll see him eating
and not be suspicious, anyway. Besides, you can’t gain weight on 30 calories a day, right?
Mike looks over from next to him. “Is that all you’re going to eat?” he asks quietly.
Will shrugs. “I- yeah, I’m not really hungry- hey!”
Before he can finish his excuse, Mike’s grabbing Will’s plate out of his hands and starting to
pile on food.
“Mike!” Will quietly hisses.
Mike doesn’t answer, just scooping some pasta onto Will’s plate and putting a piece of bread
on it as well.
“You want cheese on the pasta?” Mike asks.
“What are you- Michael, what are you doing?!” Will asks, and he isn’t sure if his voice is
tense because he’ll have to eat or if it’s because Mike’s completely ignoring him. Wait- does
he know about Will’s dieting? Oh, no.
“You need to eat more than five pieces of broccoli, Will.” Mike lectures as he puts some
salad on the plate. “You’re too skinny to not eat for days and then just eat a few veggies later.
Actually, everybody’s too skinny for that. It sounds horrible.”
“Mike, it is my choice what I eat! And I want to eat vegetables!” Will argues.
“Nobody wants to eat just vegetables. We have garlic bread. Garlic bread, Will. Tell me
you’d rather eat broccoli than garlic bread. You’d be lying. Garlic bread is amazing.”
“I- yeah, okay, garlic bread is amazing, but I’m just not that hungry-” Will says.
Right on cue, his stomach growls.
Fuck you, stomach.
“See? You’re hungry.” Mike says. He takes another slice of garlic bread and puts it on Will’s
plate before handing it back to him. “Here. Should be enough, but we can get you seconds if
you need it.”
Somehow, Will feels both nauseated and starved as he looks at the plate. It’s massive, and he
hasn’t eaten this much food in a long time, and there’s at least a thousand calories in it, but
his mouth is watering and his stomach growling and he just wants to devour it.
“Come on. Let’s go back to the basement.” Mike says, placing a fork on the plate and leading
Will toward the stairs by his elbow.
Will obliges, and they go back down the stairs, plates in their hands.
They sit down on the floor, all of the extended Party quietly eating as the TV plays in the
background.
Will eats the salad first, hoping that maybe he can convince Mike that he’s filled up on what
looks to be only about a hundred calories by the time he’s done.
“I’m full.” he says.
“Are you?” Mike asks quietly. “That wasn’t that much, and it was basically just lettuce and
cheese and egg and ranch. You should keep eating.”
“Mike-” Will sighs.

“Please?” Mike asks, giving Will the sweet eyes that have always been able to manipulate
him into whatever he wants.
“I- fine.” Will sighs, picking up one of the two (seriously, Michael, what the fuck) pieces of
garlic bread and taking a bite after a moment of hesitation.
Mike smiles and goes back to his own dinner as Will slowly goes through the piece of bread.
Once he’s done with the piece of bread, he slowly tries to push his plate away (he’s eaten
probably about 300 calories, that’s more than enough), but Mike glares at him and pushes it
back onto his lap.
“I’m full-” Will tries.
“Will, please just eat the damn pasta. If you’re actually full, stop, but if you can still eat, eat.
But there’s no way you’re full on a single piece of bread and less than a cup of salad. There’s
not that much food on the plate. Please just try to finish?” Mike says.
Will sighs and glares at the plate. Stupid best friend, making him eat, can’t he see that he’s
ruining Will’s fast and thus his diet, being so pushy-
Mike nudges the plate towards him again. “Please?”
Will sighs again and picks up the fork, twirling the spaghetti on it before raising it to his
mouth.
Damn. He forgot how good Mrs. Wheeler’s pasta is.
After a while, he eventually finishes the plate, setting it in front of him before leaning back
on his elbows and turning his attention to the TV.
“You want seconds?” Mike asks.
Will shakes his head, probably a bit too frantically, but God, can you imagine how fat he’d be
if he ate seconds all the time-
“Not even another piece of garlic bread?” Mike presses.
“No, Mike, I’m done eating.” Will sighs.
“Well, sucks that my mom made cookies, then.” Mike retorts. “Two for each of us.”
“Mike, I’m done-”
“It would be rude to decline.” Mike says. “Besides, they’re good. Please?”
Will sighs. “God, you’re so pushy. Fine.”
Mike smiles, apparently ignoring Will’s jab, and gets up to go upstairs, coming back down
with two plates of snickerdoodle cookies. Will sits back up as he’s handed his.
Snickerdoodle. Will’s favorite. Fuck.
He’s handed a plate, and they’re still warm and smell so good…
But they’re at least 200 calories each. Over 400 calories on top of the at least 1,000 he just
ate. That’s how he gets fat and undoes all his progress over the past few months. He can’t.
Will stares at the cookies, feeling this mix of disgust and want and terror and anger and self-
hatred that’s consuming every thought.
He feels so damn stupid. They’re just cookies. Why can't he just fucking eat them?
His hands tremble as he clenches them into fists and looks at the plate of warm, tempting
cookies. He can’t eat them. He has to eat them. He wants to eat them. He’ll throw up if he
does.
“Will.” Mike says, reaching over and rubbing Will’s hunched back. “It’s okay. I… you don’t
have to eat them if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna make you, okay? But… I’m just happy
you’re trying.”
Will looks into Mike’s eyes, and on top of the sweetness that’s always in his gaze, there’s
understanding and concern and pain.
He’s not trying to make him eat for kicks - he’s genuinely worried, isn’t he?
Tears prick at the corners of Will’s eyes, and he blinks them back furiously. He’s being
stupid, and now Mike’s worried. So stupid.
Will takes a deep breath and picks up one of the cookies. He holds it for a second, feeling the
warmth, before he tentatively starts to move it to his lips.
For a second, he hesitates, unsure if he can really do this to himself and ruin his body, unsure
if he can truly take this bite, but then he thinks about Mike, his Mike, the boy who’s been his
best friend for years, always taking care of him and being so conscientious and caring.
He’s doing it for Mike. He can do this if it’s for Mike.

With a shaky exhale, Will takes a bite of the cookie. It’s rich and sweet and comforting, but at
the same time, he hates it, because that sweetness is sugar and sugar has calories and carbs,
and it’s going straight to his thighs and stomach and hips.
Still, he makes himself keep eating, one bite at a time until it’s all gone.
When he looks over at Mike again, hating himself but still hoping to see some kind of
affection and pride in Mike’s eyes even though he’s already fat and making it worse, he sees
practically pure happiness in his expression, though there’s still a little sadness and concern.
Mike smiles at him, and it makes the feeling of his stomach being full almost worth it.
Almost.
Will’s immediately debating the merits of purging. Because of the amount of people, it would
be hard to hide the sound of vomiting, and he’s not in the mood for his throat to hurt. But not
only would it make at least some of the calories he’s ingested disappear, but it would make
him feel better.
He doesn’t have much time, though - the longer the food sits in his stomach, the more it gets
digested and the more calories stay in his body.
“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Will tells Mike quietly.
Mike looks at him scrutinizingly, and as Will starts to get up, he grabs Will’s bicep.
“Will, wait.” Mike says, his voice shaky but insistent.
Will freezes, his heart thudding in his chest. He turns to Mike, careful to keep his expression
neutral.
“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
Mike’s eyes bore into his, intense and unwavering. There are so many emotions in his eyes
that it’s hard to read him like normal, and Will has to look away into the darkness of the
room. He’s glad that the rest of the Party are on the other side of the dark basement, where
they can’t see or hear what he and Mike are talking about.
“Will, I know.” Mike whispers. “I know something’s really wrong. And I can’t just watch you
do that.”
Will’s heart races as his mind fills with a million excuses and lies to keep hiding. But with
Mike staring at him, speaking low and worried, he can’t decide on a single solid one.
“I’m here. I’m always here. Whatever’s happening in your head, you don’t have to deal with
it alone. You don’t have to just take it. I’m here. Other people are here. Just… whatever
you’re doing… please, just don’t. I’m worried, Will. Just… please.” Mike says softly.
A lump forms in Will’s throat as he meets Mike’s earnest gaze. He can’t let his walls down,
but dear God, he wants to.
“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.” Will lies, his voice hardly a whisper.
He sees the look in Mike’s eyes. He knows lying is futile. But here he is.
Mike gives a bitter smile, starting to tear up. “I know that’s bullshit.” he says. “I know. And I
can’t just sit here and watch you starve to death, Will. You’re so thin. You’re so fucking thin
that it scares the shit out of me. You know how I said I can’t lose you? Well… I’m losing
you. And this time it’s not to another universe or to my own stupidity, it’s to whatever’s
happening in your head. Please, Will, just… let me help.”
Will’s breath is stuck in his throat, and it feels like the walls are closing in on him. This can’t
be happening, but it is, he was careful, he was careful, how does he know-
“I…” Will starts, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “...I don’t know what to
say, Mike, I just… I don’t know.”
Mike moves his hand from Will’s bicep to his hand, squeezing lightly. “Just try.” he
encourages, and that’s enough to swing a wrecking ball through Will’s carefully-built walls.
Well, here goes nothing.
“I’m scared, Mike.” Will says quietly, tears building in his eyes as a waver builds in his
voice. When Mike nods at him, Will keeps going. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what I’m
doing. I’m scared of food, and I’m scared of calories, and I’m scared of being fat, and I- I’m
just scared. I can’t stop, and every time I eat I feel so disgusting, and I- Mike, I hate myself,
and I can’t look in the mirror anymore. I can’t eat, and I have to- have to make sure I’m not
fat, and if I’m not losing weight I- I feel like a failure. I’m scared because I- I need to control
something but I’m not in control, I can’t- I can’t even eat one meal without feeling like I need
to throw up. I’m so scared and everything’s wrong and I can’t fix it, I don’t know how- I
don’t know what’s wrong with me-”
Mike’s grip tightens on Will’s hand, tears starting to track down his face too. “Will, listen to
me. You’re not disgusting or fat or a failure. I- God, I can’t imagine how scary it is, but it’s
gonna be okay. I- I’m here for you, and I’m always your best friend, no matter what. I- I
don’t know what to say or do yet, but we’re gonna figure it out, okay? I’m gonna figure out
how to help make it better. You’re gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let you do this alone. I-
you’re not alone, Will, I promise that you’re not alone.”
“I don’t know how to make it stop.” Will cries. “I don’t know how to fix it or make it go
away. I’m stuck, and I’m drowning and I don’t know how to stop-”
Mike leans forward and pulls Will into a tight hug, sitting up straight (which is unusual for
him) to put his chin on top of Will’s head. Will may complain that Mike’s taller, but their
height difference sure works out in Will’s favor when all he wants is to feel protected and
safe and loved.
“It’s gonna be okay, Will.” Mike murmurs, and the vibrations from his words are so soothing
that Will could just melt. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m gonna figure out how to take
care of you and make it better. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Promise.”
Will nods, squeezing Mike tight. “I’m sorry.” he says into Mike’s shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m
making your life harder and upsetting you and I’m just- I’m useless, why- why am I like
this-”
“Hey. Hey, no way. Will. Will, look at me-” Mike says, pulling back from the hug and gently
cupping Will’s tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, tilting his face up to look at him.
“You are not useless.” he says steadfastly. “You are not making my life harder or upsetting
me. You’re my best friend, and I’m honestly just glad that I know what’s going on, okay? I’m
just glad I know now.”
Will shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to be, I shouldn’t be like this-”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Mike agrees immediately. “You shouldn’t be like this, but that’s because
it’s hurting you. You shouldn’t be afraid of food or gaining weight or eating because it’s
hurting you - honestly, Will, if you didn’t tell anyone and kept going, it probably would have
killed you - but not because you think it makes you- less than or anything. You are perfect,
but whatever this is, it’s not. But you’re separate, okay? You aren’t this. You’re you. And we
just gotta figure out how to get rid of it and keep you. Because you’re perfect, and you
deserve more than being afraid all the time, okay?”
Will gives a wet laugh and smile. “Thanks.” he says. “I- I don’t know what I’d do without
you, Mike.”
“You’ll never have to find out. I’m sticking with you.” Mike says softly. “Always. No matter
what.”
He brushes his thumb gently across Will’s cheek, wiping away a tear.
As ashamed as he is to admit it, Will leans into the touch, the feeling of Mike’s hands
cradling his face making him feel safe and comforted. Mike’s care, his gentleness and
sweetness and love, just makes all the difference. He makes the world good again.
“Thank you, Mike.” Will whispers. “I really mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out.” Mike repeats. “I’m never going to leave. We’re a team.
Crazy together, right?”
“Yeah, crazy together.” Will says, giving a small smile.
Mike leans forward and sets his chin on top of Will’s head again for a minute before pulling
away.
“Hang on.” Mike says. “Stay here for a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”
As Mike gets up and starts moving around, both in the basement and going upstairs, Will sits
still, waiting for his best friend to get back.
It isn’t long before he does, arms full of bed pillows and blankets and pajamas and toiletries.
“Sleep down here tonight?” Mike asks.
Will smiles. “Sure.” he says.
Mike smiles back, handing him a set of pajamas and his toiletry bag from the van as he puts
pillows down behind where their heads will go. “If you want to go get ready.” he says.
Will nods, putting it under his arm as he moves toward the basement bathroom.
“And- wait, Will-” Mike says.
Will stops and looks at him.
“Please don’t throw up.” he whispers.
Will nods despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Mike knows now. He knows and he's
gonna make Will eat and keep it down. This is bad.
With that, he quickly goes into the bathroom and changes into Mike’s clothes (plaid beige
pajama pants and a long-sleeve black shirt as well as boxers, which definitely doesn’t mess
with Will) and brushes his teeth before he goes back out.
Mike’s lying on an air mattress on the floor, blankets and pillows all over it.
“Ta-da.” he says with a soft smile.
Will smiles. “Perfect.” he says.
Mike scoots over, leaving Will room on the mattress. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and put on
PJs too, okay? We can shower tomorrow.”
Another thing Will refuses to think about: the way Mike casually says ‘we can shower
tomorrow’ and his own unwelcome first thought of ‘together’, which makes him turn red.
The fact that he’s wearing all Mike’s clothes, including Mike’s underwear, doesn’t help him
suppress his little crush.
Stop thinking like that! No! Bad brain! Will tells his brain. Stop being weird about wearing
Mike’s clothes and stop thinking about taking a shower with him, you weirdo!
He lies down on the air mattress, shooing away all his thoughts as he snuggles into the pillow.
“Hope you aren’t too comfy.” Mike says as he slips into bed next to Will.
Mike lays his arm out over the pillows in an invitation, and after a moment of hesitation, Will
puts his arm over Mike’s stomach and rests his head on Mike’s chest, taking out that side’s
hearing aid and handing it to Mike, who puts it with their dirty clothes as he wraps that arm
around Will’s shoulders.
It’s quiet for a minute, the only sound being ‘Ghostbusters’ as they lay together, but soon
Mike breaks it.
“Okay. Just… tell me the details, okay?” Mike asks quietly, rubbing circles onto Will’s
shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Will asks.
“Like… what’s it like in your head? Dealing with all this?”
Will exhales. “It’s… weird. Because at first, it was just that I’d skip meals sometimes, and
then… it kind of… escalated? And it went from a little controllable thing to if I ate too much,
I’d make myself throw up. It’s scary. And… like, I have to be light and thin, or I’m not good
enough-”
“How light and thin?” Mike asks, tracing circles on Will’s shoulder.
“Mm… 75 pounds was my goal.” Will says after a minute.

Mike inhales. “Will- Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking thin.”
Will shrugs.
“How low did you get? Like, how much do you weigh now?” Mike asks.
Will shrugs again. “Last I checked was the day before you came to California. I was 78.4
pounds, and… I don’t know what I am now.”
“Will, that’s- that’s so dangerous, oh my God-” Mike says, breathing quicker.
“No, no, calm down. I’m okay. They gave me vitamins so that I’m not deficient when I went
to the doctor. No real danger.”
“Will, you- your body needs at least a little fat to function. Like, for your organs and stuff. I
mean- Jesus- vitamins aren't gonna make your organs function without an important part-”
Mike lectures.
“Okay, okay!” Will complains. “I get it!”
“Good.” Mike huffs. “You can't keep going like this. I need you to know that.”
“I'm serious. You- you can't keep starving yourself. Will, you- you’re hurting yourself doing
this, and you damn well could die. I- I can't let that happen. You gotta eat, okay? And I don't
know if there are, like, special meal plans you gotta follow, but- I'm gonna be giving you a lot
of food, and you gotta at least eat what's put in front of you, okay? And no throwing it up.”
“‘Kay.” Will says, ignoring how bad that idea makes him feel and just snuggling closer. “It's
probably just my anxiety.” Will says. “The fear would make sense then. But it's no reason to
stress out, Mike.”
Mike doesn’t answer that time.
“What are you thinking?” Will asks after a minute, tapping his fingers in a pattern on Mike’s
hip.
Mike’s quiet for a minute, his breathing moving Will’s head, before he speaks.
“I’m thinking about what to do.” he says.
“What do you think, then?” Will asks.
“Um…” Mike says, smoothing Will’s hair. “...I don’t think it’s anxiety. I think it’s an eating
disorder.”
“What?” Will asks, sitting up off Mike’s chest. “That- no way.”
“No, no, listen.” Mike says. “It would make sense, right? You have all the symptoms. Like,
I’m pretty sure you’re, like, a textbook case.”
Will shakes his head and lies back down. “No way. I’m not, like, bulimic or something.”
“Actually, I was thinking it aligned more with anorexia.” Mike says quietly.
“Well- I don’t have an eating disorder.” Will says. “I'm a guy. And I'm not weak.”
Mike’s silent before he says: “You know guys can have eating disorders too, right? And
dealing with one doesn’t make you weak.”
Will shrugs.
“I mean, if Dustin or Lucas or me came to you and told you what you said to me, would you
think it was just anxiety or that they were weak?”
“Of course not-” Will starts.
“Exactly. Don't be hypocritical.” Mike says, squeezing Will tightly. “Just… it’s all okay,
alright? We're gonna get you back to normal you and get you healthy again. It's gonna be
hard, but… we can make the fears smaller, okay? We can make it better. I can make it better.
You're gonna be okay, promise.”
As Will drifts off in his best friend’s arms, reassurances and promises are whispered to him, a
hand petting his hair until he goes to sleep.
He’s scared, and embarrassed, and so guilty for being a bother. But maybe Mike makes it all
okay.
Chapter End Notes
Mike’s the best boyfriend ever <3
Also, Will’s gay panics made me laugh to write, particularly the part where his brain's
like 'SHOWER TOGETHER' and Will’s like 'oh my God no wtf'
Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and see you soon!
Mob
Chapter Notes
This chapter deadass gave me an adrenaline rush writing it. Enjoy!
dearest friend

amaragf, Richietherich, Dixie, TooGayForYourDrama, anArsonisticGhoat,
MooncakeS2, Crossovergenius111, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to
write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!

Overall rating: R.
- Mob mentality
- Blood libel
- Persecution of minorities
- Religious persecution
- Persecution
- Homophobia
- Anti-semitism
- Language
- Disordered eating
- Self-harm
- Panic attacks
- Critical parents
- Mentions of death
- Possession
- Lying
- Self-hatred

Will’s woken up by someone gently tapping his shoulder.
He mumbles and snuggles into his pillow, pulling the blanket closer. He’s too cozy to get up.
There’s the muffled tones of someone talking before his hair’s brushed aside, something’s put
into his ear, and everything’s audible again.
“Good morning.” Mike says, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s almost eight. You’re
always the one who wakes up early. Must be really tired.”
“Still am.” Will grumbles, burying his face in the blanket. “Too tired.”
Mike laughs. “Yeah, well… it’s almost eight, and there’s a meeting at the town hall at ten,
according to my dad. Everyone else is already up and most are out of the house. If you want
to get a shower and get breakfast before we go, you need to wake up, huh?”
Will slowly opens his eyes, only to see Mike with his long, dark hair wet, an oversized
striped red-and-black sweater over his frame that shows his pale skin almost to his shoulders
and his collarbones as well as the freckles that are scattered across, and a soft smile that
matches the sweetness in his eyes.
God, he’s beautiful.
Will resists the urge to kiss him as he sits up. “Where’s my other-”
Mike holds out the other hearing aid. “We really should learn sign language.” he says.
Will smiles, taking it and putting it in his ear. “Probably.”

“Alright, we should probably get you breakfast before it gets cold.” Mike says. “My mom’s
apparently coping with the apocalypse by obsessively cooking. There are, like, ten dishes for
each meal. I just want to know whether our bank account, my mom’s sanity, or the grocery
store is gonna run out first, honestly.”
Will smiles at him, and he probably looks like a dope, but Mike looks so stunning, and he’s
rambling and cracking jokes about his mother’s cooking, and he’s being so kind and sweet
despite the fact that he knows how much of a freak Will is now, and he’s just… everything.
Mike’s everything. He’s the light of Will’s life, and it’s hard not to smile when he shines.
Will, he just… he just loves this boy so much. Everything about him. Every freckle on his
face, every curl in his hair, every scar, his birthmark and smile and eyes. Will loves
everything about him. How sweet he is to Will, how snarky and sarcastic he can be, how
much he cares even when he pretends he doesn’t, his utter lack of a filter… he’s true
perfection.
“Come on. I think my mom might start putting muffins on the floor if there isn’t freed-up
counter space soon.” Mike says.
Will nods, and still with his dopey smile, he gets up out of bed and stretches. “Ready.” he
tells Mike.
Mike smiles before turning away and going up the basement stairs, Will following suit.
Once they’re on the main floor of the house, the scents of many different foods wafts through
the air, and despite the darkness outside, it almost seems normal in the Wheeler’s kitchen,
Mike’s dad at the dining table reading the newspaper in his usual outfit, Mike’s mom in the
kitchen over the stove wearing a colorful blouse, white high-waisted jeans, and an apron.
Holly’s a lot bigger now, and she’s sitting at the kitchen table.
“Good morning, boys!” Mrs. Wheeler says, and though there’s cheer in her voice, it’s forced.
“Help yourselves to breakfast. I’ve made enough food to feed an army. Where on Earth is my
spatula…?”
Will walks into the kitchen, the pajama pant legs forming a puddle over his feet, as he looks
around the flour-dusted kitchen before he finds Mrs. Wheeler’s favorite spatula next to the
dish-drying rack.
“Here.” he says, grabbing it and handing it to her with a small smile.
“Will, you’re a lifesaver.” she sighs as she grabs it and turns back to what looks like a quiche.
“I’m so thrilled to have you back in this house. You’ve always been such a good kid.”
Will smiles at the compliment, though it makes him feel a little hollow. She would be so
disgusted if she knew everything. Between what Will’s done and his nature - how he feels
about her son - her view of him would probably go from ‘good kid’ and ‘thrilled to have him’
to ‘abnormal’ and ‘disgusting’. Will wouldn’t blame her, either.
“No problem, Mrs. Wheeler. Just let me know how I can help. I know you and Mike offered
to have me stay, but I don’t feel right being a freeloader and not helping at all.” he says.
“Makes you better of a guest than any of the others. I think Dustin’s trying to kill me, and
even Mike ignores his chores and sasses me more than anything else.” Mr. Wheeler says,
hardly looking up from his newspaper.
Mrs. Wheeler gives her husband a glare before she turns back to Will. “Call me Karen or
Mom, Will, we’ve been over this. You’ve slept over more times than I can count and been in
and out of this house for a decade. You’re practically another Wheeler at this point. And
besides, I don’t think you need to do anything. I know you’ve been struggling with your
health, too, so you just rest and take care of yourself, okay? Tell me or Mike if you need
anything. We’re more than happy to take care of you.”
“Wait- how did- how did you know about my medical stuff?” Will asks.
Mrs. Wheeler smiles over at him. “I have my sources.” she says, jokingly mysterious. “But
seriously. Tell us if you need anything, rest plenty, and call me Karen or Mom, not Mrs.
Wheeler.”
Will smiles at the words and nods gratefully at Mrs. Wheeler, though he’s still never going to
be able to call her either - or anything but Mrs. Wheeler, to be honest.
“I like that he calls us Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler. It’s a sign of respect. And if the boy wants to
help, let him help.” Mike’s dad says, not even looking up from the paper. “Honestly, I’m
about ready to have all of them either start helping around the house or start charging rent.”
“No, we couldn’t charge for Will’s company. He’s too valuable.” Mrs. Wheeler says, putting
the quiche in the oven.
Will smiles awkwardly, and Mike clears his throat. “Alright. Mom, you need any help?” he
asks.
“Um… not right now.” she says. “We have eggs - scrambled, hard-boiled, and sunny-side-up,
bacon - we have turkey bacon as well, Will, I know you don’t eat pork, toast with butter, jam,
or peanut butter, waffles, pancakes, muffins, cereal… and I could always make something
else if you’re in the mood for… maybe a souffle? I could make a souffle. I’m going to make a
souffle.”
“Actually, Mom, I think there’s plenty.” Mike says. “Thank you.”
“...I’ll get started on lunch, then. I’m thinking a spread of a couple different styles of
sandwiches for after the meeting-”
“Mom. Go sit down and eat.” Mike insists.
After a little hemming and hawing, she fixes herself a plate and sits down on the side of the
table opposite Mr. Wheeler.
Mike nudges Will with his elbow once the kitchen is theirs. “You want to get yourself
coffee?”
“Oh my God, yes.” Will sighs.
Mike smiles. “Okay, I’m gonna plate up our breakfasts.”
“Ugh, I’m still full from last night. Mike-” Will complains.
“Nope, you gotta eat.” Mike says, opening a cabinet and grabbing out two plates. “You need
fuel to operate, Will. And it would be a waste of Mom’s cooking.”
Will sighs. “Fine.” he says.
As Mike flits about the dishes on the counter to fill their plates to his satisfaction, Will pours
himself a cup of coffee, savoring the aroma and warmth as he leans against the counter before
he takes a bitter sip.
Mike’s clattering stops, and Will opens his eyes to see Mike staring at him.
“You like black coffee?” Mike asks. “Since when?”
“When I moved to California.” Will says calmly. “Black coffee isn’t too bitter once you get
used to it.”
Mike steps closer until he’s only a few inches from Will.
“Do you actually like black coffee, or are you afraid of the calories in sugar and creamer?”
Mike asks, his voice low and quiet.
Will looks away, and apparently that’s the answer Mike needs.
“Okay.” he says. “Give me the cup.”
Will wordlessly lets Mike take it, and he pours in sugar and creamer before stirring it with a
spoon from the cutlery drawer and handing it back.
“There. The way you used to like it.” Mike says, giving that sweet smile that Will adores.
“Thank you.” Will says, taking the mug and raising it to his lips, taking a sip as he makes eye
contact with Mike.
He looks at the cup of coffee, so much sweeter than normal.
“That’s… a lot sweeter.” he says.
“And I’ll bet it’s better. Just enjoy.” Mike tells him before going back to putting together
breakfast.
After a moment of looking at Mike, he goes into the dining area and sits down on the end of
the table away from Mike’s parents.
Mr. Wheeler looks up from his newspaper to look over Will.
“What’s wrong with your health again?” he asks.

“Um… just… a few little things, why?” Will lies.
“You’re acting helpless. It’s eight thirty in the morning, and not only are you still wearing
pajamas - my son’s pajamas - but he’s putting together a plate for you and making your coffee
like you're unable to care for yourself. I don’t understand why he would be caring for you and
you would be so dependent if there wasn’t something wrong.”
“Dad.” Mike snarls as he comes over and sets a plate down in front of Will, at the same time
that Mrs. Wheeler snaps “Ted!”
“I’m just saying! You and your friends get a lot of freedom, but Will’s sitting here in pajamas
and being served! It wouldn’t hurt if he were self-sufficient instead of being served like an
invalid!” Mr. Wheeler objects.
“He’s allowed to sleep in and wear pajamas if he wants to, and if I want to put together
breakfast for him, I can!” Mike defends. “It’s a free country, Dad! Lay off and eat your damn
toast!”
“Language, Michael.” Mrs. Wheeler rebukes before turning back to Mr. Wheeler. “Why don’t
you finish breakfast in front of the TV, Ted.”
“I-” he starts.
“Ted. Go to the living room.” Mrs. Wheeler tells him coldly.
He apparently recognizes the futility of arguing with his wife, as he sighs and takes his plate
over to the living room. He tries not to think about what Mr. Wheeler said.
Will just stares at the plate that’s been placed in front of him. A small bowl of cereal, a
muffin, two waffles, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of turkey bacon.
God, he doesn’t know how Mike expects him to eat like that all the time. He'll be amazed if
he can finish half of this.
Mike lets out a frustrated breath, running his hand through his still-damp hair as he looks
apologetically at Will. “Sorry. My dad can be a bit…”
“It’s okay. I get it.” Will says calmly once Mike’s been trailed off long enough that it’s
obvious the word isn’t gonna come to him. “It’s all okay.”
“No, it’s not. He doesn’t get to say that to you.” Mike huffs.
Mrs. Wheeler gives a small, tight smile as she gets up from the table, giving Mike a
sympathetic look before turning her attention to Will. “Don’t pay him any mind, Will, you
know how he gets.”
Will nods, offering a smile. “Thank you for breakfast. It looks lovely.” he says.
She smiles back, batting Mike’s shoulder as she goes to the kitchen. “You hear that, Mike?
He actually thanks me for making him breakfast!”
“Yeah, yeah!” Mike says back, rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to Will. “You
gonna be okay?” he asks.
Will looks at the food and shrugs. It’s at least eight hundred calories, probably closer to nine
hundred. Add the coffee and the lunch and dinner he’s sure to have put in front of him… oh,
God, and Mike’ll probably try to get him to eat snacks. Damn.
“Just… eat what you can.” Mike says quietly as he cuts into his own pancakes, which are in a
stack of four and with eggs and bacon on the side.
Will marvels at the fact that Mike can eat like that for every meal and never get remotely less
attractive or fat as he takes a bite of the muffin.
He manages to get through the plate by telling himself every bite that it’s his last, feeling a
sad sort of accomplishment before he goes back on his lie and takes another bite.
He hates it, but eventually, the plate’s empty again.
Mike smiles at him as Mrs. Wheeler leaves the kitchen, bringing Holly away from the dining
table with a mutter of getting Holly ready to go to the town meeting.
“I’m so proud of you.” Mike whispers once the dining room’s just them again.
Will nods jerkily. “Thanks.”
“Do you want to go shower now? We have to leave relatively soon. I can get you some
clothes and a towel and soap and stuff.”
Will nods, grateful for the distraction from the food in his stomach that’s going to turn to fat
and make him overweight. “Sounds great, Mike. Thank you.” he says.
Mike gets up from his seat. “I’ll put the stuff in my bathroom. If you want any more food,
there’s plenty.”
Will nods, ignoring the wave of nausea at the idea of eating even more. God, Will knows
Mike’s worried about him, but why does he have to try to make Will into a fucking beach
ball?
As Mike heads off to gather what Will needs, Will takes a moment to breathe. He loves Mike,
and he knows he means well, but this is messing with him. It’s been less than twelve hours
since he told Mike about his eating… issue, and ever since he’s been shoving food down
Will’s throat and being so worried that it’s stressing Will out.
But he pushes away those thoughts and focuses on the town meeting. It’s obviously about the
apocalypse, but… what are they even going to say?
Well, whatever they say, it’s important that he’s there both physically and mentally, and that
means he can’t focus on how Mike’s efforts are making him feel.
With a deep breath, Will pushes back from the table, washes his plate, and goes upstairs to
the bathroom.
Once he’s in the room, Mike hands him a stack that includes a towel, some clothes, and
Will’s toiletry bag from downstairs. “Here. That should be everything, but if you need
anything else, just shout, okay?” he says.
Will nods. “Okay.”
Mike leaves, leaving Will alone, but before he closes the door, he stops.
“Hey, Will?” he says.
“Yeah?” Will asks.
“Don’t throw up. Okay?” Mike instructs.
Will sighs and nods. “Okay, I won’t.”
“Good.” Mike nods definitively before turning away.

Will closes and locks the door behind him, and after he turns on the hot water and strips, he
gets in, letting the warm water wash away his stress and anxiety.
He focuses on the sound and feeling of the hot water, the steam enveloping him, trying to
keep from his thoughts, but no matter how hard he tries, Will can’t shake off the bad feelings.
He should feel grateful for Mike’s kindness and support and care, but it just feels so stressful
and scary instead. It’s overwhelming. He can’t eat like this forever, and Mike’s pressure to
keep it up and keep it down is a little nerve-wracking.
Will washes his hair with Mike’s shampoo and conditioner and his body with Mike’s body
wash, and he’d be lying if he said he minded the sense of closeness it brings or the smell.
Once he’s done, he finishes his shower, gets out, and dries off, at which point he gets dressed
in the black Radiohead T-shirt, brown flannel, dark blue jeans, and underwear that Mike’s
provided.
Will hugs his arms around himself one more time, focusing on the sensory aspect of Mike’s
clothes and Mike’s soap and Mike all over him, before he opens the door.
Mike’s sitting against the wall outside, at which point he gives Will a smile as he puts Will’s
shoes in front of him.
“Ready to go?” he asks. “The meeting starts in a few.”
Will just takes a deep breath and nods.
They walk into the crowded town hall, Mike and Will’s fingers brushing together as they
walk shoulder-to-shoulder through the masses.
Mike’s parents go to sit down, but upon seeing some guys wearing Letterman jackets on the
stage, Mike grabs Will’s hand and leads him to stand by the back of the room, near the doors
instead.
“What? Who- Mike, what’s wrong?” Will asks quietly.
“Those are the basketball team.” Mike says, tension in his voice. “This morning, Nancy was
telling me that they’re hunting Hellfire down and trying to say that it’s a cult. They want
Eddie dead, and they’re the people who beat the crap out of Lucas. They hurt Erica too.”
Will looks back at the guys with fear. He doesn’t know what Hellfire is, and he hasn’t met
whoever Eddie is yet, but they hurt Lucas and Erica.
His powers thrum through his body. They hurt your friends, Will, don’t you want to make
them hurt? Don’t you want to protect your friends and get vengeance for them all at once?
The stage is metal. One touch, they’d all be electrocuted. One shock, they’d all be
neutralized…
Will didn’t even notice that he was flexing his fingers, sending miniscule arcs between his
fingers, before he sends the little voice whispering into his ear far away. Once he does realize,
he quickly balls his hands into fists and shoves them into his pockets. He’s not using his
powers if he doesn’t have to. Like hell is he hurting anyone else.
Putting his hands into his pockets and not flexing his fingers doesn’t lessen the electricity in
his veins, though. If anything, it makes it hard to focus on anything else but keeping them in
check.
“Good people of Hawkins!” calls one boy from the stage. He has short blonde hair, and even
from at least fifty feet away, Will can see this absolutely deranged expression on his face.
Honestly, he looks a little rabid.

“We’re standing at a crossroads! This is a moment of reckoning for our town! For too long,
we’ve turned a blind eye to the darkness festering in our midst, hiding in the shadows while
innocent lives are lost!” he cries.
A murmur ripples through the audience, some agreeing, others not, and some cheer.
“But fear not! We are the light that will get rid of this darkness! We stand at the precipice of a
new era, a purge of the unnatural that has infested this town! Our friends, our families…
we’ve suffered too long at the hands of those who dabble in darkness! We must stand
together as a community and protect our town and our children! No longer can we tolerate
the presence of those who would bring harm upon us! It’s time to cleanse Hawkins of the
abominations in our town, to rid ourselves of the scourge that threatens our safety!”
Will can’t breathe. He’s only ever heard words like that in one context. They’re going to try
to hunt down anyone who’s not straight and white and Christian, aren’t they?
Mike’s grip on his hand tightens, and when Will looks over, he can see Mike’s jaw clenched
and his eyes wide. Oh. He’s scared too.
Will squeezes back, and when Mike looks at him, he mouths ‘It’s okay. Calm down.’
They’re going to be targeting people. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
Mike nods at him and looks back toward the boy at the microphone.
“We cannot allow the tendrils of darkness to choke the life out of our beloved town! It’s time
to take a stand and purge our community of those who seek to destroy it from the inside!”
Will can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, they’re going to pick out individuals, people are going to
die because of this, he and his friends might die because of this-
“The Hellfire Club! From the name, you know that it’s Satanist, even if they try to claim
otherwise! One of their members confessed to me that they’ve tried to summon a creature
from another dimension, and that it’s killed our people! They say that’s what killed Chrissy,
and Fred, and Patrick! That girl Max Mayfield, they tried to kill her! I was there! They put
her into a trance and wouldn’t let her wake up, and though the Hellfire cultist there woke her
up when I forced him, she’s in a coma in the hospital now! They’ve been behind the murders,
and they could damn well be behind this earthquake, too!” he calls.
Are people actually believing this?
Will looks around at the people, some out of their seats and shouting, others cheering while
sitting, and it hits him: they do believe this. They’re hanging on every word. They must be so
scared, and it’s manifesting in targeting people. Oh, God, they believe all of this.
“Their leader, Eddie Munson, he targets vulnerable people, and he analyzes how they can be
used before he uses them! With the numbers of the cult, he found children who already didn’t
belong among us! He found the homosexuals and the Jews and freaks, and when he found
that he could gain their allegiance, he brainwashed them into becoming murderers and
cultists! And now it’s too late to free them from his control! With Chrissy and Patrick and
Fred and Max, that was through sacrificing them! He used the blood of Christian children to
earn favor with his god!"
Will’s frozen, and he isn’t sure whether it’s rage or terror.
He’s using fucking blood libel to try to antagonize them into killing a bunch of Jewish and
gay teenagers.
He’s using fucking blood libel.
He’s using propaganda similar to what Hitler and Middle-Ages Christians used to justify
killing millions of Jews.
What.
The.
Fuck.
“Many of their members are Jews! Most, if not all, of their members are homosexuals! He
targeted vulnerable young people and made them worship the devil and sacrifice other
teenagers to their god! Hellfire may seem like just a club, but it’s a dangerous cult that’s
going to either kill your children or take them as its own! We have to stop it before it can
destroy even more lives!”
Mike’s squeezing his hand so tightly that it hurts, but Will knows that he must be terrified,
and so instead of pulling away, he just squeezes back.
Will’s too panicky to register most of his other words, but his attention is brought back by his
name.
“Will Byers!”
Will’s head snaps up as he stares at the stage in terror.
“Will Byers disappeared in 1982! Don’t you remember the searches? The desperate attempts
to find him? When they found him, it was a body in the quarry! There was a funeral! Yet less
than a week later he was back and walking among us! Since then, all of these horrible things
have happened! People dying and going missing, these earthquakes, the fire at Starcourt
Mall, plants and animals rotting and going missing - this was a peaceful town before Will
Byers died, and once he came back, mysteries and horrors started coming up one after
another!”
Will’s gasping for breath as the townspeople, the keepers of the shops he went to and the
people he went to school with and the people he waved ‘hello’ to on the street, all cheer and
call for his death.
“We all knew what Will Byers was! But as well as being a homosexual and a Jew, he was a
child! He was sacrificed to the Devil by Eddie Munson, and once they found that he could be
useful, they resurrected him! But this is no good resurrection, people of Hawkins! This
wasn’t a second coming like Jesus, this was a second coming of Satan! He is a vessel! The
poor boy was killed at twelve years old by Hellfire before his body was used like a puppet to
contain the devil himself! He may have been unnatural, but he was still a child who was
sacrificed at the altar! Will Byers was a lamb to slaughter! And now his body is nothing more
than a corpse containing pure evil! His friends are members of Hellfire! They must have
betrayed him, lured him away and killed him! Hellfire murdered this poor boy!”
As the boy calls for them to ‘put his soul to rest’ by casting the devil out of him, Will
squeezes Mike’s hand tighter before opening the door of the town hall and leaving as fast as
he can, Mike in tow.
He gasps for air as he drags Mike away to the alley on the side of the building.
Mike lets go of his hand, and both of them sit there, panting and crying.
Will leans against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the cold ground, hands
covering his face as he begins to sob and have a panic attack.
After a minute, the darkness provided by his hands isn’t enough, and he starts to claw at his
face in a desperate attempt to calm himself down.
“Whoa! Whoa, no, stop!” Mike says, pulling his hands away from his face by his wrists as he
starts to draw blood. “Don’t do that!”
Will lets his head hang as he sobs.

“I- oh, God, what are we going to do?” Mike says, and Will can hear the tears in his voice.
“What are we going to do? They want us dead, Will, they want us dead- they think we’re
evil, Will, what are we going to do?”
Will doesn’t know how to answer. He just cries.
So he and Mike sit against the wall, still able to hear the shouting and cheering of the angry
mob inside of the town hall, as they both cry and panic.
What are they going to do?
Oh, God, what are they going to do?
Chapter End Notes
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH
All I can say tbh
What did you think? Let me know in the comments! Leave a comment or Kudos if
you're up for it and see you soon!
Clock
Chapter Notes
Hi! Two chapters in one day? I know, right? Well, I love to mess with you guys <3
enjoy!
dearest friend

amaragf, Richietherich, Dixie, TooGayForYourDrama, anArsonisticGhoat,
MooncakeS2, Crossovergenius111, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to
write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!


Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal thoughts
- Survivor's guilt
- Panic attacks
- Keeping secrets
- Gore
- Death
Will and Mike walk back to Mike’s house wordlessly. Mike’s squeezing Will’s hand hard
enough to cut off circulation, but Will doesn’t mind. They’re both scared, after all.
Will squeezes Mike’s hand again, tapping out ‘y-o-u-o-k-a-y’ in Morse with his thumb.
Mike glances over at Will, giving a jerky nod in response.
It’s probably about another block before Mike freezes, his breathing gone super-shallow
again.
“Hey. Hey, hey, it’s okay-” Will soothes.
When Mike goes down to sit on the concrete, shaking like a leaf and pressing his head to his
knees as he wraps his free arm around his legs, Will goes down too, not letting go of his
hand.
“Mike, you’re not in danger right now. Just breathe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, alright? I
won’t let them.” Will soothes.
Mike still trembles, and choked sobs start to come from his hunched form.
Will knows it’s probably inappropriate and creepy for him to be acting like this, but he comes
forward and hugs Mike while sitting on his knees, wrapping his arm not holding his friend’s
hand around Mike’s back, rubbing small circles on his bony back as he presses his face into
Mike’s hair.
He hasn’t doled out kisses so easily since he was eight, and he hasn’t given one to Mike since
they were ten, but he repeatedly presses his lips to Mike’s scalp between reassurances.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, Mikey. I’m right here. You’re safe. We’re both safe.” Will whispers,
his sentences punctuated by kisses. “They’re not going to get you. They’re not going to get
anyone from The Hellfire Club. It’s okay.”
Will repeats the words like a mantra as Mike keeps shaking and sobbing.
After a while, Mike stops crying, though he’s still shaking like he’s been pulled out of an ice
bath.
“It’s okay.” Will says one last time, giving one more kiss before pulling away a little bit.
“Mike. Mike, look at me.” Will says.
Mike looks up from his knees, his tears tear-stained and puffy.
“Listen to me. Nobody’s going to come near you. Nobody’s going to come near us. I have
superpowers, remember? If I need to…”
Will takes a deep breath, the words causing a dark spot in his heart. Just because he doesn’t
like it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
“I’ll kill them. If anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll kill them. I can electrocute them.”
Mike’s face crumples, and he shakes his head as he starts to cry again. “I’m- I’m so scared,
Will, they- I’m gonna die-”
“No, you’re not.” Will insists. “You’re not gonna die. You’re gonna live a long and happy
life, okay? I’ll do anything and everything to make sure you do. But you’re not gonna die,
okay? I won’t let that happen.”
Mike shakes his head again, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I- you can’t control that-”
“No, but I’ll do everything I can.” Will says, and he’s scared too, but he keeps his voice
steady. “I’ll disarm or injure or kill anyone who tries to come after you. Nobody’s going to
hurt you. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Mikey. Whatever I have to do.”
Mike nods, but he still cries as he breathes shallowly and trembles.
“Breathe, Mike. Deep breaths. I mean it. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I won’t let
anyone hurt you. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe. Including using my powers.
Including things I don’t think I could do otherwise. But… nobody’s going to hurt you. Ever.”
Mike looks at him again, brown eyes wide and vulnerable.
Will gets up onto his knees, leans over Mike’s legs, and presses a kiss to Mike’s forehead,
cupping his cheek before pulling back and looking into Mike’s eyes. “Nobody is ever going
to touch you, okay? Nobody. I would rather die than let you get hurt. Nobody’s going to hurt
you.”
Mike just stares at him a minute before nodding.
Will gets to his feet, and Mike’s hand, his fingers still intertwined with Will’s, hangs between
them.
“Come on. Let’s go back to your house. We’ll deal with whatever happens together. Friends.
And I promise you, nobody will ever lay a hand on you. Not while there’s breath in my
body.”
Will helps Mike to his feet, and though he’s about to walk away, Mike stays still, holding
Will by the wrist before taking a step forward and falling into Will’s arms.
He lets go of Will’s hand, instead wrapping his arms around Will’s waist and squeezing
tightly as he buries his face in Will’s shoulder and sobs.
Will’s hands come up to run through Mike’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Nobody’s gonna get
hurt. Our side is so strong. We can defeat the Upside Down, and we can defeat some mob.
It’s okay.”
Mike stays like that for a minute, but after a little bit spent still shaking, he pulls away,
wiping his eyes, though one arm still holds Will against him.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” he says, his voice cracking.
Will leans forward, getting on tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Mike’s cheek over the
birthmark that’s always looked like a heart. “No, you’re not, but it’s okay. You don’t have to
always be fine around me. You’re always taking care of me, Mike, and I can take care of you,
too. It’s okay if you’re not fine around me. It’s more than okay. I want to help.”
He brushes away Mike’s tears with his fingertips. “Come on. Let’s get you home, okay?”
Mike nods, and Will puts his arm around Mike’s waist, Mike putting his own arm over Will’s
shoulders as they start to walk.
On the way back, whenever Mike starts to shake badly again, Will stops, pressing a kiss to
Mike’s cheek with a whisper of ‘We can stop walking if you need’.
Mike just keeps shaking his head, leaning on Will more and more as they go on.
By the time they’ve made the half-hour trek to the Wheeler’s from the town hall (which
makes Will’s still-healing ankle and kneecap sting, as well as making the pressure bandages
keeping his broken ribs together shift uncomfortably), Mike’s mostly calm, though still
visibly upset.
So, even though his body’s tired and hurting, Will helps Mike up the stairs to his room,
carefully helping him sit down on his bed once they’re inside.
“Sorry it’s messy.” Mike mutters, his back hunched over as his bowed head watches his
fidgeting hands. “The room.”
“I don’t mind a bit.” Will says, looking around. There are lots of posters, and a guitar in the
corner that Will’s gonna have to ask about later, but what catches his eye are the drawings all
around the room.
They’re all his. Sketches, paintings, illustrated notes from elementary and middle school,
even some of his half-assed doodles ripped from notebook paper.
Will looks around the room in a daze as he sits down on the bed next to Mike, rubbing his
back gently. Maybe Mike really did miss him while he was in California.
“You okay?” Will asks. “And tell me the truth.”
Mike’s silent for a second before he shakes his head.
“Okay. What would make you feel better?” Will asks gently, rubbing Mike’s hunched back as
he wrings his hands. He’s still shaking.
“I- I don’t know.” Mike says quietly.
“Okay. Okay.” Will says, trying to think. “How about we put you under a bunch of blankets,
huh? Pressure always helps when you get upset and start shaking. Maybe put on one of your
comfort movies in the basement? I could make you popcorn.”
Mike’s still as he considers before he nods. “Back to the Future?” he whispers.
“If that’s what you want, then of course.” Will says, pressing another kiss to Mike’s temple as
he rubs circles on Mike’s back. “I’ll make you popcorn. If you go to the basement, I’ll be
right down and we can watch Back to the Future, okay? We can make a blanket burrito and
just stay there until you feel safe again?”
Mike nods, slowly getting up. “You’ll be there in a minute?” he asks.
Will nods. “Of course.”
With that, Mike nods to himself before he leaves the room, going downstairs.
Once he’s out of sight, Will sags. He’s gonna get targeted. He’s Hispanic, Jewish, and queer,
and on top of that, they’re saying he’s possessed by the devil or whatever bullshit. He’s gonna
end up dead. At this point, it’s the question of who gets him.
Will takes a shaky breath and gets up to go downstairs, make food for his best friend, but he’s
stopped by something out of the corner of his eye.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The grandfather clock gongs as Will quickly turns to look at it.
Will stares at the clock as it gongs four times, coming out of the blue wall that was smooth
and uncracked less than a minute ago.
Then, it starts to tick again.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He approaches it with small, cautious steps as his heart pounds and the clock ticks over and
over and over.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
With each tick, the walls shrink closer and closer, leaving Will suffocating as all he can focus
on is the grandfather clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It chimes again, four gongs. That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t do that. No clock should.
Once it’s done, Will reaches out a shaking hand, and he brushes his fingers against the
smooth dark wood.
“Will.” he hears behind him the second he makes contact.
Will spins around to face whoever’s talking to him, only to see someone who should be dead.
“Bob?” he asks in a whisper as tears fill his eyes.
Bob nods, still dressed in the aqua scrubs he was wearing the last time Will saw him.
“You’re not real.” Will whispers as tears start to fall from the corners of his eyes, fingertips
still resting on the clock. “You’re not real.”
“Was I not real to you when you killed me?” he asks, and his voice had always been kind and
warm to Will, but now, it’s cold and detached.
Will flinches as the old wound is clawed open again, guilt and pain and sorrow flowing
through his veins and chest until the grief and guilt threaten to suffocate him.
“I didn’t mean to.” Will whispers. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Didn’t you?” Bob asks. “You were awake, Will. Awake enough to use Morse code, awake
enough to remember. You were a part of the hive mind. And that means you could have sent
out the order for them not to kill any more people. To not kill me. Everyone who died at that
lab, in those tunnels… their blood is on your hands.”
Will shakes his head. “No. I- I didn’t- I couldn’t- I wasn’t in control.”
Bob stares at him for a moment before he opens his mouth and blood falls in a waterfall.
Will falls back against the clock, staring in horror as Bob stands there, looking down at his
stomach as it’s torn open by an invisible force, slash upon slash upon bite mark until the
scrubs and skin over his torso are gone and his organs become visible as blood falls in an
endless stream onto the floor, making a horrific puddle on the carpet.
Will opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as Bob moves his hand to hold in
his intestines.
He looks up at Will, blood all over him.
“You did this.” he whispers. “You’re the reason I’m dead.”
Will shakes his head. “N-no-” he says. “No, pl-please, I- I didn’t- I didn’t want to hurt you-”
“Ninety-four people. That’s how many people died in that lab and in those tunnels. You killed
each and every one.”
“N-no, no, plea-please-” Will sobs, eyes wide as his cheeks get wet from tears and Bob steps
closer.
“Your fault.” Bob says. “It's all your fault. All of it. Every killer claims they’re innocent, but
you? As much as you bury it deep down, you know you’re guilty. Every killer has blood on
their hands, but you, you’re drowning in it. You’re a murderer. And it’s your fault I’m dead.”
White figures, either in lab coats or bunny suits, start to materialize, blood staining the white
into a sickening, sticky crimson.
“Your fault.” one says.
“Your fault.” whispers another.
“YOUR FAULT!” one screams.
They all start screaming at Will as he desperately covers his ears, sobbing pleas to stop as he
makes himself as small as he can against the ticking clock, all of the people who are dead
because of him drawing closer.
Then, right as the sound reaches its peak, it’s silent again.
After a minute, Will slowly uncovers his ears, looking around.
He’s alone in the room again.
Will’s immediately up on his feet, looking at the clock again.
It gongs four more times, a horrible, echoing sound.
Will Byers. You feel so much, carry such heavy burdens. You’re so traumatized, and if that
weren’t enough, you hate yourself. You hate yourself so much that you destroy yourself. After
everything you’ve been through, after everything you’re still going through… Don’t you want
your suffering to come to an end?
With that, the clock disappears, and Will’s left in the bedroom that looks like nothing ever
happened.
Will looks around again, almost waiting for something else to appear, but it doesn’t. It’s just
Mike’s room.
He doesn’t know what to do, so he stumbles out of the room and downstairs.
Will starts to go toward the basement where he knows there’s another person, but then he
remembers that he told Mike he’d make him popcorn, and he needs to do that first.
So he goes to the kitchen, digs through the pantry until he finds a bag of microwave popcorn,
and puts it in the microwave for three minutes.
As it spins and pops, Will sits on the counter, putting his hands around the sides of his face as
he stares at his lap blankly. He’s feeling things, but he’s too overwhelmed to sort it out.
Once the popcorn’s done with a beep, Will gets off the counter, haphazardly wiping any stray
tears from his cheeks as he pours the popcorn into a bowl.
Once he’s thrown away the bag and grabbed the bowl, Will goes down the stairs into the
basement, where it’s dark and cool and safe.
Mike’s curled up on the couch, still visibly shaking as he watches Back to the Future.
Will nods to himself, setting down the popcorn on the end of the couch as he gathers up
blankets and pillows.
He lays them all out on the couch, Mike moving to make more room, and it’s six layers of
blankets before he’s satisfied.
“Okay. Sit down in the middle.” Will tells Mike softly.
Mike nods, getting up and scooting over to the middle of the blanket. Will sees that his eyes
are puffy and red, and it makes his heart ache.
Will just picks up the edge of the blanket layers, pulling them over Mike before tucking them
in along Mike’s side. He has Mike lean forward and puts another one around his shoulders
and head, covering everything but his face.
He then picks up the popcorn bowl and sets it in Mike’s lap before burritoing himself.
Once they’re both fully burritoed and watching the TV, Mike looks over at him.
“You okay?” he asks quietly. “You took a while. And you seem off.”
Will turns his head to look at his best friend and offers a weak smile. “Yeah, of course I’m
okay.” he lies. “Everything’s fine.”
Mike gives him a look, but he apparently accepts it, looking forward at the TV again.
After a while, Mike leans over and drops his head onto Will’s shoulder. “Thank you.” he
whispers.
Will frees his arm from the blanket to come up and stroke Mike’s hair over the burrito. “Of
course.” he whispers back. “I would do anything for you.”
Even hide that I’m going to die an awful death in less than a day.
Even hide that I’m running out of time.
But if Will’s going to die, this is how he wants to spend his last 24 hours - quietly watching
one of their comfort movies while swaddled in blankets in the basement, cuddled up with the
boy he loves most.
Will wordlessly strokes Mike’s hair as the movie plays and Vecna’s words replay in his mind.
Maybe Henry was right.
Maybe it’s time he rests.
He wants to die, after all.
Why not let someone else do the dirty work?
With that thought, Will turns and plants another kiss on the top of Mike’s head over the
blankets.
As long as he doesn’t worry.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Will, and poor Mike :( mentally ill babies
What do you think? I hope you liked it! If you did, please leave a comment or Kudos!
By the way, I was wondering about how I could get this fic more publicity. Any
suggestions for Byler fic recommendation blogs I could submit this to or awards or
anything? If you did have any suggestions, I would be forever grateful!
Thank you so much for reading and see you soon!

Hair
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's a fantastic chapter that explains Mike’s short hair in Season 5. This may be an
alternate universe, but I like his hair in the BTS pictures, so... here you go!
Thank you for reading!
Also, I call this 'Mike's Mulan Scene' in my head. Thought you might like that.
dearest friend


Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Mental breakdown
- Homophobia
- Persecution
- Self-consciousness
- Insecurity
- Language
When the movie’s done, Mike takes the empty popcorn bowl upstairs, setting it down in the
sink before staring blankly at the wall.
They’re going to try to kill him. They’re going to try to kill Mike and Will and the party and
Hellfire, and the whole town’s riled up, and the apocalypse is still happening, too-
“Mike?” his mom asks from the doorway.
He whips around to look at her. “Yeah?” he says, his voice only wavering a little bit.
“I think we need to talk.” his mom says.
She looks tired, and she looks sad and angry as they sit down at the dining table.
“Mike…” she sighs. “...I know Hellfire isn’t a satanist cult that’s murdering people, and I
know Will isn’t the reanimated corpse of the devil. But apparently the town thinks that.”
Mike nods numbly.
“You… are very clearly a Hellfire Club member, Michael. I’m your mom, and it’s my
number one job to keep you safe. So… I think we need to discuss how you and Will are
going to stay under the radar and protect yourselves.”
“Okay.” Mike says.
“Well, I think both of you should have pepper spray, just in case. And you shouldn't wear
your Hellfire shirt.” she says.
Mike nods.
“And… Mike, you look like Eddie, and you look different from everyone else. Your hair is
making you more noticeable. I… think maybe we should cut it. Just until this has blown over,
keep it short.”
Mike doesn’t respond that time.
His hair doesn’t just make him look like Eddie (though that’s a part of it), it makes him feel
good. With his long hair, he stands out, looks different and grabs attention for something
other than his marked-up face. It makes him special, and different, and it feels like a shield,
like his hair is a way of saying ‘yes, I am a freak. Deal with it.’ and letting insults roll off his
back. His long hair makes him feel unique and brave and cool, and… his mom wants him to
chop it off like it doesn’t matter.
“You could grow it back out again when everyone’s a little less likely to try to hurt you for it.
It would be temporary, Mike. Hair grows back, but your life won’t if someone kills you over
this drama.”
Mike’s still for a while, trying not to cry, but eventually he shrugs.
“Okay. I’ll see if the barbershop is still open soon, okay? In the meantime, just try to stay in
the house.” his mom says, patting his shoulder as she gets up.
Once she’s gone, he sits there for a minute before he grabs a pair of scissors from the junk
drawer and goes to his bathroom.
He shuts the door behind him, setting the scissors on the counter as he stares into the mirror
scrutinizingly.
Maybe his hair isn’t such a good thing. It makes his face look thinner, after all, and the dark
color makes his skin seem paler, causing the red of the scars and his birthmark to stand out
more.
He’s gonna look ugly no matter how his hair is cut. And sure, his hair makes him feel good
when it’s long, makes him feel brave, but everyone wants him dead anyway, right? Why care
about how he looks?
Mike grabs the scissors and starts haphazardly chopping at his hair, some pieces whole inches
longer than others. He snips over and over, and his hair becomes a mess, but he doesn’t care,
because he’s a queer and his best friend doesn’t love him back and everyone hates him and
Max is in the hospital and he’s fucking ugly and Vecna’s going to murder him if one of the
townspeople doesn’t get to him first-
Once there’s hair all over and in the sink, Mike drops the scissors onto the counter, looking in
the mirror as he starts to cry.
His hair made him special, and it made him feel like he looked good and strong and cool and
brave, and he cut it off, and he isn’t sure if it’s a sick satisfaction or hurt that’s winning out.
Mike’s shoulders shake as he hunches over the sink, crying so hard that he’s gasping and
making loud sobbing noises that he can’t control.
Eventually, though, someone knocks gently on the door. “Mike?” Will asks quietly. “You
okay?”
Mike can’t answer, just hanging his head.
“Can I come in?” Will asks.
All Mike does is make a choked sob, looking at the hair in the sink. It made him feel cool and
unique and special and brave, and now it’s gone, and the whole town still wants him dead.
“Okay, I’m gonna come in now.” Will says softly.
The door slowly opens, and his best friend steps in. He’s still wearing Mike’s clothes. Mike
hates that he loves that. He hates that he loves Will. Why is he such a freak? Why can’t he
just be normal?
Will just looks at him, their eyes meeting in the mirror, before he nods.
“Okay. Sit down.” he says, nodding to the toilet.
Mike takes a seat on the closed lid, back to the bathtub, and Will takes the scissors before
kneeling down to be on Mike’s level, gently cupping his chin and turning his head.
“Okay.” he says, wiping away some of Mike’s tears before getting up, stepping around
Mike’s back, and starting to cut at the longer pieces of hair.
Will works quietly, cutting the longer pieces to match the shorter ones. He doesn’t say
anything, just quietly breathing as he evens out Mike’s messy work.
Mike appreciates that he’s not saying anything. No ‘what happened?’, no ‘Mike, what the
hell’, just quiet support and care without a single question or comment.
Of course he’s being so kind. It’s in Will’s nature. But Mike still finds it so endearing, the
way Will’s being so gentle and caring to him. How he helped Mike through his panic attack,
how he promised to protect him no matter what, how he had him just sit down and watch the
movie and burritoed him so that there would be enough pressure for him to stop shaking, and
now how he’s helping clean up Mike’s mess, Mike’s mistake. He knows it’s wrong to love
Will even more for taking care of him, but how can he not adore this boy when he takes such
good care of everyone, including Mike?
He’s practically entranced as Will kneels in front of him, biting his lip in concentration as he
takes Mike’s bangs between his fingers and trims the end to make it match more with the rest
of his hair.
Will moves his head one more time and looks over his hair before he nods, setting down the
scissors on the sink and helping Mike up. “All done.”
Mike takes his hand, and once they’re up, Will puts his hands on Mike’s biceps, standing at
his side as he moves Mike to in front of the mirror.
He doesn’t look too bad, actually - well, not worse than normal. His hair’s shorter and
cleaner, and though most of the curliness is gone, it’s still wavy. His bangs are brushed to the
side. It looks like the hair he had when he was younger, but… different. It’s wavier and
slightly longer and now that his face is different it looks different, but in a good way.
“It’s… still not quite even.” Will says, thumb unthinkingly rubbing circles on Mike’s bicep.
“But it’s not too bad. I mean, you still look good.”
Mike stares at his reflection, studying his face. There’s the scar next to his nose left by Billy,
and the little one on his chin, and the large birthmark covering his whole damn cheek, and he
doesn’t like how thin his face is or the color of his eyes or the size of his nose, but Will thinks
he looks good, and when Mike messed up by chopping off his hair he cleaned it up, and he
liked how tough and cool and badass he felt with long hair, but looking at himself in the
mirror now, there’s something softer and warmer in his face now, though that might just be
the boy next to him, comfort and softness in the gentle touch of Will’s hand on his arm and
the warmth of his gaze.
“Thank you.” Mike whispers.
Will’s hazel eyes meet Mike’s dark brown in the mirror, and he gives a small, warm smile.
“Always, Mike.” he says softly, squeezing Mike’s arm. “You’re not alone, alright? I’m here
for you no matter what.”
Mike nods, a lump forming in his throat. He doesn’t deserve Will and his care, but he
appreciates it more than Will could ever know.
“Come on.” Will says, squeezing Mike’s arm. “We can get you some ice cream, if that’s what
you want? Take your mind off all this?”
Mike manages a small smile as he nods, the weight in his chest feeling a little lighter because
of Will.
“Yeah.” he says, his voice barely audible. “That sounds really nice.”
“Okay. Come on, then.” Will says, getting up on tiptoes to kiss Mike’s temple over his bangs.
Mike’s heart stops at the display of affection before it starts racing. Will's always given little
kisses to express his love for his friends, and while he hasn’t done it this often in years, it’s
extenuating circumstances. But it still makes Mike feel so special and loved.
In the hospital, when Lucas got a kiss and Mike didn’t, he’s ashamed that he was really upset
that Lucas got one and he didn’t. But Will’s given him, like, twenty today, and that makes the
moment of jealousy and hurt worth it.
Will gently takes Mike’s hand, tangling their fingers together, before he starts to lead them
downstairs.
But as they go, Mike hears something.
A clock.
Four gongs.
Vecna.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Mike :(
Bed
Chapter Notes
Hi! Please enjoy this chapter, I put a lot of work in.
Also, yay! 200k words!! :D
dearest friend


Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
Mike sits on the bed with his new short hair, now wet from his shower. He’s wearing an old
black Queen T-shirt with blue checkered pajama pants, and he’s waiting on the end of his bed
for Will to come back.
The Party’s all asleep in the basement. While most of them had gone home last night, with
the angry mobs and apocalypse waiting outside, they all agreed to stay at the Wheeler’s
house unless it was absolutely necessary that they leave once they got back here from the
town meeting. And with a dozen teenagers trying to stretch out in the basement, Mike
decided to sleep in his own room.
It might have been a little inappropriate, but when Will had started to look for his sleeping
bag, Mike had just tugged on his sleeve and quietly asked him to stay with him for the night.
Will’s face had immediately gotten even softer, and he had whispered an ‘of course, Mikey’
before bidding everyone goodnight and following Mike up the stairs.
At that point, Mike had taken a shower as Will had chilled out in his room for a little bit, and
when he got out, he gave Will some pajamas (and underwear - he is not thinking about Will
wearing his underwear, he is not thinking about Will wearing his underwear ) and said he
could take a shower if he wanted.
So now Mike’s waiting like a puppy-dog for Will to come out of the bathroom. Probably
pathetic, but he very badly just wants to be around Will. Like, he would just follow Will
around and stay less than a foot away at all times and rest his head on his shoulder at all times
if he could.
After a minute of just sitting and staring at the door, waiting for his best friend to come back
through it, Will reappears, fidgeting with the clothes and smiling.
Mike’s breath catches at the sight, so many butterflies that he might float away. He looks so
beautiful.
“You wear so many baggy clothes, Michael, honestly.” Will says as he walks in, smiling as he
attempts to roll up the sleeves of the shirt Mike gave him so that his hands are usable. He
fails, and the sleeves fall back down to cover his hands, going down to probably an inch
above his fingernails and forming sweater paws, which definitely doesn’t make Mike want to
grab Will and pepper his face in kisses.
Will must have blow-dried his hair, because it’s fluffy and messy and almost floating around
his head, giving him an even softer and more angelic appearance than usual. With his hair so
fluffy, it’s higher up than normal, leaving his hearing aids on display.
The clothes that Mike loaned him - a long-sleeve blue pajama shirt and green checkered pants
- are oversized on him. The shirt’s practically off Will’s shoulders, showing his collarbones
and skin along the top of his shoulders as well as the moles that are there. Mike can see that
Will’s tied a knot in the pajama pants’ elastic to hold it up.
“I mean, really, Mike, these pants are so wide. How do you not get them tangled around your
legs when you turn in your sleep?” Will asks, tugging on the sides of the pants and giving a
smile.
Mike smiles too, more focused on Will’s soft, cozy appearance than anything else. He looks
so endearing in the oversized clothes.
He watches Will struggle with the shirt sleeves again, failing miserably at keeping them
rolled up, and his heart feels so full of love for this boy that he could explode.
The sight of Will’s fluffy, messy hair and the way that his hearing aids and skin peek out from
his clothes and hair makes Mike’s heart flutter in his chest. He wants nothing more than to
grab Will and pull him close, run his hands through that soft, fluffy hair, lean in and press
kisses to the small moles on Will’s neck and shoulder and cheek. Why does he have to be so
damn cute?
“I… guess I don’t mind.” Mike says, but he says it way too late, why did he take so long to
say it-
Will looks up from his fidgeting with the sleeves, a minorly curious expression on his face.
“Don’t mind what?”
“I mean I, uh… I don’t mind if the… the clothes are a little big. They look… uh… really
good. On you.” Mike stumbles. Why is he like this?
Will’s cheeks turn pink and he smiles as he tucks a strand of his fluffy hair behind his ear,
which is a small movement that Mike finds so incredibly endearing that it almost hurts.
“Thanks.” Will says, looking down at his feet before looking back to Mike’s eyes. “I
appreciate all of this, Mike, I really do. I mean, thank you for letting me borrow your clothes.
They’re really comfortable.”
“Yeah. You look really cute and cozy.” Mike says before he can stop his mouth from opening.
Well, if Will wasn’t blushing before, he’s sure blushing now, his cheeks turning bright red as
he stares at Mike.
Mike’s heart flutters again at the red of Will’s cheeks, a warmth spreading through his chest
at the sight of his best friend looking so flustered and adorable. He wants to cup Will’s cheeks
and tell him that he means it.
Instead, he bites his lip nervously, trying not to blurt out ‘Hey, I’m in love with you and think
you’re the most adorable person on the planet, wanna make out?’ and instead clearing his
throat. “Um… I mean, not that you’re not cute, but… uh… like, the pajamas just add another
layer of… coziness… and it, um… makes you look small and comfy and… huggable.”
Yes, Michael, that was so much less gay than ‘you look cute’. What are you doing?
Will just keeps staring at him for a minute before he looks down, smoothing his pants and
laughing softly. The sound’s like music to Mike’s ears.
“Thanks, Mike. You look pretty cozy, too.” Will smiles, and Mike can’t help but smile back.
Mike isn’t sure what to do now, so he apparently decides to dig his hole of queer disaster-ness
deeper by patting the bed next to him and giving Will a smile. “Come sit with me?” he
requests quietly.
Will smiles slightly again at the invitation, and he moves to join Mike on the bed, careful not
to trip on the too-long pants over his feet, which makes Mike smile.
He hesitates before sitting down next to Mike, the brush of their shoulders as Will sits down,
causing a slight shift of the bed, sending his heart racing, and Mike can’t help but glance at
Will’s profile, admiring the curve of his jawline, the delicate shadows his eyelashes cast on
his cheeks, and the way his fluffy hair frames his face, showing off his hearing aids.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, Mike still stealing glances at Will, admiring
how the light from the lamp casts a gentle glow on his features, making him look ethereal.
The only sounds are of the heater and of fabric as Will tries to get the pajama pants to fall
right.
“Hey, Will?” Mike asks in a whisper.
“Yeah?” Will asks back, turning his head and leaning forward to meet Mike’s eyes. It causes
his hair to fall into his eyes, and Mike can’t breathe, he wants to touch it so bad.
In his panic about Will’s beauty, he kind of loses his filter again.
“I’m so sorry if this is weird, but can I touch your hair?” Mike blurts, his cheeks flushing the
second the words leave his mouth.
Will blinks a few times in surprise before he gives a small nod. “I- sure, if- if you want. And-
you- you don’t have to ask. We’ve been best friends since we were five, remember?”
“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, right. Just didn't- didn't want to be weird.” Mike says.
“You aren’t. Don’t worry. I’d never judge you.” Will whispers.
“Okay.” Mike murmurs, and with a hesitant hand, he brushes that piece of Will’s hair behind
his ear before brushing his fingers lightly against the strands of Will’s hair. It’s even softer
than he imagined, and he can’t resist running his hands through it, feeling the texture and
fluff in his hand.
Will’s eyes close, and he gives a contented little sigh, leaning into Mike’s hand. The sight
somehow stops Mike’s heart and fills him with warmth at the same time.
“This okay?” Mike asks quietly, still running his fingers through Will’s hair.
“Mm. Yeah, it feels nice.” Will says, and his words are soft and almost slurred, like he's
drunk off the touch.
In the back of Mike’s mind, a little voice tells him that Will’s probably a bit touch starved,
just like Mike probably is, but he dismisses it. That’s inappropriate to think about.
Mike continues to run his fingers through Will’s hair, feeling a sense of tranquility and awe as
he watches Will relax into his touch. It’s amazing, because it’s just gently stroking through
Will’s hair, but he’s basically become putty under Mike’s fingertips, making happy little
hums and sighs as he leans into Mike’s hand. His eyes are closed, and his normally super-
stressed-out friend looks calmer than Mike’s seen him in a long time. He looks and sounds a
little bit like a happy cat as he hums contentedly and nuzzles toward Mike’s hand, actually.
…Now that Mike thinks about it, Will has a lot in common with a cat.
He has a whole different language, but once you understand what each little communication
means, he’s as easy to read as a book.
He likes to be by himself, but he doesn’t mind if you’re there if you’re just sitting quietly in
the same room. He actually likes that more, but he’s happy alone, too - though sometimes, he
just goes and hides away from everyone to just recharge.
He likes affection, but always on his own terms.

He doesn’t trust many people, but when someone’s gotten that connection, he loves them
fiercely. Meanwhile, with people he doesn’t know well or trust, he hides how he really feels
and thinks.
He prefers naps over long periods of sleep, and when he does nap, he likes to stretch out in a
sunny area.
He loves to find cozy or comfy spots, whether a certain chair, blanket, clothing choice, corner
of a room, or even coming and snuggling up to one of his friends.
He prefers to be awake at night rather than during the day, and also tends to get up and
wander in the early hours of the morning.
He moves very gracefully and fluidly. His steps are almost always light and silent, and he can
easily navigate a crowded or cluttered space.
He’s really perceptive and always finding small details, whether it’s to a single thing out of
place in a room or an emotional shift.
Even though he’s quiet, he has a playful side that comes out sometimes when he’s in the right
environment and he feels happy and safe.
And, obviously, he’s borderline purring right now, which doesn’t hurt the cat comparison.
Huh. He really is a cat.
That’s so cute.
“Thanks, Mike. This feels… really nice.” Will whispers after a minute.
Mike was the one who asked if he could pet Will’s head, though? Why’s he thanking him?
“Why are you thanking me? I’m the one who asked.” Mike says quietly.
“No, it’s just… you have no idea how nice this is. How nice you’ve been.” Will whispers.
Mike smiles even more than he already was. “Good. I’m glad. You deserve nice things, Will.
Actually… you deserve nothing but the best.”
Mike’s hand moves from Will’s hair to gently come down to his face.
His cheek fits so perfectly in Mike’s palm, and his hazel eyes are still fluttered closed, his
eyelashes against his skin. He’s so beautiful and kind and he’s Mike’s best friend…
Before Mike can think about it, he cups Will’s other cheek with his other hand, and after a
moment of hesitation, he starts to lean in.
His heart’s pounding, and he’s worried he’s misread, but then Will’s hand comes up to wrap
around Mike’s wrist and he leans forward a little too, and… maybe Will wants to kiss Mike,
too.
Mike’s about to close the gap when a knock comes at the closed door.
He shoots away from Will as he looks in a panic to the door, at which point Jonathan slowly
opens it.
“Hey. Um, Will, do you want me to get out a sleeping bag for you in the basement?”
Jonathan asks, giving both of them a weird look.
Goddammit, Jonathan! He was about to get to kiss his best friend!
“Um…” Will says, looking incredibly flustered.
“...Actually, he was going to sleep in here with me.” Mike says.
Jonathan looks between them, his eyebrows furrowing before shooting up.
“...What are you two doing?” he asks suspiciously.
“Nothing!” Will stammers.
“Yeah! Yeah, we’re just- talking!” Mike agrees.
Jonathan looks between them again, squinting skeptically. “Um… alright, then. Well, just…
I’ll be in Nancy’s room if either of you need anything. Goodnight.”
With that, he leaves, and Mike’s emotions are such a mess that he can’t tell what on Earth any
of them are. The comfortable, waiting silence has given way to an awkward one, the little
bubble of safety and quiet intimacy popped by Jonathan.
Mike avoids making eye contact with Will, his mind racing with disappointment and
frustration and hurt.
Will shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat next to him on the bed. “So… sleeping in
here?” he asks.
“Um… yeah. Assuming that’s okay with you?” Mike asks, face still red.
“Um, yeah. So… am I sleeping on the floor, or can I bring the air mattress up?” Will asks.
“What?” Mike asks, giving Will a weird look. “What are you talking about?”
“Well… do I need a sleeping bag or can I bring up the mattress?” Will asks.
Mike blinks in confusion for a minute before it hits him. “Oh! No, no, no! I’m- I’m not
making you sleep on the floor! You’re sleeping in the bed with me. Well- assuming you want
to.” he says quickly, cheeks flushing even more.
“Oh.” Will says, shifting awkwardly. “Um… are you sure?”
“What? Of course I’m sure. Your back’ll kill you in the morning, Will, you- you can just
sleep in bed with me. We've done it since we were little - hell, even with a smaller bed then.
It's- it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just like when we were kids, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just- just like when we were kids.” Will agrees, avoiding Mike’s eyes. “If- if
you're sure.”
“I am.” Mike insists. “Of course.”
Will nods one more time before Mike leaves and comes back with new sheets and an extra
pillow.
They remake the bed in silence before Mike works up the courage to speak.
“Were you… um… were we about to…?” Mike tries to ask as they both make the bed.
Will stares at him for a minute.
“...No, of course not.” he says quietly. “We, we’re not… we’re friends, right?”
Mike’s heart breaks a little bit. He… he misread everything again. Fuck! He keeps doing this,
and he keeps getting his own hopes up to hurt himself again! How can he be so stupid?
“Yeah. Yeah, we’re not… like that.” Mike says.
Will looks sad for a minute, before he nods. “Yeah, of course not. We’re friends.”
“Good.” Mike says, nodding. “Good.”
It’s a weird silence for a while, the dynamic weird, before Will speaks.
“We’re… we’re still friends, right?” he asks. “I mean… we’re both exhausted, and I doubt
either of us are thinking straight. Doesn’t have to… doesn’t have to change anything.”
Mike’s heart aches at that, but it’s better than losing Will entirely.
“Yeah. Yeah, nothing- it was nothing. Just- really tired. And, I mean, it’s been an emotional
day and everything, and… yeah. Just friends like always, right?” Mike asks.
Will nods, giving a small, sad smile. “Just like always.”
With that, they finish putting the bed together, and Mike turns out the lamp before both of
them lay down on opposite sides of the bed.
Will’s still-fluffy hair spreads on the pillow like a halo. He looks so angelic and beautiful.
But Mike’s a sinner. And that means he'll never get Will. Not like he wants.
Mike’s gaze flickers between Will’s eyes and lips in the dark, and don’t kiss him, don’t kiss
him, don’t kiss him- Michael James Wheeler, don’t you dare kiss him- he doesn’t like you-
“Goodnight, Mike.” Will says softly, scooting away from him and starting to roll over so that
he isn't facing Mike. “Your hair looks really nice on you, by the way.”
“I- wait-” Mike says before he can stop his brain. “-don’t-”
Will freezes, looking at Mike. “What’s up?” he asks.
“Don’t- please just stay close?” Mike asks. “I- please don't go away.”
Will’s still for a moment before he nods.
“Okay.” he whispers, scooting close again. “Whatever you need.”
Will lays on his side next to Mike, his arm under his pillow. Mike just looks at his angelic
face and his beautiful eyes, and he just tries to will the universe into letting Will stay with
him, still be his friend.
As they stare at each other, too many secrets and too much left unsaid, all Mike hopes is that
he can repress these feelings before he loses Will for good.
Chapter End Notes
*punches wall* BOYS *breaks window* ARE YOU *yeets chair against wall*
FUCKING *kicks door* KIDDING ME?! *commits arson*
COMMUNICATE, YOU USELESS GAYS! AUGH!
But what did you think otherwise? Let me know in the comments! Thank you so much
and see you soon! Leave a comment or Kudos if you're up for it! <3 have a nice day!
Tectonic
Chapter Notes
Hi! Two chapters in one day? I know, right? Well, enjoy this one! I had a lot of fun
writing it!
dearest friend


Overall rating: PG.

Trigger warnings:
- Suicidal thoughts
- The apocalypse
- Mentioned death
- Mentioned eating disorder
- Self-hatred
The night’s lit up with the red lightning from outside, and Mike can’t sleep.
What if Will gets hurt and Mike loses him again? What if he’s already lost him by being so
stupid?
Memories of Will riding his bike away, both when he was twelve and when he was fourteen,
haunt Mike’s thoughts, as does the nightmarish memory of a body being pulled out of the
quarry.
He glances over at Will again, quietly asleep on the pillow, his breathing slow and steady. He
looks so peaceful, even with the red glow over his face, and a surge of longing washes over
Mike as he watches the gentle rise and fall of Will’s side.
Unable to resist the pull any more (he’s been restraining himself for the past hour), Mike
shifts closer to Will, careful not to disturb him too much.
He carefully reaches out and brushes a stray piece of still-fluffy hair away from Will’s
forehead, his touch cautious and feather-light.
To Mike’s surprise, though, Will stirs at the touch, his eyes fluttering open to meet Mike’s
gaze.
“Mike?” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Mike whispers, but then he remembers that Will
can’t hear him.
So, even though he’s worried Will hates him, he reaches over and starts tapping out Morse
code on Will’s shoulder. He relearned it after Will got possessed - it might be needed again,
after all.
‘S-o-r-r-y-w-a-k-e-y-o-u’ Mike taps out.
Will shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. What’s on your mind?”
Mike hesitates for a minute, his heart pounding.

“Hold on.” Will says before reaching over and grabbing his hearing aid off the nightstand.
“Okay.”
“I… just can’t sleep.” he says. “And… I… maybe wanted to be close to you.”
Will gives a small smile, rolling onto his back.
“Come here.” he whispers, holding out an inviting arm as he takes off his hearing aid again
and shifts until he’s comfortable. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Come here.”
After a moment of hesitation (would it be taking advantage of Will’s kindness?), Mike scoots
over, laying his head on Will’s chest over his steady, reassuring heart. The sound immediately
quiets his worry, drives away every bad memory of losing Will. He’s here. His heart’s still
beating strong and steady. He’s here.
Will moves his arm to wrap around Mike’s shoulders, his fingers gently stroking through
Mike’s hair as he quietly starts humming an old Beatles song, his breath ghosting over Mike’s
hair.
Mike’s so nervous, but instead of scooting away, he just rests his hand on Will’s stomach. It’s
scarily concave, but he can feel Will’s stomach rising with each slow breath, and it provides
even more proof that Will’s here, he’s alive and safe and here with Mike.
As Will’s arms wrap him in a blanket of warmth, the quiet humming of ‘Penny Lane’, then
‘Norwegian Wood’, creates a cocoon of safety and comfort. His hand still pets Mike’s hair,
and the rhythm of the music and Will’s heart and breathing rate slowly leeches the fear from
Mike’s brain.
Mike just closes his eyes and allows himself to sink deeper into Will’s embrace, letting the
full weight of his head and hand rest on Will (though with how small and fragile Will feels
under him and with the knowledge that his broken ribs are still healing, Mike’s careful to
keep his head on Will’s chest, where his ribs are stronger and not likely to snap under Mike’s
weight. He really needs to get this boy’s weight up before he gets hurt because he doesn’t
have any fat on him. 78 pounds, Jesus Christ…).
The worries that wouldn’t leave fade as Will quietly hums to him, his voice drowning out the
thoughts in Mike’s head. Now, all that’s in his head is how safe and warm and content he
feels, the soothing feeling of his touch driving away all of the tension in his muscles and
worry.
Will stops humming after the third song, and the air feels too quiet, too empty without Will’s
sound.
“We’re okay, right?” Will asks quietly after a minute. “Still friends?”
‘A-l-w-a-y-s’. Mike taps.
Will nods and exhales. “Good.”
It’s quiet for a minute before Will whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” Mike says quietly, even if Will can’t hear him. He shifts slightly, snuggling closer
to Will, seeking out more of that safety and comfort.
After a second, Will starts humming again, this time ‘Blackbird’.
Mike just listens, his eyelids growing so heavy he has to close them.
As Mike drifts off, Will’s hand still slowly carding through his now-short hair, the sound and
vibration of ‘Here Comes The Sun’ lulls him to sleep.
There’s no place safer than in Will’s arms, and there’s nowhere Mike would rather be.
“Okay. We need to figure out what to do.” Dustin says, pacing around the basement. They’re
all sitting around, trying to figure out how, exactly, to stop the Upside Down. The cracks in
Hawkins are spreading and growing larger, and with the ashen clouds in the sky, you can
hardly see the sun anymore.
On his way here from checking on his mom, Dustin heard something screeching from one of
the cracks. He says it sounds like a Demodog. And, according to him, the sound was just
under the crack.
So, the Upside Down’s creatures are attempting to get through. That was enough cause for an
emergency meeting on how, exactly, to regroup and fight Vecna.
Will just looks out the window instead of paying attention to the conversation. He doesn’t
have any meaningful contributions, and he’ll be dead before he can help execute any plan, so
why bother?
It also helps that Barb’s standing by the stairs, and he’d do pretty much anything to avoid
looking at her.
Ever since he got the clock vision and had the countdown put on his life, he’s been imagining
things. People covered in blood out of the corner of his eye, a demogorgon growling in his
ear, his father calling ‘Bill!’. It’s scary, especially since he can’t truly see them. Whenever he
tries to look at the people in the corner of his eye straight-on, they disappear, only to reappear
in the corner of his vision a few minutes later. So, he’s just avoiding looking at them
altogether.
Maybe his spirit animal’s an ostrich. He keeps hiding from everything, putting his head in the
sand and running away. What a failure he is.
As they all talk in the room, trying to think of ideas, Will watches out the window as the
ground rumbles again. He’s sure the cracks have expanded again, and he’s sure the people of
Hawkins are gonna say it’s another Satanist earthquake.
Wait… Earthquake.
Earthquake.
“It’s… it’s like tectonic plates.” Will whispers, staring at the cracks out the window as the
realization hits him like a brick to the face.
“What?” Lucas asks.
“In geology, there are the tectonic plates making up the Earth, and they’re lined up and
moving them means earthquakes and tsunamis and stuff happens, right? Well… what if we’re
tectonic plates?” Will says, turning to look at the Party.
They all just stare at him, so Will sighs and puts his hands flat next to each other.
“Okay. So, like, let’s pretend that this-” he raises his left hand “-is the Upside Down, and
this-” he raises his right “-is our world. So they kind of exist next to each other and kind of
just…”
Will shuffles his hands, careful to keep them together.
“It just… stayed like that. Close, but still separate. But then…”
“You got taken.” Steve whispers.

“Exactly. Vecna hopped over the tectonic plate boundary and took me over, and the cross got
the plates too close, so they got stuck.”
“The biggest earthquakes happen when the plates are stuck.” Dustin whispers.
“Exactly.” Will says. “And the tectonic plates don’t want to be stuck, so they’re trying to
move, but because of the fact that there are things keeping it connected in both worlds-”
“It’s completely stuck. They can't move.” Dustin says.
“The- in the Upside Down, it was frozen. The day you went missing, Will.” Nancy says. “Do
you think-”
“Its time got stuck. The Upside Down’s the one that got stuck on our world, and it- it’s
frozen.” Will says. “And now it’s trying to free itself.”
“Wait, how- what role does Vecna play, then?” Erica asks.
“There are the, um… the three types of tectonic plate interactions.”
“The… lateral sliding, subduction, and spreading, right?” Robin asks.
“Yeah. But they were doing the lateral sliding already, and they sure aren’t spreading.”
“So they’re subducting.” Steve says.
“Yeah. They’re stuck pushing against each other, and when they give, one’s gonna go under
the other and disappear. Get absorbed.” Will says.
They all sit for a minute.
“So… Vecna’s trying to keep the Upside Down plate from being the one subducted.” Lucas
says.
“I think so.” Will says. “I mean… the Upside Down’s the one stuck, right? Well… he doesn’t
want that. He wants our world to be the one absorbed, not the other way around. But the
thing is, while they’re stuck-”
“Things are coming through.” Robin says.
“Yeah.” Will nods.
“Okay. So… if things are coming through from the Upside Down to Hawkins, and we can go
to the Upside Down, too-”
“We could go through and kill Vecna.” Dustin says. “But- wait, would that even work?”
“I don’t know.” Will says. “It might slow it, but there are still things keeping the tectonic
plates moving.”
It’s quiet for a minute, all of them thinking.
“What if we severed the connections?” Will asks suddenly. “If there’s nothing holding the
plates together and no pressure pushing them together, they’ll stop submerging. Even if the
Upside Down’s effects don’t go away, it’ll at least slow or stop.”
“Okay. So- how would we do that?” Lucas asks.

“Kill every connection.” Nancy says, looking like she’s had her ‘eureka’ moment. “Every
demogorgon that comes through, the Mindflayer, Vecna - every single connection. We beat it
back into the Upside Down. Every single one.”
The gravity of Nancy’s suggestion feels like a suffocating blanket of silence over the
basement. It’s the only plan they’ve got, but it’s gonna be damn near impossible to destroy
every connection.
Dustin breaks the silence first. “Alright. We hunt them down, take them out, and sever each
connection until this stops - or we at least have time to figure out another solution. Who’s
in?”
“I’m in.” Steve says, looking around at them. “We’ve faced worse odds before, guys, we can
do this.”
There are murmurs of agreement all around.
Will, however, stays silent.
He has True Sight. He’s been connected to the Upside Down since he was twelve years old.
He’s been an incubator for its creatures, been its vessel, been part of it since he was first
taken into it by Vecna. He’s a connection, too. Will idly wonders if they realize that means
he’ll have to die, too.
He shakes it off. That doesn’t matter. At least that’ll be taken care of when Vecna gets him.
And at least his family and friends won’t have to be the ones to take his life.
Will (and 001) have done a good job of making sure of that.
And, just in time, comes the sound of the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Chapter End Notes
Oh no.
Get yourselves ready for the next chapter. It's rated NC-17, and it's gonna hurt.
Anyway! Enjoy!
Memories
Chapter Notes
15k words. 40 pages. Weeks of revision. This is either my magnum opus - my pièce de
résistance - or the weirdest thing you've ever read. The one we've all been waiting for.
Let me know which you think it is!
Overall rating: NC-17.

Trigger warnings:
- Childhood sexual assault
- Child abuse
- Gang-rape
- Victim-blaming
- Suicidal thoughts
- Self-hatred
- Slurs
- Language
- Death
- Survivor’s guilt
- Homophobia
Thank you for reading and stay safe!
Will’s stuck in the Upside Down again. He creeps between the vines, breathing in the toxic air
as he listens to the roars of demogorgons in the distance. He can’t be detected.
Across the landscape of the vined plane, though, he sees something.
Will sees a figure that’s higher than the ground, and though it’s in the Upside Down, he sees
the bright colors of whatever it is and knows that it’s not a Demogorgon. Maybe it’s a way
out, maybe another person? He slowly goes closer.
Once he’s close, he sees that it’s a human. A little boy.
“Kid?” Will asks gently and quietly. “Who are you? How did you get here?”
He gently touches the boy’s shoulder, and when he turns, Will gasps.
It’s a twelve-year-old him, covered in the Upside-Down slime and with vines sliding up his
neck and chest. His eyes are white, and dried blood is streaked down from his forehead, chin,
and nose.
He’s obviously dead.
“They’re all going to die.” he says. “And it’s going to be all your fault.”
Will shoots up with a loud gasp, soaked in sweat and panting. His nose starts to drip blood, so
he cups his hand on his upper lip so as not to stain Mike’s sheets.
He looks over to the other side of the bed and, much to his relief, sees that Mike’s still asleep.
Thank God.
Will slips out of bed, socked feet and the bottoms of his pajama pants hitting the carpet as he
quietly pads out of Mike’s room and down the hall to the bathroom.
Once he’s there, he turns on the light before shutting and locking the door. He goes to the
sink, which he leans over as crimson drips onto the porcelain tile.
Will presses on the bridge of his nose until it stops bleeding, and once it does, he cleans off
his face and the sink with a wad of toilet paper before tossing it out, still gasping for air.
He can feel his breaths come even shorter as his hands start to shake, so he searches through
the medicine cabinet for his pill bottles filled with Xanax and Zoloft and antibiotics and anti-
seizure medications, knocking over some bottles with trembling hands in the process.
He finds them after a minute, and he doses out three Xanax and two Zoloft before popping
them in his mouth and swallowing them with a cupped handful of water from the faucet.
Once they’re down, Will sighs and rests his head against the cool mirror, fighting to get
enough air. He’s so sick of this. The nightmares, the medicine, the panic attacks, the
memories, the guilt… it takes and takes until Will has nothing left, and even then, it demands
more. He’s so tired. He’s so tired of all of it.
“Hey.” says someone from the doorway.
Will jumps and looks up into the mirror, where he sees the reflection of Mike leaning on the
bathroom doorframe and watching him, arms crossed and feet braced against the opposite
side of the frame.
Wait. Didn’t he shut and lock the door? And- is he wearing his hearing aids? When did he put
them in?
Will ignores it. He’s exhausted and scared, and he was distracted by the nosebleed and the
nightmare. He’s just imagining things again.
“God, Mike, don’t scare me like that.” Will exhales, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink
and hanging his head. “Too much scary shit is happening for you to sneak up on me like a
ninja at… whatever unholy time this is.”
Mike doesn’t respond to that, just continuing to lean on the doorframe casually and watching
Will.
“You okay? Why’d you get up?” Mike asks after a minute.
“Oh. Just, uh…” Will makes a weird gesticulation and looks away from Mike’s eyes in the
mirror. “...it’s nothing.”
Mike gets up from the doorframe and strides over, leaning against the wall next to the mirror.
“Bull.” he says coolly. “Why do you keep lying to me, Will?”
“What?” Will asks, looking over into Mike’s eyes directly. “I- I’m not lying.”
“Bullshit.” Mike says in the same tone. “I know when you’re lying, and you’ve been doing it
near-constantly for a while now.”
Will stares at him in panic and fear and dread. “I-”
“One thing. Please, Will, one truth. Just tell me one true thing.” Mike requests, looking at him
with the dark brown eyes Will loves so much. They look weird in this light, but it’s late and
shadows always seem weird in bright light in the middle of the night. It’s probably just his
imagination.
Will stares at him before nodding and taking a deep breath, nervously looking down at his
feet. With how Mike’s been acting, he wouldn’t judge or hurt Will for telling him, right?
He squeezes his eyes shut and twists his hands into the fabric of his pajama pants as he blurts
it out. “I’m gay, Mike.” he says.
His admission is met with nothing but silence.
“I like guys, not- not girls. I- I always have, but I just- I only realized a few years ago.” Will
blurts, and upon Mike’s continued silence, he speaks again. “Is that… is that okay? Is that
okay with you? Having a gay friend?”
“Of course it is.” Mike says softly, and Will could cry, he’s so relieved. Mike doesn’t hate
him. He knows and is okay with still keeping Will around.
“I mean… there has to be a way to fix you, right?” Mike continues.
And with those words, Will’s heart falls from where it was light and happy to shatter into a
million pieces on the tiled floor.
“I… I mean, I- I’ve heard about these conversion therapies that help with that kind of thing.
I’m sure they could do something. I bet they could fix you.” Mike continues.
With tears in his eyes and a shake in his barely-audible voice, Will whispers “I- I’m not
broken.”
A hand comes on his shoulder. “Will, you’re sick. But it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together
and find a way to cure you.”
Will shoves off the hand and steps back, breathing heavily as he fights not to break down. “I-
I’m not sick. I’m not broken. I- I don’t need to be cured or fixed.”
It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t completely believe his words, because how could he, how
could Mike say that to him?
Mike’s words hang in the air, making it impossible to breathe and suffocating Will’s hopes
and reliefs from just a moment ago. His chest’s too tight, the hurt and disbelief and old
memories making his chest physically hurt.
“I- I’m not sick. I’m not broken. I don’t need to be cured or fixed. There’s- there’s nothing
wrong with me, Mike. How- why would you say that? How could you say that?” Will
whispers, his voice breaking.
“I’m just trying to help you, Will.” Mike says in the voice that’s always soothed in the past
but now just twists the knife in his heart. “The sickness, it… it messes with your thoughts.
But we can fix it together. Fix you together.”
Tears are dripping down Will’s face and off his chin now. The same boy who defended him
from homophobic bullies, the same boy who scribbled out graffiti on bathroom stalls calling
him a fag with a Sharpie, the same boy who told him that Lonnie wasn’t justified in hitting
him even if Will did end up being gay… he thinks Will’s sick. He thinks Will’s broken.
The boy that he’s loved as long as he can remember thinks he needs to be cured.
“Wait. Did- did you really think that there’s nothing wrong with- with that?” Mike asks in
disbelief. “Did- did you really think I would accept a faggot with open arms? That I would
accept you staying as a disgusting freak and not even trying to change? Did- did you really
think that?”
Will wraps his arms around himself and stares at the wall as he cries, starting to rock in a
desperate attempt to self-soothe. “No, no, no, no…” he murmurs to himself. “No, no, no,
no…”
“Oh my God, did you have a- a crush on me or something? That’s so disgusting. That’s so-
oh my God, that’s so creepy. All those hugs, all the times I took care of you, those were all
times for you to be a- a pervert and fantasize about me, weren’t they?” Mike says.
Mike takes steps forward as he continues to express his disgust, and Will backs up until his
back hits the wall, Mike getting in his face. “You’re sick, Will, but it’s okay. I’m not gonna
give up until I get my friend back.”
He takes another step closer, and while Mike’s bigger than Will - he’s six foot compared to
Will’s 5’8, leaving a four-inch height difference - he feels like he’s bigger than that,
suffocating Will as the air gets harder to breathe.
Suddenly, it hits him.
Mike wouldn’t act like this.
He wouldn’t be calling him slurs or saying he’s a pervert.
It’s a lie.
“Vecna.” Will whispers.
Mike smiles, but it’s not the smile Will loves that makes his heart race. It’s cruel and sharp
instead of warm and sweet.
“The names you come up with for me are so amusing.” he says.
Will pushes himself along the wall, away from Not-Mike, until he’s no longer trapped, at
which point he stands facing Vecna as his breath becomes even more shallow and rapid and
he fumbles with the doorknob - when did the door close?
He finally gets it open without looking away from Vecna (who’s just standing there, why is he
just standing there) for a single second, but when he turns to go through the door, it’s just a
brick wall behind the wooden door.
Will turns back around to look at Vecna, who’s calmly watching Will with a completely
neutral expression. “There is no escape, Will.” he says, still in Mike’s voice, still with Mike’s
face. “There’s nowhere to go. You cannot escape the past, and you cannot escape me.”
“Stop looking like him.” Will hisses instead, tears rolling down his face and dripping down
his chin. “Stop wearing his face like- like a fucking mask. Stop it.”
Not-Mike smiles again, and after a second, he’s gone, as is the bathroom.
He’s in darkness, and the floor is wet.
Will looks around the black void in panic and confusion, trying to figure out where, exactly,
he is.
“Do you prefer this?” comes a voice that haunts Will’s nightmares.
He whips around, only to see dark, cruel, glittering eyes, black hair, and graying stubble.
Will starts to back away from Lonnie as he comes closer. “Do you like this more?” he asks.
He stumbles and falls, but he doesn’t stop moving, trying to crawl away in a crab-walk with
his eyes still locked on his father.
“No escape, Bill.” Lonnie sneers, his voice echoing in the dark. “You really thought you
could escape the past if you ran fast enough? Thought you could ever escape me? You foolish
boy.”
Will gasps for air as he continues trying to get away, desperately trying to keep the fear from
overwhelming him so that he can think of how to escape. The darkness presses in, making
every inch moved feel impossible.
“I am your everything.” Lonnie says, still coming closer. “I own you. Didn’t you know that? I
own your body. I own your thoughts. And you still thought you could escape.”
Will whimpers as tears blur his vision, rendered unable to speak from the fear.
“I know, Bill. I’m in your head. You think about me all the time. About what we did. It’s so
pathetic, just like you. You’re so weak. You have an eating disorder, just like a worthless little
bitch, and that’s on top of everything else. I mean, not only did you not fight to protect
yourself against me, but you didn’t even fight against the other men. You wanna know why,
Billy-boy? Because you liked it.” Lonnie says, still stepping forward toward Will.
Will shakes his head frantically as he sobs.
“Don’t lie, I know you did. You loved it, you little whore. You just took it, and oh, Lord, how
hot you were when you were pretending you didn’t like it.” Lonnie smiles.
“No.” Will whispers. “No- no, I- I didn’t- I didn’t-”
“I took your virginity. I took your innocence. I left marks on your body, inside and out. I
marked you, Bill, and now your body belongs to me. Do you still have them, Bill? Do you
still have those scars, those burns and slash marks and lines? Do you still have that feeling of
my cum dripping out of you branded into your brain? I know you do. You know that they’re
like a brand that tells everyone just whose pretty little thing you are. Do you hate yourself for
that, Bill? Oh, I know you do. I know you hate yourself for the pure, good parts of you that
are gone - that I took away - and the disgusting mess I left instead.” Lonnie smiles. “And you
know why you should hate yourself for that? Because it was your fault. Everyone hates you
as much as you do, and they’d hate you even more if they knew.”
“Don’t believe me, huh? Think of how easily they got over your death when you disappeared.
They don’t give a single fuck about you, and they’d hate you even more if you ever told. Just
try!”
Lonnie’s gone, leaving Will alone, and he looks around for his father in a panic. Where did he
go?
When Will fails to locate his father, he gets to his feet, his whole body trembling and tense as
he desperately tries to figure out whatever threat’s going to be thrown at him next.
“Will?” comes a softer voice instead of his father’s rage instead.
Will turns again to see his mom standing in the void, looking at him with tears in her eyes.
“Mom?” he asks shakily.
She just looks at him for a minute, pain in her eyes, before she starts to speak. “Is- is what he-
is what your father said true? Did you- did you have sex with him?”
Another tear tracks down Will’s cheek. “I didn’t want to.” he whispers.
His mom takes a step backwards. “I- you- he cheated on me. He cheated on me with you.”
Will shakes his head. “I- Mom- Mom, please, I- I didn’t want to- please-”
She starts to cry. “It’s not bad enough you’re a queer, you’re a cheater, too.”
“Mom- Mom, I didn’t want to-” Will pleads. “Please, don’t- don’t hate me, I don’t- I didn’t
want to-”
So even if he doesn’t believe it, he blurts it out in the desperate hope that it’ll make his mom
forgive him. “He- Mom, he- it wasn’t my fault, he- he raped me- I didn’t want to help him
cheat, please- please just believe me, I didn’t want to-”
She stares at him, but instead of the usual love and protectiveness and anxiety that’s in her
gaze and on her face, there’s pure anger.
“Did you say no?” she demands. “Will. Did you say no?”
Will hiccups. “I- I tried-” he says. “I tried to, but- it just made things w-worse, so I- I would
just cry and- and let it happen-”
“So you didn’t fight back either?” she asks. When Will nods with another sob, she starts
shouting.
“YOU LIAR! YOU WEREN’T RAPED, YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO COVER UP THE
FACT THAT YOU’RE WORTHLESS! YOU SEDUCED YOUR OWN FATHER, MY
HUSBAND, AND CONVINCED HIM TO CHEAT ON ME WITH YOU! YOU’RE
DISGUSTING! I WISH I HAD LET YOU DIE!”
Will covers his head with his arms and sinks to the floor in a crouch as he weeps. “I- I didn’t
want to- I didn’t want to-” he repeats in a whisper over and over. “I- I didn’t want to- please,
Mom, don’t hate me, I didn’t want to-”
“Tell the truth.” Vecna says, his voice echoing in Will’s head. “If it was really assault, you
would have fought back. You would have said no. You would have done anything to make it
stop. But instead, you just took it and laid there. That’s not assault. That's just being
promiscuous.”
“I'm not.” Will pleads. “I'm- I'm not- I'm not promiscuous- I'm not a slut-”
“Then why- why did you pick my boyfriend?” El asks from where she’s taken his mom's
place. “You chose to like him. Even though he was dating me. It is not okay.”
“I didn't mean to, El, I- I couldn't help it, but I- I tried to make your relationship stronger- I
wasn't letting my- my feelings get in the way, I- I tried to make you both happier-” Will says.
“I- I love you both, and I just- just want you to be happy-”
“LIAR!” El shouts. “IF YOU WANTED ME TO BE HAPPY, YOU WOULD NOT HAVE
CHOSEN MIKE!”
“I- El, I- I didn’t choose- I wouldn’t have if I could-” Will cries. “Please- please, don’t hate
me-”
Like a flash, she’s gone, and he’s alone in the darkness again.
“You keep so many secrets, William. So much hidden. And all so that you can be loved, so
that you will not be alone. You run from the past, but in the end, it will always catch up to
you. There is no end in sight, and one day, you will succumb. You cannot escape the past,
William, and you cannot escape from me.”
Will gets back to his feet, covering his ears as he stumbles in the darkness of the void. But
suddenly, it’s not the void-
He’s six again and watching from the hallway as his parents fight in the kitchen. His dad has
a beer in his hand and is shouting at his mom as she screams right back at him. Will wants
them to stop fighting. He wishes that they would just stop shouting.
Will goes from the hallway back to his room, and he doesn’t come out, even when his mom
cries out before the house goes silent. He knows she must be hurt, but he’s too scared to go
and keep her safe.
So he just stays in his room.
“There is a reason you have to keep so many secrets, William, and it is because you have
done truly terrible things. You not only failed to protect yourself against your father, but you
failed to protect the ones you love, turning a blind eye to what he did to your mother and
brother. Such a selfish act of ignorance. Do you think they would still love you if they knew?
If they knew any of what you’ve done?”
Will cries as he runs through his house in Hawkins, desperately trying to escape, but when he
gets to his room-
He’s eight. His dad’s been doing the Bad Thing for four years now. Will can hardly remember
a time when he didn’t.
Will’s quietly coloring when he hears his footsteps coming down the hall. He knows what that
means, what the heavier sound of one foot than the other means: his dad’s drunk, and he’s
coming to hurt Will.
He’s up in a second, and he’s immediately going into and hiding in his closet behind his
hanging clothes.
Will’s bedroom door opens and closes again, and he covers his mouth and nose to keep quiet.
If his dad can’t find Will, he’ll get bored and leave, and then Will can escape through his
window and bike to Mike’s house until his mom and Jon get home and it’s safe again.
“Bill. Come out. I know you’re in here.” Lonnie says.
Will doesn’t answer, staying stock still and silent in the hopes of going unnoticed.
“Now.” his dad says.
Will still doesn’t answer. Please, please, please, just go away-
His dad swings open the closet door, reaches through the clothes, and grabs Will, pulling him
back into his room.
Will squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his mouth as Lonnie’s alcohol-soaked breath
hits his face.
“Why were you hiding?” his dad asks. “I’m your dad. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Will doesn’t respond to the lie, just keeping his eyes shut.
His dad sighs. “You know that you aren’t supposed to hide from me, Bill. Go sit on the bed.
I’ll punish you in a minute.”
A tear slips down Will’s cheeks as he tightens his mouth so that he doesn’t cry. It didn’t work.
His dad’s still going to hurt him.
“Don’t cry.” Lonnie says, wiping away the tear before cupping Will’s chin and tilting his
head up. “There’s no need to cry. It’s not that bad. You trust me, don’t you?”
Will just tries not to think about it.
“You trust me, don’t you?” his dad repeats.
And in return, he gets backhanded across the face, biting his lip so that he doesn’t cry out.
His dad doesn’t like when he makes noise.
“I said, don’t you trust me?” Lonnie asks. “Answer me, Bill.”
Will stays still for a second before nodding.
“I don’t believe you.” Lonnie says. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have been hiding.”
Will hates it when he asks like that. There’s no right answer. Either way, he’ll get hurt.
“Go lay down on the bed.” his dad orders. “You’re lying. That deserves to be punished, don’t
you think?”
Will doesn’t answer. When will his mom get home? His dad always stops when his mom gets
home.
“I said go lay down on your bed.” Lonnie hisses.
Will knows that the more he complies, the sooner it’s over. So, even if he doesn’t want to, he
walks over with shaking legs and sits down on the edge of his bed, looking at the carpet
below.
“See? It’s not so hard to listen to me, is it, Bill? I love you. I’m just doing what’s best for
you.”
Will doesn’t react except to close his eyes again as Lonnie pushes him down onto his back
and starts to get over him, undoing his belt.
Once his pants are gone, he starts to undress Will, but-
“No.” Will says in a voice so soft that he can hardly hear it. “Please, Dad, I don’t want to.”
His dad slows, and Will dares to hope, but then-
A sharp burst of pain and a cracking sound as he’s shoved back into the headboard of his
bed.
“What makes you think you have the right to disobey me?” Lonnie snarls. “I’m the adult, not
you. I know better, and I know what’s best for you, not you. I’m just doing my job.”
With that, he continues, and Will just stares at the ceiling as his dad does what he wants to
him.
It’s about ten minutes until Lonnie’s decided he’s done, and twenty until his mom gets home.
The ten minutes between, Will just lies on his bed, and he’s naked and he should be getting
dressed-
When Will hears her car pull up the driveway, he wordlessly wipes himself off with his
blanket and pulls on his shirt and pants, taking a deep breath and making himself smile
before he goes out to say hi.
She asks if he’s okay, gently touching the forming bruise on his face, and he smiles and says
that he’s fine, that he accidentally ran into a wall. He doesn’t want to make his parents fight
again by telling the truth.
Will doesn’t cry until later that night, when he’s running his bath. The door is locked, the
water is hot enough to burn off the evidence of what his dad did, and the second he's safe
enough to do so, the dam breaks, leaving Will crying on the bathroom floor, knees to his
forehead and rocking.
Once he’s done crying, Will takes his bath before going to bed. He ignores his first thought of
fear when he sees the blankets and sheets in the position he left them in, still with the
evidence on them.
Will decides that he just can’t, so he just takes his pillow and his stuffed walrus Walter and
gets in bed with Jon instead.
Will feels bad for making Jon share with him yet again, but he just can’t face what he’s done.
“You okay?” Jon whispers on the other side of the bed, reaching out and taking Will’s hand.
God, Will wants to tell Jonathan. Maybe his big brother could fix it and keep him safe.
But would he even believe Will in the first place?
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Will says.
Jonathan says ‘okay’ and ‘goodnight’ and gives Will a hug and kiss on the forehead before
he goes back to his side of the bed, still holding Will’s hand as he goes to sleep.
Will prays before he goes to sleep, though.
He prays, and he asks God to make his dad stop, for him to be nice to Mom and Jon and Will
and for him to stop hitting and hurting and shouting and doing the Bad Thing.
Will likes to talk to God. It makes him feel less alone. Because if God sees everything, he
knows what his dad is doing - knows the truth about what his dad is doing, and that means
that someone else knows Will’s secret that he can talk to. And if God loves everyone, too, that
means he still loves Will, even though he knows the truth.
Will likes to talk to God. He hopes one day God listens.
"You pray, Will. You pray, but even when you were six, nobody was listening. Even God has
abandoned you.” Vecna says. “Why?”
Will sobs as his brain doesn’t let him leave this horrible, horrible situation.
So, as he’s violated, he prays.
Will doesn’t know what else to do. So even if it’s been a while and he isn’t even sure God’s
listening, he prays, though it’s more of a plea than a prayer. God, God, please, make them
stop. Please, nobody’s helping me, please, please, save me, God. God, please, make them
stop, I’m so scared, please, save me, God, haven’t I suffered enough, please, please, please,
just make them stop, please, I’ll never ask for anything ever again, please, just make them
stop-
The man comes in him with a moan, and in the back of Will’s mind behind all the horror and
disgust at this situation, he worries about the fact that they’re not using protection, oh, God,
is he going to get AIDS?
As that man leaves and another one takes his place, Will speaks again for the first time in a
while.
“Please just kill me.” Will pleads. “Please. Just let me die. Please.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Will hopes that they’re actually considering his suicidal request,
before-
“No.” the man on top of him says coldly.
With that, he takes his turn with Will (like he’s a goddamn object to be passed around and
used, God, he wishes he were dead), telling him how he’s a slut the whole time, before
finishing in him and leaving.
The only thing remotely okay right now is that the other men’s semen as well as Will’s own
blood has provided more of a lubricant. Maybe now it won’t hurt quite as much physically.
Will keeps them squeezed so tightly shut that the muscles in his forehead and around his eyes
hurt. No way. He’s not giving them the satisfaction. Plus, maybe if he keeps his eyes shut, it’ll
be over sooner.
“Open your eyes.” the man says, all hints of amusement gone and replaced with anger.
The man smacks him across the face. “I said open your eyes.”
Will shakes his head again.
The man sighs, and next thing Will knows is teeth on his throat.
It scares him. Unlike the previous hickeys left by the first guy, these are vicious enough to
draw blood, and it causes Will to thrash in a panic. His thoughts are just going in a spiral of
how close his teeth are to Will’s jugular and oh, God, is he going to tear Will’s throat out?
“The more you fight it, the longer this’ll take, darling. Not complaining, though. Feels good
when you move like that.” the man says against Will’s skin.
With that, he takes his turn before someone else takes his place, and all Will can do is sob.
What did he do to deserve this? Hasn’t he suffered enough?
It isn’t long after the fourth man uses him that Will’s body betrays him.
When Will comes, his cry is of despair rather than pleasure.
The other two men take their turns. Both are hitting him over and over and laughing and
calling him all sorts of derogatory names. Slut, whore, telling him he’s nothing and worthless
and practically a prostitute with the way he’s letting them use him… all of them make him
hate himself more. All of them make him wish he were dead more.
After they’re done, a cacophony of footsteps indicates that they’ve left the room. Will hears
the door click shut and lock.
Still lying on the cot where they left him, still covered in cum and his own blood, he slowly
opens his eyes.
He stares at the ceiling for a minute, not moving, hands still on the pillow next to his head,
his wrists already forming the purpling bruises of fingerprints from their grip as they- as
they-
He takes a few breaths, shallow and wheezing due to his bruised ribs and throat. Will doesn’t
know what to do or how to feel. He feels… well, bad, obviously. He feels… scared. And
angry. And hurt and grossed out and humiliated and embarrassed and horrified. And, of
course, there’s the physical pain radiating up his body from his leg and ribs and face and
neck and from where they- fuck, he can’t do this.
Will forces himself to move, to sit up and look at his body. He doesn’t want to look at the
broken, bruised mess of bones and skin that’s supposed to be him, but he has to know the
damage that he’s taken.
He looks down, and is immediately hit by a wave of nausea at the sight. His knee is busted
and bleeding, and his ankle is twisted in a way that’s definitely not right. His ribs and chest
are already becoming mottled with bruises, as are his arms and wrists. Blood from- from
where they- his blood. His blood is soaking into the mattress along with the men’s- bodily
fluids- and the mixture is dripping down his stomach and legs and the inside of his thighs. He
wants to throw up. He wants to kill himself. He wants to scream and cry. He wants to be
silent and never think about this again. He doesn’t know what he wants other than to go back
to before this happened. Will doesn’t care if he were in one of the Party’s D&D campaigns or
even if he were in Lenora getting bullied again as long as he hadn’t lived through this. He’d
even take going back to… an hour ago? Twenty minutes? How long did- how long did what
they did- even take? Has it been hours? Has it been minutes? Does it even matter? Whether it
took hours or minutes, it happened, and now he’s disgusting and damaged and filthy. And no
matter how bad he wants, he can’t reverse it.
Will looks back at his body, analyzing the damaged, disgusting mess that he’s been left as
before he lies back down on the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut again in an attempt not to
vomit. He isn’t sure if it’s the physical damage he’s sustained or the sight of his body slick
with fluid that he didn’t ever want there or the thought of what just happened that’s making
him feel so sick, but it’s hard just to keep from adding vomit to the mess on his stomach.
Closing his eyes doesn’t block out either the pain from his body or the pain from his thoughts.
It just dims the fluorescent lights. He wishes that his eyelids did block out what he’s feeling.
He wishes that he couldn’t feel. Maybe then he wouldn’t have so much pain running through
his nerves and through his mind. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so damn disgusting.
He prays again, though this time, it’s not pleading as much as angry. Why do you keep
putting me through this? Why did you abandon me, God, you lying piece of shit? I trusted
you. I put my faith in you. Why didn’t you save me? Why are you doing this to me? What did I
do to deserve this? Why do you hate me so much that you make me live through all these
horrible things? God, God, why would you let this happen? Why don’t you just let me die?
Please, please, just let me die already. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Will opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling again. He needs to get up and clean up. He can’t
lie here forever. He has to wash himself up and get dressed and try to salvage the cot.
In the poorly-lit small cell where Will Byers lies defiled and broken, quiet sobs begin to echo.
Unfortunately, nobody will hear them. Nobody will care. He is completely, utterly alone.
“GO AWAY!” Will screams, tears still streaming down his face. He’s scared shitless, but he
knows it’s a lie, he knows, he can get through this if he just focuses on being angry instead of
the pain.
“God doesn’t listen to you because you are nothing. You are a sinner, Will. You are the
physical embodiment of the sins of lust, gluttony, envy, and pride, and on top of that, you
sleep around - and with men, at that. You’re a homosexual, too - do you really think God
loves homosexuals too?”
Will’s seven. He’s at St. Gabriel’s, the Catholic church in the area, sitting in one of the
wooden pews with his dad. He’s wearing a suit and tie and scuffed dress shoes, and he’s been
sitting here for an hour.
Will doesn’t like church. He likes synagogue. At synagogue, he’s allowed to wear a button-up
shirt and jeans and sneakers, and they talk about why God loves all of us no matter what, and
the Torah teacher always sneaks Will and the other kids cookies during lessons. It’s
comfortable, and happy, and it feels like home.
But at church, he has to wear a suit and shoes that make his skin itchy and his feet hurt, and
they talk about how God is loving but vengeful to all who aren’t good Christians who follow
every rule, and his dad keeps a painfully tight grip on Will’s shoulder through the whole
service. It makes Will feel icky.
“Many ask why God created sin!” says the priest. “It’s so that humanity can partake in the
act of saving, just as our lord did! For when we save sinners and keep ourselves from sin, we
are elevated to be good in the eyes of the Lord!”
Will tries not to squirm. He’s supposed to sit still, but he wants to be outside and barefoot in
the grass instead of wearing these shoes that make his feet hurt.
“As we gather here today, we must confront the harsh truth of sin. Sin separates us from the
love of God, and it is our duty to not only resist its temptation, but to help others resist as
well.”
Will doesn’t know what that means, but he just wants to leave.
“God’s love is not unconditional!” calls the priest. “It is reserved for those who lead
righteous lives, free from the stain of sin. Those who deviate from His path, who indulge in
sinful desires, will face His wrath.”
Will wonders what his friends are doing. Their dads don’t make them go to church unless it’s
a special occasion, and so they get to be at home. Will hopes they aren’t watching ‘The
Breakfast Club’ without him. It’s his favorite movie.
“This has been seen most recently in the homosexuals! They gave in to their sinful desires
instead of fighting to get back to God’s love, and now they suffer from this disease! AIDS,
they call it, but I call it God’s punishment! God does not love fags, and now they suffer His
wrath!”
But Rabbi Abramowitz says that God loves everyone, no matter who they love or what they
look like or how they dress. He says God is love, and if God is for everyone, love should be
too, no matter who someone is. Rabbi Abramowitz says to be kind to people with AIDS,
because they’re hurting and they deserve kindness. He says that they should smile at
everyone and be kind and loving, because God wants them to love everyone just like He loves
them.
And Will’s mom says that God made everyone different for a reason, and if he made a person,
they can’t be naturally bad. So why does the priest say that God doesn’t love them and wants
them dead?
“God’s love is a gift bestowed upon the faithful! Let us strive to cleanse our souls of sin and
walk in His light, for only then shall we find redemption!”
Will turns to his dad. “But I thought God loved everyone.” he says quietly. “Even me. Why is
the pastor saying God doesn’t love me?”
His dad looks angry, and he holds Will so tightly that it hurts for the rest of the sermon.
When they get home, he beats Will up so bad that he limps and has trouble breathing.
Everything hurts.
He collapses at school Monday. He can’t breathe. When they take him to the hospital, they
find that he broke his ribs, and one hurt his lung so badly that it filled with fluid and blood.
They have to put a tube in his side to keep his lungs empty. Will hates it.
He has to go back to the church the next week.
“SHUT UP!” Will shouts.
“Maybe the synagogue was wrong about God, and the pastor was the one who was right.
Maybe God hates you, too.” Vecna says.
He's sitting in the backseat of the car. He’s four. Jon just got dropped off at school and they
picked up groceries on the way home. His mommy took the day off cause her face hurts where
Daddy hit. She wore the hood of her jacket up in the store to hide the marks.
She drives them home, but before she takes Will out of his car seat, she puts her face in her
hands and sits there for a minute.
"Mommy?" he asks.
"It's okay, sweetie, I'm okay." she says, and when she lets go of her face, there's water going
down her cheeks that are all purple and black where Daddy hit.
Will doesn’t want his mommy to be sad. He loves his mommy. So he takes a sticker off the
sheet that he got at the store for being a good boy and puts it on her cheek when she comes to
get him from his car seat.
"What-? Honey, honey, that's yours. You keep that." she says.
“You’we sad. Stickews make me happy when I’m sad. So you need a stickew.” Will says.
She starts crying again as she hugs him really tight. Will thinks she’s holding him too tight
and too long, though, so after a minute, he starts wiggling around.
“Okay, okay, sorry.” she smiles, wiping her eyes as she unbuckles Will from his car seat.
“Let’s get the ice cream into the freezer and then play, okay?”
“Okay!” Will agrees, grabbing his mommy’s hand as they go inside.
Once she puts away the groceries, they play Legos for an hour before they watch TV and eat
popsicles.
Will feels bad that his mommy’s hurting, but he likes having her home to be with him.
“It would make sense that God hates you. So selfish. You wished for your mother's pain so
that she would stay home.” Vecna says.
“NO, I DIDN’T! FUCK YOU!” Will shouts.
His parents are fighting again. Instead of being in his own room and listening, Will’s decided
to be in Jon’s instead, lying in his big brother’s bed as Jon works on his homework and Will
colors. He’s nine.
“Hey, Jon?” Will asks.
Jon makes a noise of ‘I’m listening’.
“Do you think I’m a faggot?” Will asks.

Jon spins in his chair, hurt and angry and sad on his face.
“Why- why would you ask that?” he asks.
Will shrugs as he flips the page of his coloring book and starts to draw Chester, who’s laying
at Will’s feet. “Dunno. That’s what they’re fighting about, though, right?”
Jon takes a deep breath. “Will. They are fighting because Dad is a major dick. It has nothing
to do with you, okay?”
Will shrugs again. “Kinda has something to do with me. I’m why they’re fighting. Mom heard
Dad yelling at me about being friends with Lucas and she got mad.”
“What did he say about you and Lucas?” Jon asks.
Will doesn’t answer, detailing Chester’s fur.
“Will, come on. You can talk to me.” Jonathan says. “Please?”
“Dad called Lucas some… very bad words.” Will says after a minute. “Things that you
shouldn’t say. And then he told me that it wasn’t bad enough I had to be a queer, but that I
had to like a… very bad word for Black… faggot too.”
Jonathan looks downright murderous as their parents fight rages on in the background.
“Look, Will. It doesn’t matter if you end up being gay or not. Hell, it doesn’t matter if Lucas
ends up being gay, or if you two end up dating at some point. But Dad had no right to say
that, or to call you and Lucas slurs. Okay?” Jonathan says.
He’s quiet for a minute before he asks: “But- Jonathan, really. Do you think I’m a queer?”
Jonathan sighs. “Will…” he starts, his voice soft but resolute. “I don’t know if you’re gay.
But what matters most is who you are as a person, not who you love. Whether you like girls
or guys or neither or both, it doesn’t change how much I love you and what you’re worth.”
Will sets down his sketchbook and listens to Jonathan.
“So I don’t know if you’re gay. Hell, I doubt you even know if you’re gay yet. But… Will,
whoever you are, however you feel, you’re still a good person. You’re still kind and smart and
brave, and who you are, who you love… it doesn’t matter. Not really. Okay?” Jonathan says.
Will nods. “Okay.” he says, smiling tearily.
Jon leans his desk chair back and ruffles Will’s hair affectionately before going back to his
homework.
As Will starts to draw again, his hands start to shake.
Even if Jon says he would still love him… what if he knew about what he and Lonnie did?
“William, there’s a reason you feel guilty. And it is because you knew it was wrong. But you
still did not make him stop. You have abilities, William, far greater than anybody else - but
you still did not stop any of this from happening.”
“I COULDN’T!” Will shouts. “I TRIED!”

“Like you tried to save me?” Bob asks, appearing in the void as Will’s thrown back into it.
“I’m dead because of you. You’re the reason I’m gone. That’s what you trying gets the people
you care about: killed.”
“I’m sorry, Bob.” Will says, and he’s scared and confused, but he does mean it. “I’m so sorry.
I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
As he apologizes, Bob’s gone again, and Will’s thrown into another scenario.
He's six and small again, only up to his daddy's waist. As he watches Mike get in his
mommy's car and drive away from Hawkins Elementary School, a large hand slams into his
back, sending him flying down the stairs. After a few horrible seconds of hitting and sliding
down the steps, he lands at the bottom with a sickening crack.
"I told you to stop being so touchy with that Wheeler boy, Billy." Daddy says matter-of-factly.
"If you're not careful, people are going to think you're a queer." Will thinks to himself how his
daddy is scariest when he's cold-mad. When his daddy's hot-mad, screaming at him and Jon
and Mommy, Will knows it's coming, and he can hide or brace himself. But when his daddy's
cold-mad, he can't tell when he's going to hurt Will, and cold-mad means that he acts calm
and content, so Will can't even tell whether his daddy's happy with him or going to hurt him.
Will moves to get up, but he's in too much pain. He raises a shaking, small left hand to his
right wrist, which is bent at as awkward of an angle as his ankle, tears welling in his eyes. He
can already feel painful bruises growing, and it pairs with the blood seeping from a cut on his
scalp that he got during the fall and the way that his head hurts on the inside too. He wants
to scream, but he knows that's going to make his daddy mad, and he wants to be good for his
daddy so that he'll love Will. Will knows that if he can just be good enough, his daddy will
love him again, and then he'll stop hurting Will.
Will knows that he deserves it, even if he wants it to stop. He knows that his daddy's good,
and that he would never hurt him if he didn't have to. But Will's bad, so Daddy needs to fix
him so that he's good again.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." Will sobs. "I'm sorry."

Will can't walk, so his daddy takes him to the emergency room. The doctor is nice. He lets
Will pick two blue casts, one for his foot and one for his hand. He gets crutches, two casts,
fourteen stitches, and a cherry lollipop, which he accepts happily. His daddy says that he fell
down the stairs. His daddy says it was an accident. Will says nothing. His daddy loves him.
That's why he took him to the doctor. Because his daddy loves Will.
Right?
"STOP IT!" a fifteen year old Will screams, tears rolling down his face. He's bigger than he
was at six, but he's still the same scared, confused little boy.
He's eight. He's sobbing in the dark of his closet. Dad did the Bad Thing to Will and shut him
in the closet. He can hear the sound of the TV in the living room. M*A*S*H, if Will is right.
It’s always M*A*S*H. It’s his dad’s favorite show. Will hates it. All it makes him think of is
moments just like this.
He's glad that his dad forgot about him. He may be trapped, but being trapped and not
actively threatened is better than being free and in danger. His slim shoulders shake with the
effort of keeping his cries quiet. After the years, he's taught himself to cry silently. He can't
draw his father's attention. He's learned to hide. He's learned how to play dead - to feel dead.
"FUCK YOU! WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME RELIVE THIS!?" Will screams into the
watery abyss. He can't live through this again. He can't.
He's ten. He picks a fight with Jonathan after Troy writes 'faggot' on his locker in permanent
marker. It's the third time this week. The janitor comes and scrubs it off in front of the whole
school every time. His eyes burn as he's shoved around more than usual in the halls. He's
yelling at Jonathan for getting on his nerves, even though it’s not his fault that Will's
humiliated and hurt and angry. He throws a chair and storms out. He's becoming his father.
He punches himself in the leg until he feels the pain he deserves to feel. He cries like the
pussy that his dad knew he was all along. He waits for it to turn red, then the purple of a
fresh bruise, before going back in, sobbing his apologies to Jonathan. Jonathan comforts
him, shushing and rocking him, telling him it's okay. It's a lie, and Will knows it. It's not okay.
He's the same as Lonnie.
"NO!" fifteen-year-old Will cries. "NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He's thirteen. The kids at school won't leave him alone. Everyone calls him fairy, freak,
faggot, zombie, queer. They push Will around when Mike isn’t there to protect him. He's a
bother to Mike. To everyone, really. He wishes that he wasn’t saved from the Upside Down
and the Mindflayer. He wishes his family and friends had just let him die.
That's what he thinks as he looks over the ledge, down into the quarry where they found his
body. One step, and he could make it stop. He inches closer and closer, sneakers half off the
edge before Lucas pulls up on his bike for their hangout. Will steps back and acts like he
wasn’t just about to jump. Nobody notices, and if they did, they didn't say anything.
"NO! I'M NOT GIVING IN! FUCK YOU, HENRY!" Will screams.
Will's nine. He's learned what his dad does to him - the Bad Thing - is called sex. Will decides
that he doesn’t like sex. It hurts, and it's scary, and it makes him feel all gross and dirty and
bad.
According to the book he's reading from the library, it's supposed to be between a girl and a
boy who are both grown-ups and married and want a baby. That confuses Will. Will's dad is
his dad, not his husband, they’re both boys, and Will can't have a baby and doesn't want to,
and he's a kid, not a grown-up.
But then again, the book might be lying. It says sex feels nice, and that's not true, so maybe
there are other lies in there.
Either way, it's bad. He doesn't want to do it ever again. But he knows he doesn't have a
choice.
“STOP! PLEASE!” Will begs. “PLEASE! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS!”
Will’s seven. It’s a sunny summer day, and they blew up the inflatable kiddie pool so that Will
could cool off. His mom went to work, his dad’s watching a football game, and Jonathan is
inside his room.
He basks in the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the water. He loves summer. It’s the
best time of year. The perfect mixture of swimming, sun, and no school.
“Will.” Jon says by the edge. “I’m gonna go meet a friend in the woods and go for a walk,
okay? Don’t get lost or drown.”
“Okay. Have fun with your friend.” Will says, smiling.
Jon pats his bare, wet shoulder and walks away.
Will slides back down into the water, sighing in contentment. He loves this.
His ears are covered by the water, though, which is unfortunate when he doesn’t hear his dad
coming.
Will’s grabbed by the shoulders and yanked up out of the water, his hair starting to drip.
Before he can ask what’s happening, he sees the angry expression on his dad’s face and is
dunked under.
His head is held under as his dad pulls down his swim shorts and does the Bad Thing, only
let up when he stops moving after too long without air for a few breaths before he’s put back
under the water.
Once he’s done and left Will a gross mess, his dad shoves him back into the water and goes
back inside.
It’s only later that Will learns that his dad lost a bet on the football game, and he was angry.
That’s why he took it out on Will and did that. It wasn’t anything to do with how Will looked.
Will still doesn’t use the pool again, and he still doesn’t wear the shorts again. If there was
even a tiny chance that what he was wearing or what he was doing made his dad do that,
he’ll do anything he can to avoid it.
Will gasps for air, still feeling like his hair’s wet where he was held under the water.
“Do you remember when all of this started? When you started to hate your body?” Vecna
asks. “When hurting yourself started to feel good? Or would you prefer we revisit?”
Will sobs as he’s thrown back in.
He’s four, and he’s coloring with his new crayons. His daddy brought them home from the
store and gave them to him and said ‘Let’s color together!’
Will’s mommy and Jon don’t like him being around his daddy much, but Will doesn’t know
why. His daddy’s nice. His daddy loves him.
“So, kiddo.” Will’s daddy says. “You’re starting school in a few months. You excited?”
Will nods and smiles. “Yeah! Gonna miss Mommy, but I wanna be with Jon all day!”
His dad gives a slight smile back. “Yeah, well… you’re going to be in different classes. But I
was thinking… well, people aren’t as nice as me at school, alright? They aren’t going to like
how feminine you act and dress. So… maybe you should toughen up. I could get you started
playing baseball, have you watch M*A*S*H instead of whatever Disney crap your mom
makes you watch… heck, maybe change your name. ‘Will’ is pretty soft, after all. How about
‘Bill’, instead? That’s a strong American name.”
Will shakes his head and scribbles with the yellow on a printout of a flower in his coloring
book. “I don’t wanna be Bill.” he says. “I wanna be Will. I like being me.”
His dad reaches out and jabs the lit cigarette that was originally in his hand into Will’s bare
forearm, earning a scream as the paper and tobacco burns his skin in a round mark.
“You don’t want to be you.” his daddy snaps. “Being Will, the sensitive little queer, isn’t a
good thing. It’s better to be a good American boy. It’s bad enough your mother is a Jew and a
Mexican and your brother is a stubborn loser. Don’t be a disappointment. Be better.”
Before Will can shake his head and either ask his daddy what ‘queer’ means, or tell him that
his mommy isn’t Mexican, she’s Portuguese, or even ask him why he’s mad enough that he’s
hurting Will again, he’s pushing Will backwards until he’s lying on the carpet on his back, at
which point his daddy starts to undress Will.
“Daddy- daddy, what- daddy, why-” Will asks as his clothes are taken away.
“Hush.” his daddy says. “Be good for me. You want to be good, don’t you?
Will wants his daddy to love him, so he stays still and quiet, even as his daddy puts something
in his mouth then in him and it hurts a lot. He hates it, but he wants his daddy to love him, so
he stays still and quiet.
But then his daddy pulls him into his lap, both of their pants gone, and Will doesn’t
understand, it hurts-
“Daddy-” Will cries as his daddy lifts him up and drops him down again and again by his
hips, moaning and cursing. “Daddy, hurts- please, don’t like it-”
“It wouldn’t hurt if you’d relax.” he tells Will.
Will tries to be good and relax, but it still hurts.

“Daddy- daddy, still hurts- don’t want to, please-” Will begs.
“Just wait. It’ll feel good soon.” his daddy grunts.
It doesn’t, but by the time Will opens his mouth to say so, his daddy’s opening his mouth and
his eyes are rolling back before he leans forward and bites Will’s shoulder.
Will sobs. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like this feeling, he doesn’t like his daddy’s teeth or
bare skin, he doesn’t like the sticky hot in him, he doesn’t like this.
Once his daddy’s done with whatever he’s doing, he’s picking Will up and setting him back
down on the carpet. His daddy gets up and leaves, and Will, still naked and shaking, scoots
away from his coloring and curls up in the corner, his knees to his forehead as he rocks back
and forth.
It isn’t long before his daddy comes back, crouching next to Will on the floor.
Will scoots away from his daddy and looks at him with fear as tears well in his eyes and roll
down his cheeks and he sniffles, burying the lower half of his face in his legs.
“I’m sorry, Bill.” his daddy says, reaching out and stroking his hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t
mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I’m sorry.”
His daddy grabs his head and plants a kiss on the top of it, ignoring Will squirming away.
“I’m sorry I hurt you so badly. I didn’t mean to. But you understand why I had to punish you,
right? You were being very disobedient and naughty, Bill. I’m your dad, and that means that I
know best. And I took it a little far, but you were being very bad. Do you understand why I
had to do that?”
Will doesn’t understand. Not at all.

But he nods and says, “Yes, Daddy, I understand.”
His daddy gives him a bath, telling him how he can’t tell or Will is going to be taken away
from his mommy and Jon. He keeps asking if Will understands.
Will just keeps saying, “Yes, Daddy, I understand.”
"SHUT UP!” Will screeches. “STOP THIS! I GET IT, I’M BROKEN AND A WHORE
AND WHATEVER ELSE YOU WANT TO CALL ME, BUT- I GET IT! STOP MAKING
ME LIVE THROUGH THIS AGAIN!”
“Oh, your self-hatred is so strong, William. It’s so prominent that you reek of it.”
The food is sitting like a rock in his stomach and he hates it. He wants to get rid of it.
He does.
Will shoves two fingers into his mouth until they’re touching the back of his throat and he’s
gagging and sending his astronomically large dinner down the drain. It hurts like hell, but
once the vomit becomes more acid than food, he wipes his mouth and gets back up.
Will quickly brushes his teeth, grimacing to himself as he thinks about the food, both going
down and coming back up. Once he’s done, he moves to go back downstairs but stops.
Even though throwing it up helped him feel a little better, he still feels bad. And by bad, he
means he hates himself for it. On top of being a fat pig with eating too much and losing
control, he just wasted all of what he ate by throwing it up. It’s not just that he’s a waste of
space, he’s quite literally now a waste of resources that other people could have and should
have used.
He decides to self-medicate. Will takes off his pants, gets out the razor, and starts carving
stripes up the side of his thigh. He does it for fifteen or twenty minutes, only stopping once
blood starts dripping onto the floor. He quickly wipes it up and presses toilet paper against
the wounds, his blood soaking through and making his hands red and sticky. It’s stopped
bleeding, so he removes his hand from the paper, throws it in the toilet, wets some more
squares, and gently wipes down his thigh so that it’s not bloody anymore. Once he’s sure that
it’s not going to bleed through fabric, he puts his pants back on, washes his hands, and goes
downstairs.
“And maybe your self-hatred is justified. This is why you hate your body. Because it is
disgusting. Because you still have the traces of all the sex you have had all over you.” Vecna
tells Will.
“NO!” Will yells. “NO, I WON’T LET YOU IN MY HEAD!”
“I am already there. And what a beautiful mess it is.”
Will’s eight. His mom is taking him shopping for new clothes. Jon always complains when
they have to go clothes shopping, but Will doesn’t mind. He likes the time with his mom.
She’s left him alone for a minute in the JCPenny’s kids section, and he was originally
standing in the boys’ clothes that are all trucks and dinosaurs and cargo shorts, but he’s
drifted over, until he’s standing between the boys’ clothes and the girls’ clothes.
Sure, the T-shirts and flannels and jeans on the boys’ rack on the end are fine and nice and
Will would wear them, but there are a few pieces of clothing on the girls’ rack that keep
catching his eye, even though he wills them not to. What would his father think?
Still, there’s a navy blue pleated skirt that Will wants to wear, and there’s a jean jacket that he
thinks would look good, maybe with the skirt and a white T-shirt and sneakers, but namely
there’s a sweater.
It’s knitted and white and has patterns in the yarn, and Will knows it’s a girl’s sweater, but
God, he wants it. He wants to wear it so badly. It looks so soft and comfortable and pretty.
Will feels weird admitting it, but he wants to look pretty, and he thinks he would in that
sweater.
“Hey, honey, what are you looking at?” his mom says from behind him.
Will jumps and immediately takes a few side-steps to the safety of the boys’ rack.
“Nothing!” Will says, pretending to peruse the T-shirts.
He picks out a flannel, a pair of jeans, and two T-shirts (one navy, one gray) before he nods.
“Alright, ready to go.” Will nods, placing the items into his mom’s basket.
They’re starting to walk away, but Will gives a lingering glance to the sweater before they go,
and his mom stops.
“Will?” she asks.
“Yes?” he responds nervously.
“What were you looking at?” she asks.
“Um… nothing.” Will lies.
She takes his hand and leads him back over to the racks. “What were you looking at,
sweetie?” she asks gently. “We can get it for you if you want it.”
Will looks around, trying to think of a lie that won’t end with him looking like a queer, but
eventually, he gives up, going over to the sweater and taking it off the rack. He was right - it’s
soft.
Will refuses to meet her eyes as he brings it over to her - what if she judges him for wearing a
piece of girl’s clothing? - but instead of pointing out that it was off the girl’s rack, she nods.
“Okay. Pop it in the basket if you want it.”
Will smiles and puts it in, and they check out and go home.
He wears it the next day with a pair of jeans, and he feels happy as he runs his fingers down
the front pattern - his mom informs him that it’s called ‘cable-knit’ - over and over. It’s soft
and makes him feel pretty and happy and warm.
Will goes down the hall to the main area to get food, though, and everything goes wrong.
His dad’s playing a game of poker with four of his friends in the dining room, and the second
he walks in, they go silent, all looking at him.
One wolf-whistles, and Will’s cheeks burn as the silence gives way to loud ‘compliments’. He
grabs a granola bar as quickly as he can.
“You look like a girl!” one says.
“Damn, that ass…” says another.
“Nah, those thighs… can you imagine being suffocated by them?” another laughs.
“That’s good and all, but seriously, that hip-to-waist ratio… God, he really looks like a girl,
doesn’t he?” one says, looking him up and down.
“He does. But… man, look at his face. Those cheeks, those eyes? Bet he would look real
pretty with tears streaming down those chubby cheeks. Could make you feel good, baby,
huh?” says another one. “Come here, baby, huh? You have such a pretty face. Pretty lips
would look good wrapped around something, huh?”
Will keeps his head down as he tries to walk past the man’s hand, outstretched to touch him.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, he’s mine.” Lonnie smiles. “So lay off, but… remember how good he
looks in that sweater later tonight, eh?”
Will almost runs back to his room once he’s far enough away and practically rips the sweater
off. He hides it under his bed, unable to make himself throw away the piece of clothing that
seemed so perfect when he first put it on, but unable to wear it and think of or receive those
comments again.
From that point on, Will lets his mom choose his clothes. It’s all flannels and hoodies and
button-ups and jeans and khakis, and it doesn’t bring the magic that the sweater did in that
moment, but it’s okay, because while his clothes may not make him happy, they’re baggy and
loose and masculine, and they hide how he looks and how he feels.
That sweater was the first and last piece of clothing Will ever let himself want. And he still
wishes he could have worn it more than once.
“NO! STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE!” Will screams. “STOP IT!”
Will knocks on the door of the school counselor's office. He’s nine.
“Come in!” Dr. Garcia calls from inside.
Will quietly walks in and sits down, placing the library book in his lap.
“You’re Lonnie’s boy, right? What can I do for you?” the counselor asks.
“Um… hi.” Will says quietly. “I… I wanted to ask about something.”
“Sure, go ahead.” the man says. “I’ve got some time.”
Will sets the book on the table and flips it to the page on human reproduction. “I… I wanted
to ask if this was true.”
Dr. Garcia leans forward and looks over the book. “Well… yes. Isn’t that kind of question
better suited to one of your parents, though?” he asks.
Will doesn’t answer as he tries to work up the courage to speak.
“My dad does that with me.” Will whispers. “I don’t- the book says that it’s supposed to be
between a husband and a wife who love each other and want a baby and it says that it feels
nice, but… none of that’s true. It doesn’t feel good, and he’s my dad, and I can’t have a baby
and don’t want to.”
The therapist’s face goes from curiosity to hostility.
“You’re saying that Lonnie’s having sex with you?” he asks.
Will nods, looking down in embarrassment.

“Why would you lie about that?” Dr. Garcia asks.
Will looks up. “What?” he asks.
“I know Lonnie. I have since we were kids. And not only is he not gay, but he’s not going to
abuse his own kid. He’s not a pedophile.” the counselor says.
Oh, no. Will he tell his dad that he told? Oh, no. Oh, no, he’s making things worse.
Will starts to scoot his chair back to leave.
“No way. Sit down. You can’t lie and tell someone that you’re being molested and then just
leave.”
He sits back down, clenching his hands into fists on the sides of the chair. Why did he try to
tell someone? This is his own fault.
“Alright. So what happens, when you say Lonnie does that?” the man asks.
Will forces himself to spit it out.
“He comes into my room, and he- he does that.” Will says.
“Do you say ‘no’?” the counselor asks.
Will shrugs. “Sometimes. It just makes him angry.”

“What do you wear?” he asks.
Will gestures to his current outfit of jeans and a T-shirt with trucks on it. “Sometimes
pajamas.”
“Have you ever worn a swimsuit or underwear or anything tight when this hypothetical
scenario happens?” Dr. Garcia asks.
Will nods.
“Even if what you’re saying was true and Lonnie is having sex with you, you would have
basically given consent. It’s not assault if you didn’t say ‘no’ and you were wearing revealing
or tight clothes.”
Will wants to cry. He shouldn’t have told. He shouldn’t have told he shouldn’t have told he
shouldn’t have told-
The therapist picks up the phone on his desk. “Go back to class. I need to make a call.” he
says.
Will leaves the office, and when he goes back to class, he just sits at his desk and cries. When
he and Mike and Lucas go to lunch, they sit one on either side of him on the sidewalk and
both hold onto him as he breaks down. He doesn’t tell them why, but Will knows they know it’s
because of Lonnie in some way.
When Will gets home, his dad screams at him and hits him, telling Will how he’s making false
claims about something Lonnie would never do, how he shouldn’t have told, how if Will really
wants to be abused he’ll show him abuse.
He puts Will into his car and takes them out to the middle of nowhere so that ‘nobody can get
the wrong idea’.
Normally, what Lonnie does takes between ten minutes and half an hour. But today, he takes
his time, spending hours and hours doing the Bad Thing to Will in the back of the car.
“I told you not to tell, Bill.” Lonnie whispers. “You knew better and you did it anyway. I
don’t want to hurt you, but you make me. You did this to yourself.”
When Lonnie’s finally tired himself out, he redresses both of them before starting to drive
them back home.
“You act like I do this for no reason, Bill.” Lonnie says, eyes on the road as he drives them
home. “You don’t take responsibility for your actions. You think I want to do this? You make
me. You push my buttons over and over again and make me mad and then turn around and try
to say that I’m some kind of monster. I’m not. You’re just a bad kid. And besides - I’m helping
you out. This punishment, it’s gonna cure you. It’s gonna keep you from being a fag when you
grow up. You don’t want to be a fag when you grow up, do you? I’m doing the right thing,
Bill. And you can’t tell people that I’m a- a goddamn rapist- when I’m not doing anything
that doesn’t need to be done. You understand me?”
Will stares straight ahead, trying not to think of how disgusting his pants and legs and- other
places- feel where they’re slick with fluid.
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Will says.
“STOP IT!” Will screams.
“You think you are stronger than you used to be. But not only were you not able to fight off
the men at the Nova Project, if you were placed into your father’s care again, you would not
be strong enough, would you, William?”
“GO TO HELL!” Will spits.
All of a sudden, he’s standing in the foyer of his old house. He can see the TV in the living
room. It’s playing M*A*S*H, though his view of the TV is obstructed by a head of dark hair.
Lonnie.
God, Will hates that stupid fucking TV show.
“Bill?” Lonnie calls over his shoulder.
Will’s frozen. Oh, God, he can’t do this.
“Bill, is that you? Come here.” Lonnie orders.
Will walks with stiff legs over to between the hallway and Lonnie’s armchair. It’s stupid, but
he just has the innate instinct to obey, to spare himself that pain, selectively placed in him
through a decade of hell.
Lonnie’s gaze stays fixed on the screen as Will takes another tentative step closer, the light of
the TV flashing across his face. Will’s heart pounds in his chest, the recently-refreshed
memories running through his mind in a nightmarish loop as he stands there feeling small
and powerless, just like he did those years ago.
“Sit down, Bill.” Lonnie commands, patting the arm of his armchair.
Will hesitates. He doesn’t want to. He wants to scream and run and fight.
But he’s paralyzed, and in some state of shock and terror, he does, taking a seat on the arm of
the chair, almost against his will. The smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey fills his nose,
triggering both memories and nausea.
Lonnie doesn’t seem to notice or care about his (probably) obvious discomfort, just bringing
a hand up to rest on Will’s shoulder, massaging at the tense muscles there.
“Do you remember this episode, Bill?” Lonnie asks, his hand moving down to rub between
Will’s shoulder blades.
Will nods silently, unable to muster the strength to speak. He can’t do this.
Lonnie leans in close until his hot breath is in Will’s ear. “You were always my favorite, you
know.” he whispers. “Don’t ever forget that. You were better than any hooker or even your
mother. You were the best I ever had. Don’t ever forget.”
Will flinches at the words, and bile rises in his throat as Lonnie’s hand rubs his neck and back
as the words echo in his ears. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to lash out or
throw up or do something, anything, but he’s frozen, just like he was all of those times in the
past. Instead of doing anything he wants to, Will just sits on the arm of the chair with his
hands clutching the fabric of his pants over his thighs and his jaw clenched.
The sound of laughter comes from the TV. It’s mocking his pain.
He grits his teeth, fighting the tears that threaten to spill over, as he whispers, barely audible
over the sound of the TV, “You’re not real.”
Lonnie just laughs, a sound that sends chills down Will’s spine, before he leans forward and
presses a kiss to the side of Will’s neck. “Oh, I’m very real, Billy. And I’m never going
away.”
As Lonnie mouths at his neck as his hand keeps traveling down, reaching his hip before it
slips up Will’s shirt, tracing his fingers up Will’s side as they watch the TV, he just sits there.
He doesn’t want to, but he does.
But when he starts to leave bites and grope at Will’s chest and abs and hips before his hand
goes down to Will’s crotch, Will snaps out of it.
In a flash, he’s up and shoving his father away, on the other side of the room with his hands
up, ready for whatever’s coming.
Lonnie’s previously-amused demeanor shifts to anger.
“What the hell?” he snaps.
“No.” Will says, his voice trembling but firm. “I won’t let you.”
Lonnie stares at him for a minute before he gives a dark, angry laugh.
“You belong to me, Bill.” he snarls. “You’re mine. And you are in no position to tell me
‘no’.”
Will doesn’t know what to do as Lonnie comes towards him, so he runs for it.
“COME BACK HERE NOW!” Lonnie shouts as Will runs to his room, shutting the door and
pressing his back against it as Lonnie starts to pound on it. “OPEN THE DOOR!”
Will slides down until he’s sitting, pressing his back further against the door and bracing his
feet against the floor as Lonnie tries to break in. He can’t let him in. He can’t let him in. He
can’t let him in.
“WILLIAM! OPEN THIS DOOR!” Lonnie shouts as he throws himself at the wood. “LET
ME IN! NOW!”
Will sobs and grabs the sides of the doorframe, using his body as a barricade. Can’t let him
in, can’t let him in, can’t let him in-
“YOU HAVE UNTIL TEN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”
Will looks around, desperately trying to think of something, anything, to do, when he sees his
baseball bat against his nightstand. That’s right - he didn’t move it to Castle Byers until after
Lonnie left.
It’s just out of reach. If he could just get to it-
“FOUR! THREE! TWO!” Lonnie shouts.
As he shouts ‘one’, Will lets go of the door and runs forward, grabbing it and turning to face
his father as Lonnie breaks through.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lonnie snarls as Will hefts the bat. “Put that
down!”
As his dad lunges for him, Will swings the bat, his father’s head making a crack! as the wood
connects with the side of his skull.
Lonnie goes down, groaning and reaching up to clutch his head, and he’s down, Will
logically knows that, but he’s still afraid, what if he hurts Will again-
Will raises the bat and brings it down on Lonnie again, getting a crunch from his father’s ribs.
He hits again.
And again.
And again.
Will knows his father’s down, he knows he’s safe, but the fear’s still in control, and he
doesn’t know what he’s doing-
Blood spatters, leaving dots on Will’s face and clothes and shoes as he screams in rage and
terror and brings the bat down again.
Eventually, he gives out, and the baseball bat stained with his father’s blood clatters to the
floor from Will’s numb fingers.
He sees, really sees, for the first time since Lonnie got into the room.
The battered skin, lacerations and contusions covering every inch.
The puddle of blood seeping from under him, splattered dots of red spreading several feet
beyond that and covering Will.
Lonnie’s face, the one that screamed at him and hit him and hurt him, bashed in and bleeding.
He hesitantly reaches out and touches his father’s wrist. He can’t find a pulse.
With that, Will falls to the floor next to his father’s dead body.
He just beat his father to death.

Oh, God. He just beat his father to death.
Will knows his father was a bad person. Jon’s drilled it into him. He didn’t love us, Will. I
know you want him to, but he didn’t love us. Don’t let your idealized version of him get to
you. He wasn’t a good person. It’s a good thing he’s out of our lives, okay?
But despite what he’s done, part of Will still loved him, craved his attention and love and
approval. He was still Will’s parent, and even if he was scared of him, he didn’t wish him
harm.
And he’s just fucking murdered him.
“Interesting.” Vecna murmurs in his head. “That was… unexpected. You were not projected
to do that, William. You broke the dreamscape’s prediction.”
Will doesn’t answer. He just stares in shock at the body.
“Your time is running out, William, but not today.” Vecna says.
Next thing Will knows, he’s standing in the Wheeler’s bathroom, ‘Should I Stay Or Should I
Go’ blasting in his ears from a Walkman.
Will gasps and takes heaving breaths as oxygen enters his lungs again, trying to get the
feeling of Lonnie’s blood off his skin.
Mike’s face comes into focus in front of him, his hands coming to cup Will’s cheeks. “Will!
Oh my God, you- oh my God, I- I lost you, you- I was playing the music, but you weren’t
waking up- oh, God-”
Will just stares at him. Is Mike going to start making fun of him? Is he going to hit Will, or
disappear and then Lonnie shows up instead, or start screaming at him for being a queer?
“Are you real?” he asks at last in a broken, dazed whisper. “Mike, are you- is this real?”
Mike’s face, already tear-stained, crumples at that, and he pulls Will into a tight hug.
“This is real.” Mike sobs. “It’s real. I’m real. Will- Oh, God- I’m not Vecna, I promise-”
Will’s being hugged, and it’s not a lie. Mike doesn’t hate him and he doesn’t want to send
Will to conversion therapy. Nobody knows what happened to him. Lonnie isn’t back or dead.
Everything’s fine.
With that knowledge, Will falls apart in Mike’s arms, clutching his shoulders and sobbing
into his shirt as his legs practically give out. He’s being ridiculous and this is so
embarrassing, but- God, Mike doesn’t hate him. He hasn’t seen Lonnie since he was eleven,
and he hasn’t hurt Will like that since he was ten. Nobody knows what happened. It was all a
lie. They still care about Will for now.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Mike repeats, rubbing circles on his back and soothing him even though
Mike’s crying too. “It’s okay. What you saw, whatever it is, it isn’t real, and you’re safe. I’m
gonna keep you safe, okay? Like hell is he going to touch you.”
Will nods into Mike’s shoulder, tightening his grip.
“Okay. Okay, is ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’ still your favorite song?” Mike asks. “You
need to listen to your favorite song.”
Will shakes his head. It’s still a good song, but his favorite is tied between ‘Boys Don’t Cry’
by The Cure and ‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac.
“Okay. Come on, I have some tapes. I might have your favorite.” Mike says, wrapping his
arms around Will’s waist as Will clings to his shoulders and they walk out of the bathroom
and down the hall. Mike’s basically carrying him. He should be walking. He shouldn’t be
weak- he’s so tired-
Once they’re in Mike’s room, Mike gently helps set Will down on the bed, brushing his lips
against Will’s forehead. “Okay. What’s your favorite song?”
“Um… Boys- Boys Don’t Cry or The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.” Will sniffles.
“Okay. I- I don’t know if I have them, but I’ll look, okay? Is The Clash still one you like
enough that it can help?” Mike asks.
Will nods.
“Okay. Okay, we have a backup plan. Everything’s fine.” Mike says, going over to a bin and
starting to rummage through it. “Everything’s fine.”
He doesn’t know if Mike’s saying that to him or himself.
It’s a minute of silence and tears before Will starts gasping for air as he realizes that Mike has
to know now, that he must have figured Will out and now he knows that he wants to die, oh,
God-
“Hey. Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Mike says, kneeling in front of where Will’s sitting and grabbing
his hands. “It’s okay. Deep breaths. It’s okay. Everything’s fine. You’re safe.”
Will nods, still struggling.
“Okay. Okay, what’s your name?” Mike asks. “Take your time, but tell me your full name.”
“Wi-William Jacob Byers.” Will stutters.
“How old are you?” Mike asks.
“Fif-fifteen.” Will says.
“And where are we?” Mike asks.
“In- your room. Home.” Will says. “Safe.”
“Yeah. Yeah, exactly. We’re home and we’re safe, okay?” Mike says, squeezing Will’s hands.
“Breathe.”
Will forces himself to take deep, shuddering breaths until he as Mike lets go of his hands,
gets up, and starts to go through the tapes again.
He finds and grabs Fleetwood Mac and starts to come back, but he freezes.
“You’re fifteen.” he whispers, standing still with the tape still in his hand.
Will nods. “Y-yeah.” he says.
Mike just stares at him, regret and pain in his eyes. “You’re fifteen. I- oh my God, we forgot
your birthday.”
Will shrugs, still making himself breathe. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fucking fine, we forgot your fucking birthday-” Mike snaps before he takes a
deep breath and sighs. “Will, it’s not fine. That’s a big deal. You- you always take care of
everyone else, and you love everyone else so much, but then you completely ignore your own
needs. And that apparently includes your mental health if Vecna’s targeting you, too. You’re
so selfless, Will, and that’s a fantastic trait, but- God, you can’t sacrifice every single time for
other people and their feelings. You’re allowed to ask for help, and you’re allowed to need or
want things. Like- I know you, and I know that you’re probably thinking that I’m
overreacting about the birthday thing, but- honestly, you- you have the right to get angry
about that, or to tell us off for it.”
Will shrugs. “I- I already got angry about it.”
Mike freezes again.“Oh my God, that was the day of Rink-O-Mania, too, wasn’t it? I yelled
at you, and you got humiliated, and- oh my God. Wait, was that why you looked upset at the
airport? Because El said the day was all about us?”
Will shrugs again before nodding.
“Jesus Christ, we’re the worst.” Mike says as he sits down next to him on the bed, rubbing
his forehead. “We’re seriously the worst. It was your birthday and we basically all ignored
you.”
“It’s fine. I was being a jerk, and-”
“William Byers, if you apologize right now, I swear to God I will yell compliments at you
until you think you’re amazing.” Mike threatens. “Don’t think I won’t.”
Will smiles despite himself, looking down at his hands as Mike grabs the Walkman off his
belt where he must have put it while Will was in the trance and puts in ‘The Chain’.
‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise…’

It’s quiet for a minute, just the sounds of Stevie Nicks singing, before Mike speaks.
“Will… why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly.
Will shuts his eyes and shakes his head.
“No, I- I mean… about any of it. You didn’t tell me that you were getting Vecna’d, and… you
didn’t… Will, did- he only targets people who-”
“Who want to die.” Will finishes quietly. “I know.”
Mike exhales shakily. “Why- Jesus Christ, Will, you- you wanted to- to die?”
Will looks down and shrugs. He’s half-expecting Mike to just start shouting or get angry or
walk away, but instead Mike just grabs around Will’s shoulders and pulls him closer until his
head is on Mike’s shoulder and his chin is on top of Will’s head.
“Will, I- God. Did you tell anyone? When was this?”
Will shakes his head, and Mike tightens his grip. “Take your time.” he says, and they just sit
there as Will forces his breathing to even out.
After a minute, he speaks. “I… didn’t tell anyone.” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I don’t want to be a bother. It’s not a big deal.”
“Correction: this is a huge deal.” Mike says. “And no, Will, you- God, you’re never a bother.
Even if you’re going through something scary or dangerous. Especially if you’re going
through something scary or dangerous.”
Will shakes his head again. “I just… I… what would everyone think? I didn’t want to be
alone, and I didn’t want to burden anyone, and… it was just so scary to even think about
talking about.”
“Look at me.” Mike says. “Will. Come on, I’m serious. Look at me. Open your eyes.”
Will ignores his first thought and looks into Mike’s dark eyes, sweet and concerned. “Listen
to me. You are not a burden. I- I need you to understand that- you aren’t a burden. You are
never a burden. We all care about you so much. I- I care about you so much. And- I’m here,
okay? I’m here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Just- talk to me, promise?”
Will nods. It’s a lie, but it’s okay, it’ll make Mike feel better.
It’s a minute of silence before Mike speaks in a shaky, watery voice. “Do you know- God,
Will, I- I don’t know what I’d do if you died. And I- I can’t- I can’t even imagine a world
where you- where you killed yourself. I can’t even think of you being gone. God, I- I don’t
know what I’d do. Please don’t feel like you should die. We would all fall apart. I would fall
apart. I wouldn’t be able to go on. Will- please don’t feel like that. If you do, just- God, just
tell someone. Whether it’s me or someone else, I don’t care, but you- you can’t just suffer in
silence. Please just tell someone if you feel like that again.”
Will hugs Mike tighter, electing not to tell him that he already feels like that near-constantly.
After a while, Mike shifts, bringing his legs up so that Will’s pretty much completely on his
lap. His arms are around Will’s waist, and Will’s arms are around Mike’s neck, and their
faces are buried in the sides of each other's necks.
Mike gently rocks him back and forth, whispering into Will’s shoulder. “I’ve got you. I
promise I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. I’m here. You’re not alone, and you’re
not a burden. I’m here.”
His breath is warm, and his voice is a soothing murmur in Will’s ear. In the back of his mind,
Will registers that Mike must have put his hearing aid on while he was being Vecna’d,
probably so he could hear the music.
Will wants to respond to Mike’s words, but he’s too busy crying, still clinging to Mike like a
depressed koala. He should stop, he’s being too loud and whiny and annoying, but it’s
uncontrollable at this point. If he lets go, he’ll fall down, down, down into the darkness, and
hanging to Mike is his only lifeline, his touch the only thing keeping Will afloat.
Mike’s soft rocking and touch combine with Fleetwood Mac’s singing to create a soft, warm
bubble, and Will can’t stop crying even though he wants to, but that’s okay, because this is
real and what was in the trance is just the past.
After another minute, Mike pulls back, cupping Will’s cheeks. Both of their eyes are red and
puffy, and both of their cheeks are tear-stained.
“We need to tell them.” Mike whispers. “We need to go downstairs and tell the Party you’re a
target.”
“No.” Will immediately says, disagreeing even if he’s still leaning into the touch and still
desperately holding onto Mike, hoping to stay in his lap and in the safe little bubble as long
as he can.
“Will-”
“Just… please. Can we at least wait until tomorrow?” Will asks quietly. “I just- I can’t right
now, okay? Please?”
Mike’s silent, but then he sighs. “Okay. Okay. First thing in the morning, alright?”
“Fine.” Will says, leaning forward and burying his face in Mike’s shoulder again.
Mike goes back to rocking him for a while before he lets go.
“It’s really late. You need to sleep.” Mike says.
“No! No. Don’t- please, just don’t let me go-” Will pleads. He’s so needy, Mike has to hate
him at this point, he’s so stupid-
Mike gets back and lays down on the bed. “It’s okay. I’m not letting you go, I promise. Just…
come lay down. You need to sleep.” he whispers.
Will nods, and it’s probably weird, but he just crawls over Mike and lays down on top of him,
his head on Mike’s chest as Mike’s arms wrap around him, one over his shoulders, the other
petting his bangs.
“It’s okay.” Mike whispers. “Vecna’s not getting to you, I promise.”
Mike’s sweet promises combine with the sounds of ‘The Chain’ (the cassette of which Mike
fiddles with until it loops) until Will’s eyelids get heavy.
“I- I don’t want to go to sleep.” he whispers. “He’ll get to me. I- I don’t want to sleep, Mike,
don’t let me sleep-”
“It’s okay.” Mike whispers back. “It’s okay. I’ll wake you up if you start to thrash or act
weird. I’m gonna stay awake and make sure you’re okay, alright? Just go to sleep.
Everything’s going to be okay.”
Mike keeps whispering how he’s going to protect Will and petting his hair, and after a while,
even though he’s scared, he’s almost asleep.
As he drifts off, he thinks he hears Mike murmur that he loves Will, but he’s asleep before he
can ask.
Chapter End Notes
OH MY GOOD GOD POOR WILL 😭

Tells you a lot, though, huh?
Well, tell me your thoughts in the comments! Leave a comment or Kudos to show
support, and thank you for reading! See you soon!
Truth
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's Chapter 68. Sorry if it's late <3
Also! I made a Tumblr for this fic where I post polls, answer asks, post updates, repost
fanart, all that! Here's the link: https://www.tumblr.com/aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade



Trigger warnings:
- Disordered eating
- Homophobia
- Self-hatred
- Suicidal thoughts
In the morning, Will wakes up to Mike fast asleep, his arm wrapped tightly around Will’s
shoulders.
The first thing on his mind is their physical proximity and how warm and safe he feels.
The second is the memories of last night - what Vecna showed him.
The third is that Mike had said ‘I love you’.
Oh, shit.
Mike said ‘I love you’.
Oh, shit.
Will decides to have his panic another time, and instead of thinking too hard about anything,
he slowly scoots off Mike’s stomach and out from his arms, earning a complaining mumble
as Mike adjusts to his absence, his eyebrows furrowing as he rolls over to his side.
Once he’s safely up without having woken his sleeping best friend, he goes into the
bathroom, where he quickly does his business and washes his hands before he brushes his
teeth.
He is very acutely aware of his morning breath, and… well, when Mike wakes up, he wants
to ask him about that ‘I love you’, and… he’s a little embarrassed to admit it, but he wants to
be at his best for whatever conversation is about to happen.
Once he’s done and his mouth feels clean, he leaves the bathroom and goes back to Mike’s
room, taking a deep breath before going in.
As Will quietly comes back into Mike’s bedroom, he sees Mike sitting nervously on the edge
of his bed, messing with his hands.
“Oh! Um, hi.” Mike says, looking up at him and smiling nervously. “I, uh… while you were
gone, I made you coffee.”
He holds out a mug to Will, and Will gently takes it, holding it in his hands before taking a
sip.
Very sweet. Sugar and cream, just like Mike thinks he needs. Will’s starting to come around
on it.
“So, um… I was wondering if we can… if we can talk?” Mike asks, looking up at Will with
this nervous expression that almost hurts.
“Yeah. I was thinking that too.” Will says, softly sitting down next to Mike on the bed.
Mike stares at his hands as he fidgets with them, and Will quietly raises the cup of coffee to
his lips.
“So… about last night…” he says.
Will nods. “We can tell the others that I’m being Vecna’d later.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Mike says. “We will. But- as you were going to sleep, I said something. And I
think- I think we should talk about it now that we’re more awake.”
Will watches Mike, paying full attention.
“I- I- what you said in the junkyard, about being afraid of telling people things because they
might not like the truth… it… really hit home.” Mike says, nodding to himself as he messes
with his hands. “I… I realized that I’ve been hiding this whole time because I was afraid of
losing people. Losing you.”
Will’s heart is fluttering like crazy. Is he- is he saying what Will thinks he’s saying?
“And… I’m just so scared of losing you, Will. It’s part of why I was freaking out so much
last night. Because… you’re kind of the best thing in my life. I mean, you’re my best friend,
yeah, but… on top of that… you just mean so much to me, Will. More than you think.”
He can’t breathe. Is this real?
Mike takes a deep breath, biting his thumbnail like he does when he’s worried.
“But… what I said last night, about loving you… it was true. I do love you. So much.”
Will might be dead, because his heart’s stopped and his breath is caught in his throat, or he
might be dreaming, but if he is, he doesn’t wanna wake up.
“And I- I don’t- I don’t expect you to feel the same way, I- I just thought you deserved to
know.”
Will sets down his coffee cup on the carpet next to the bed and grabs Mike’s hands.
His hands shake slightly as he intertwines his fingers with Mike’s. He’s confused and scared,
but above all, he’s so happy that he’s almost delirious, not sure of much else except that he
loves this boy more than everything else in the entire world.
“Mike.” Will says softly. “You’re never going to lose me. I could never leave you.”
Mike looks back up at him, his eyes wide. “But- what about what I said?” he asks.
Will smiles nervously. “I- Mike, I love you too. I- I have for years.”
Mike’s eyes widen even further as a radiant, giddy smile creeps across his face. “Really?” he
asks, like he can’t quite believe it.
Will nods. “Yeah, really.” he says, and he’s sure he looks dumb with how much he’s smiling
now, but Mike loves him? Mike loves him! “I love you, Mike.”
They just sit there beaming at each other for a minute, but eventually, Mike leans forward and
taps their foreheads together.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly.
Will just stares at him for a second, because wait, what? Michael Wheeler wants to kiss him?
What the fuck? Is he dreaming?
“Yes.” he breathes. “Yes, absolutely you can kiss me.”
Mike lifts his hand from Will’s to cup his chin with his thumb and pointer finger, connecting
their lips in a soft kiss.
Will closes his eyes, bringing his hand up to carefully caress Mike’s cheek.
The kiss is tender and sweet, and it’s everything Will hoped for, and when Mike pulls away
Will wishes they could kiss forever.
Mike presses his forehead back against Will’s.
“It’s such a shame you can never have this.” he whispers.
In a second, Will’s happy smile is gone.

“What?” he asks.
“He doesn’t love you.” Not-Mike whispers. “Not like you need. Not like you crave.”
Will goes to move away, but Vecna grabs the back of his head, holding him in place. “Poor
Will. Always alone and unloved. I could change that. Just give in to me. You would never be
alone again.”
Will’s breath is short, but now it’s from terror rather than happiness.
“Get away from me.” Will whispers, his voice trembling with anger and pain and fear.
Vecna only tightens his grip. “He doesn’t love you. None of them do. As kind as you make
yourself, you will still never be good enough for them. You’ll always be just a pawn, a toy for
them to play with until they get bored.”
Will tries to push away again, but Vecna’s nails dig into the back of his head over the still-
healing mark from the brain surgery, causing Will to whimper in pain.
“He’ll never love you the way you want. The way you deserve. None of them ever will. And
even if they did love you, they wouldn’t love all of you. Who you truly are. But I love you,
Will. I see what you go through, the darkness in your heart and pumping through your veins,
and while they would despise you for it, I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Think you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Will’s skin is crawling. How does he escape?
“They’ll never see you as you truly are. The components of your mind and personality that
you deem undesirable. They would shun you for it, cast you aside like the burden you are to
them. But I see you. I see all of you. And while they think you’re a burden, would think you
were a freak, I think you’re special. I see you, William Byers, and not only are you not a
freak, but you are an unparalleled, fierce force. A masterpiece of entwined light and
darkness.”
Get away get away get away-
“Just give in, Will. I know you want to die. I’m in your head. It would be painless. Just like
going to sleep. And then you would never be alone or hated again. Doesn’t that sound good,
Will? Fast. Painless. Peaceful. It’s what you’ve wanted for so long. Just give in. Just let me
in.” Vecna whispers.
Vecna’s hand moves from the back of his head to extend claws, holding them over Will’s face
as he tilts Will’s chin up. For a second - just a second - Will considers.
It would be like going to sleep, right?
…He could use some sleep. He’s so tired after fighting for so long.
Will’s decided to just accept it, closing his eyes as Vecna starts to curl his fingers and lets his
chin go, but then they snap back open as he hears something.
“WILL!” calls the voice that Will knows and loves more than any other sound. “WILL,
COME BACK!”
He turns his head to see a red-rimmed portal in the bedroom that’s slowly turning to a stormy
red landscape. Outside is him, feet starting to float a few inches off the ground
“COME BACK! I NEED YOU!” Mike shouts.
“Ignore him, William. The moment there is someone better, he will discard you. I am the one
who loves you, who cares about you. Stay with me.”
Will’s torn for a minute, but then Mike calls “PLEASE, WILL, DON’T LEAVE ME!” and
his mind is made up.
Will ducks under Vecna’s arm and makes a run for it, ignoring Vecna’s calls and attempts to
get him back to the dark and going toward the light.
Who cares if there’s dark in him? Mike is his light. And as long as he has Mike, he can ward
it off.
He makes a mad dash, his socked feet hitting the ground as he breathes like the running
coach in Lenora taught him to do. He has to get home. He has to get to Mike. He has to get
back to his family.
Will puts on one last burst of energy when he gets close, pushing himself to run faster until-
He gasps as he drops from where he had started to float, the sudden impact on his feet
causing a spike of pain up his legs that makes him yelp as he falls backwards onto the
carpeted floor of Mike’s bedroom.
“Oh my God-” Mike whispers, falling to the floor next to Will and grabbing him in a tight
hug. “Oh my God, he almost got you, you were floating-”
“Yeah.” Will says, panting. “Yeah.”
Will sits on the middle of the couch, the Walkman around his neck with ‘The Chain’ in the
player as his friends all sit and wait around him for him to speak.
Mike had made Will sit in the kitchen and eat a bowl of cereal as he went and told the Party
to get their asses up and ready, because Will had to tell them something. He’s terrified, and
the fact that they’re all just staring and waiting doesn’t make him feel better.
“So…” Will says, trying to get the words to come out right. “...as it turns out, Vecna’s still
going.”
Silence.
“He… he’s still targeting people. And… he’s targeting me.” Will says. “He… I got pulled
into the trance last night, and this morning, I… kind of started floating.”
It’s collective silence for a minute, and Will’s terrified, but then Steve breaks it.
“Jesus Christ, kid.” he says. “That means you were seeing the clock before this, right?”
Will nods.
“And you didn’t tell us?” he snaps. “This is important, Will! You could’ve died!”
“I know.” he says, trying not to cry. “I know. I was just- I was scared. I was scared to tell
you.”
“Because all of Vecna’s victims were suicidal.” Dustin whispers, his voice sounding broken.
“And… you didn’t want us to know that- that you were-”
“That I want to die.” Will whispers. “I- I couldn’t tell you. I- I didn’t want you to know.”
The basement’s silent again.

“Wait.” Lucas says, shaking his head. “You- you said ‘want’. Like- present tense. You want
to die? Like, right now?”
Will just looks at his hands, pinching at a hangnail as his eyes water. He wonders if he can
pull the skin far enough that it hurts. He could stand to have his physical feelings balanced
with his mental ones.
He’s waiting for someone to yell at him, but instead, darker hands cover his own olive ones.
“Talk us through. We just want to understand.” Lucas says from where he’s gone to sit on his
knees in front of Will, squeezing his hands gently. “We’re not mad. We just want to know
how to help.”
Will nods, biting his lip to fight the lump in his throat.
“I’m just… I’m so tired.” Will whispers. “I’m so tired. I’m tired of the Upside Down. I’m
tired of the nightmares. I’m tired of the panic attacks and not being able to sleep and
constantly feeling scared. I’m just… I’m so, so tired. I feel awful all the time, and I… I just
want to stop hurting. I want to stop feeling like this. And, like… after everything, I don’t
know how I’m ever gonna feel happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. And I’ve tried. I- I’ve
tried really hard. I’ve taken the medication and tried to be good enough, but I’m not. I’m- I’m
still stuck here. And I- I just want it to stop. I want everything to stop.”
His voice is shaking as he keeps going. “Ever since the Upside Down, I’ve felt that… that
weight. Like I’m just being crushed all the time, and I keep trying to feel better, but I- I can’t.
I’ve- I’ve felt like that since I got back from the Upside Down, but- it keeps getting worse.
With the possession, with last summer… each thing just made that weight heavier and
heavier, and I- I just can’t. I’ve felt- I thought about it for a while, but it- it kind of came to a
head in California.”
Will takes as deep a breath as he can with the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes
threatening to spill over.
“I had a plan.” Will whispers. “I- I had a plan. In Lenora. To- to end it. I- I was gonna spend
Spring Break with El and Jon and Mike, and then the day Mike left, I was- I was gonna kill
myself. I wrote letters saying goodbye and everything I- I needed to, and I had the- the pills
and razor blades, and I was- I was gonna overdose and bleed out, and when- when I was too
far gone to- to make it, I was gonna call 911 so that nobody other than- other than trained
professionals would have to- have to find my body. I was- I was gonna do it. But then- then
all of the government stuff happened, and there- there were things I had to do first, so I ended
up not- not doing it, but I-”
He lifts his hand from Lucas’s to angrily wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Stupid tears.
“Look, Lenora was- it was really bad. Because- on top of the Upside Down memories and
stuff, I was- you guys were gone, and I- I didn’t really make friends, and I was just- I was so
alone. And I- everyone there hated me, and I didn’t have you guys anymore, and my family
seemed so much happier when I wasn’t around, so- it seemed like the best option. Put myself
out of my misery and make it so that nobody would have to deal with me. Two birds with one
stone, right?”
Will gives a bitter laugh.
“But yeah. I couldn’t sleep, I- I was alone, and everyone hated me. I mean- I kept getting
beaten up and called slurs and insulted, and they played ‘AIDS’ where nobody could touch
me because I would get them sick, and they publicly humiliated me, and they kept telling me
that I was dirty and worthless and that I should just kill myself, and- I believed them. And
maybe I believed them because I knew they were right. Maybe I am worthless and dirty and
deserve to die. Maybe I- maybe I do deserve to be alone. And I- I just want it to stop.
Because I hate myself, and I’m just so tired and hurt, and I- I just want it to stop. I want to
stop feeling like this. So- yeah. I- I wanted to kill myself. And- I mean, I kind of still do.
Vecna- One, he said that- that if I gave in, I would be at peace, and that it wouldn’t hurt at all
and it would be just like falling asleep. And- I mean, of course that- that sounds appealing.
But- I’m not leaving while the world’s ending, even if I want to.”
Somewhere during his speech, tears started to drip down his cheeks, but that doesn’t matter.
“And the worst part is that I’m- I’m a failure. I’m letting everyone down, and I- I should’ve
told someone, but I- I was too scared that everyone would get mad or disappointed or hate
me, and I- I don’t want to be alone, I hate- I hate being alone.”
Will pauses to sniffle and wipe his eyes again.
“I- everything sucks. And everything is just darkness and pain and I- I want out. I want to
stop feeling like this. And I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m sorry that I still want to die, I’m sorry that I
didn’t tell anyone, I’m sorry- I’m sorry I wanted to leave you, I’m- I’m sorry I’m such a
burden, I’m- I’m just so, so sorry.”
Will’s gasping now, practically hyperventilating as he cries.
“Please don’t hate me-” he sobs as he starts to rock. “Please don’t leave me alone-”
Lucas lets go of his hands, getting up into a crouch so that he can pull Will into his arms as he
cries.
Mike leans over and hugs him too, and it’s not long before pretty much the whole Party is
there, all in a massive hug around Will.
“Dude. Nobody hates you. We’d never hate you. You’re our friend and we love you, alright?”
Dustin says. “It’s okay. Calm down. Nobody’s leaving you.”
“Yeah. We- God, we’d never hate you for that. I just- I wish you had told us.” Lucas says in a
teary voice.
“I had no idea.” Jonathan whispers. “I- I had no idea. I- I should’ve noticed- oh my God, I- I
should have noticed, I should have been there- why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” Will cries. “I didn’t want to be a burden- I didn’t want to make
anyone worry-”
“Will, you were literally about to kill yourself.” Nancy deadpans. “That- that deserves
worry.”
“We- we do worry about you, but it’s because we love you, okay? You’re not a burden.
You’re not alone. And- we love you no matter what, okay?” Lucas says.
Will just buries his face in Lucas’s shoulder and cries as the people he loves all surround him
in a hug.
After a while, though, they all pull away and go back to their original positions, Lucas still in
front of him, Mike rubbing circles on his back.
It’s quiet before Dustin speaks.
“Does this have something to do with why you’re so freakishly thin?” Dustin asks quietly.
Will just bites his lip as another few tears fall down his cheeks.
Mike reaches over and squeezes his shoulder in silent support.
He sits there for a minute, and then he nods.
“It… yeah.” he sighs. “I… I don’t know.”
“Can I?” Mike whispers to Will, rubbing small circles on his back.
Will nods, looking at his and Lucas’s hands.

“I… it’s not just that he hasn’t been eating much. We think - I think - Will has an eating
disorder.” Mike says quietly. “The symptoms line up.”
It’s silence, and Will realizes they’re waiting for him to talk again.
He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to say something, but then he closes it and
shakes his head.
Mike quietly starts to explain to their friends. “He can’t eat. He goes days without eating, and
then when he does have to eat, he’ll throw up. Will says that losing the weight makes him
feel better, and it also helps with these feelings of… inadequacy, I guess? It makes him feel
better about himself. I’ve been trying to get him to eat for a while, though.”
The Party listens silently, and when Will hazards a look around, their expressions range from
shock to pain to disbelief. They all look scared, though. Maybe that’s because of Vecna.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Lucas asks quietly, his voice laced with concern and hurt.
Will shrugs weakly, avoiding looking in Lucas’s eyes. “Well- I don’t know when’s a good
time to tell you guys that I hate myself with the apocalypse going on. Plus, I- I didn’t want
anyone to worry. And… I mean, I didn’t want to seem weak, and I guess I’m… kind of
ashamed, and… well, Mike’s been the one making me eat. I- I don’t think I have an eating
disorder-”
“Will, you look like a skeleton and apparently don’t eat and throw up when you do. To make
you feel better. That- that is literally textbook eating disorder-” Steve lectures, his hand on his
hip.
“That’s what I said!” Mike complains, still rubbing Will’s back. “Thank you!”
“Will, buddy…” Dustin says. “You gotta eat. You look like Skeletor, man. That’s not
healthy.”
“I know.” Will says quietly. “I- I know.”
“That’s why he’s been acting like that…” Jonathan mumbles, looking unfocused. “Oh,
God… I’m his brother, why- why didn’t I see-”
Nancy just sits and rubs his back, just like Mike’s doing for Will.
Steve sighs. “I- don’t think we’re letting this go, Byers, but- first of all, we need to figure out
how to keep you safe from Vecna, alright?”
“‘Kay.” Will says.
He’s tired, so he just leans against the back of the couch as Lucas sits on one side of him and
Mike on the other, only half-listening to the Party talk about Vecna.
Suddenly, Will goes from mostly alert to absolutely exhausted, this wave of tiredness hitting
him like a tidal wave and making his eyelids and limbs feel like lead as he starts to sway.
Maybe the adrenaline from all of the Vecna stuff is wearing off.
“Whoa- Will, are you okay?” Mike asks, apparently immediately noticing as he puts his arm
around Will’s shoulders to steady him.
Will smiles, but he doesn’t think it comes out right. “Yeah, I’m… really tired.” he admits.
“Maybe you should go to sleep.” Lucas suggests gently. “You look exhausted, dude.”
“Yeah, that… seems like a good idea.” Dustin says, staring at Will with what looks like
worry.
He didn’t mean to worry Dustin. He’s sorry.
“You can just go to sleep now. I mean, we can’t leave you alone with Vecna coming after
you, so… if you just want to go to sleep, we’ll be here.” Nancy says.
“I…” Will says, trying to think, but he’s too tired. “...okay.”
He leans on Lucas’s shoulder as a blanket is tucked around him and he brings his feet up to
curl next to his legs, still holding Mike’s hand.
And as the Party all talks about what to do about Vecna, Will succumbs to the drowsiness.
Maybe they still care about him. Maybe it’ll all be okay, no matter what Henry says.
Chapter End Notes
Hi! Hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this sucked, I haven't slept in 58 hours :) gonna go to
bed right after I'm done posting don’t worry :)
Thank you for reading! See you soon and leave a comment or Kudos if you liked it!
Deep Breaths
Chapter Notes
Hi, guys! Sorry this took forever. I had Will's Vecna-ing written at the same time as the
other chapters so that it was ready in advance, so it didn't take as long before posting,
but I had to do this one from scratch. Anyway! Sorry, and enjoy the 10k-word, 20-page
chapter!
fanart, all that! Here's the link:
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade (if you can't access it let
me know!)


Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Homophobia
- AIDS
- Slurs
- Self-hatred
- Body insecurity
- Disordered eating
- Language
- Suicidal thoughts
- Suicide attempt
- Violence
- Death
- Bullying
“Lucas. I’m serious. You need to go home.” Will sighs to their friend, Mike nodding along.
It’s been about a day since they told the Party that Will was getting Vecna’d, and the Party’s
scattered again. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and Steve are off trying to figure out what to do
about Vecna, Dustin’s maintaining base of operations and checking on Eddie (who’s currently
staying at a farm a little bit north of Hawkins), and Lucas went back to the hospital. But then
it had occurred to Will that Lucas hadn’t slept in over two days or showered or eaten in quite
a while due to his focus on taking care of Max, so he and Mike had gone from staying in the
basement, Mike on watching-Will duty, and gone to the hospital to convince Lucas to go
home.
“But-” Lucas tries to object. “-what if she needs me? What if she- Max could wake up, or her
condition could change- I need to be with her-”
“What you need is to rest.” Will says in that gentle tone that makes literally everybody cave,
most of all Mike. “You’re exhausted and injured. Just take a shower, eat some food not out of
a vending machine, and get some sleep. She’ll be fine.”
Mike nods. “Yeah. Will’s right. You should take care of yourself.”
Lucas hesitates, but he’s clearly about to give. “But- someone needs to stay with her.” he says
quietly. “I- I can’t leave her alone. Not here. It’s not- if she wakes up or gets worse, I- I don’t
want her to be alone.”
“I’ll stay with her.” Mike volunteers. “Just keep your walkie on, Channel 4, and I’ll radio if
anything happens. Okay?”
Lucas is silent and still for a minute, and then he nods. “Fine. You- you get- I’ll be back at
base for three hours, and then I will be right back here.”
“If you fall asleep, Lucas, that’s okay. If Mike gets tired, I can take over sitting with Max.”
Will says, lightly touching Lucas’s arm. For possibly the millionth time, Mike’s amazed at
Will’s kindness, his ability to just care for and love people with no strings attached.
Lucas sighs. “I- promise you’ll keep a close eye on her?”
“Promise.” Mike says.
He hesitates again before he walks over, squeezes Max’s hand, and mumbles a goodbye
before he quietly leaves the room.
Once it’s just Mike, Will, and Max, Mike sits down in Lucas’s chair, taking Max’s hand
where it dangles from the sling. She looks so weak and… washed-out. So small without her
big personality.
It makes Mike want to cry.
Will sits on the couch in the room, and it’s silent for a minute before he speaks.
“They’re still overwhelmed here with all of the Upside Down victims. Will- will you be okay
if I go and help at the nurse’s station?” Will asks.
Mike looks over and gives a small smile. “Yeah. Go. They could use your help.”
“Just- I’ll poke my head in a lot. Just to make sure everything’s okay.” Will promises.
“Listen to the Walkman.” Mike instructs. “And eat a snack in an hour. Okay? Just… don’t
starve and don’t get Vecna’d.”
Will sighs and gives a mock salute. “Got it.”
He turns to leave, but then he turns back, and he hesitates before reaching out and ruffling
Mike’s hair.
“Sorry. Just- short hair looks good on you.” Will says awkwardly. “Right. I- I’ll be back
soon.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mike says. “I’ve got her.”
Will starts to walk away, but he pauses one more time.
“Just- come get me if anything happens.” Will says. “Or if you need me, or- anything. And
I’ll be back again soon.”
“Just go.” Mike says, giving a weak smile over to Will. “It’s okay.”
Will stares at him, brows furrowed, before he nods and leaves, carefully closing the door
behind him.
Once it’s just Mike and Max, Mike takes a deep breath, squeezes her hand, and leans his head
onto the bed next to her.
“I miss you, Max.” he whispers. “And I’m sorry.”
He sits like that for a while, but with the gentle beeping of the monitor and the feeling of
Max’s pulse under his fingers, he eventually drifts off.
Mike’s so tired, after all. They’ve all been fighting so hard and so long, and they’ve all lost so
much.
He’s so tired.
He’s woken up by the sound of frantic beeping.
Mike’s immediately alert, and he’s shot up and looking around for the sound, but then he
realizes-
The monitor’s flatlining.
That’s the beeping.
The monitor’s flatlining.
Mike’s up on his feet and running to the door in a flash. “DOCTOR! I NEED A DOCTOR!”
he shouts into the hallway. “SHE’S FLATLINING! PLEASE! SOMEONE GET A
DOCTOR!”
He and Max may not have always gotten along, but… honestly, that was more of a front than
anything. Because Mike and Max may have been mean and annoying and loud to one
another, but… they were still friends. She’s one of Mike’s best friends. And now she’s dying.
“GET A DOCTOR! Oh, God-” Mike says, leaving the doorway to go back over to his
friend’s bedside. Should he do CPR? Is that- is that something he should do?
He’s lining up his hands like they taught him in that CPR class in seventh grade, but then it
hits him.
That’s not Max on the bed, not red braided hair on the pillow or her freckled skin.
That’s Will.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe-
“This is what happens, Michael.” whispers a deep voice in his ear. “This is what happens to
queers. You’ve watched the news. So many dead… so many sick… and yet you wish this
upon him. You wish for him to be gay, to be a freak like you, but… you know what that
brings. You wish this disease upon him.”
Mike frantically shakes his head, his heart stopped along with the monitor. “No.” he
whispers. “No. I- I don’t want Will to have AIDS. I- I don’t want anyone to have AIDS. I
don’t wish it on him.”
“Don’t you, Michael? I’m in your head. I see what you think about him. Your dirty,
disgusting thoughts. I know how much you desire him. How much you want to kiss him.
How much you just… want him.”
“No.” Mike whispers. “That’s- that’s a lie. I’m not- I’m not like that. I- I don’t want-”
“Don’t lie.” Vecna snaps. “You can lie to everyone else, but to lie to me is to lie to yourself.
Tell the truth. Tell me what you desire.”
Mike’s mind is reeling and he can’t breathe and he’s suffocating and is he dying-?
“I- I desire for- for him to be safe. For him to be happy. That’s- that’s it. He’s my best friend.”
Mike whispers.
“Lies.” Vecna says. “I know the truth. Don’t hide. Admit it.”
Mike shakes his head, still staring at the boy on the bed. What’s happening in real life? Is it
Will, or is it Max? Is one of them actually dying? What should he do?
“No.” Mike whispers.
With that, he’s no longer in the hospital room, but in a long hallway, filled with black doors
against white bricks. He’s in front of one that says ‘179’ on the door, and he looks down and
sees a key in his hand.
Mike knows it opens the door. But… what’s behind it?
“Go ahead. Open the door.” Vecna whispers.
Mike doesn’t know what to do.
“Open the door. Come on, Michael, don’t you want to see what you want? What you desire
most of all? Just open the door and see.”
Mike doesn’t know what to do, so he takes a deep breath and opens the door slowly before
hesitantly stepping into the room.
It’s a small apartment’s main room, with black-framed windows behind the couch allowing
light in from the nighttime city. It looks like New York City. There’s a fire escape outside,
too.
Two of the walls are whitewashed brick, and the one that’s parallel to the wall with the door
Mike just walked through is painted a dark gray with navy and sunshine-colored swirls.
There are shelves mounted on it, and they’re covered with paintings on easels and framed
sketches and photographs. Underneath it are also padded shelves and wall-mounted boxes
with bowls and small toys around. It takes Mike a minute to realize it’s a custom cat tree.
There’s a cut-out fireplace in one of the brick walls and a wooden mantle over it that matches
the floors that look like they’re made of pine, and on it are even more frames as well as
random little stuffed animals and books. There are sticky notes stuck to the bricks above the
mantle, too, and though there are logs in the fireplace, it’s not going. All of the little things on
it have this strange look like they’re curated, but more for happiness than for style.
The couch is across from the fireplace, a small navy loveseat with yellow pillows and a white
knitted blanket thrown haphazardly over the back, with a light wood coffee table in front of it
with a D&D board on it. There’s a guitar leaning against the couch, and a small gray cat
curled up on the arm, asleep.
In the corner, there’s a bookshelf that’s stuffed to the brim, and it has a shelf that has several
binders, notebooks, and a bin. There’s an easel, too, with a splattered, abstract painting that
Mike doesn’t understand but likes. On the other side of the room, there’s a TV, but it looks
weird - not like the TV at home, though it’s still recognizable.
There’s a kitchen, too - three white cabinets with butcher block countertops as well as the
upper cabinets above them, a sink, fridge, and a two-burner stove. There’s a small wooden
table against the wall near the kitchen with two yellow chairs, too. There are two frames on
the wall above it. Inside are what looks like college diplomas. On all the walls are Polaroids,
stuck on with tape, and more sticky notes.
Mike looks around the apartment in a daze. There’s a door off the living room, and he’d bet
money it would lead to the bedroom. There’s music blasting from inside, but Mike doesn’t
recognize it.
Mike turns and shuts the door before creeping further into the apartment as quietly as he can.
Another cat - this time a tortoiseshell - comes and rubs against his legs, loudly purring. Where
is he?
He absentmindedly bends down and pets the cat, who arches its back into Mike’s hand. He
always has liked cats.
The music shuts off, and Mike stands up straight as the door swings open to reveal…
Will?
Will’s hair is longer and wavier, and Mike can see his hearing aids peeking out from under it.
He’s wearing round black glasses, and he’s wearing a green flannel over a black T-shirt for
something called ‘Nirvana’ as well as black jeans.
He looks a lot like now, but… happier. And older. He doesn’t have that tiredness and pain
etched deep into his face. Instead of a line between his eyebrows from furrowing them so
much, he’s starting to get smile lines around his eyes. They look good on him. Happiness
looks good on him. He looks healthy, too. He looks like he’s at a normal weight.
He has a gold ring on his ring finger on his left hand, too. Does that mean-
“Hey, babe, how was your day?” Will asks, smiling at him from the doorframe.
He looks at his hand on the wood and glares at the frame, rubbing his finger on some speck
that he must be seeing.
“It’s amazing. I’m out of blue paint, yet it’s somehow still everywhere.” Will mutters. “That
reminds me- Mike, can you remind me to make a run to the art store tomorrow? I want to
finish that painting.”
Mike’s just staring at him. Will looks like he’s in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.
“Glad you got home early, by the way. The news said it was supposed to snow. I’m so glad
that my environmental art project isn’t going up for another week.” Will says, looking out the
window. “It wouldn’t have the same effect if it were all snowy and wet.”
Mike notes that he missed a spot under his jaw while shaving.
“And I-” Will pauses, looking back at the easel in the corner, where an orange cat is lounging
on the top of the canvas.
“Pumpkin! No!” Will sighs, walking over and picking up the cat off the easel. It leaves paw
prints on the top of the canvas, and Mike can see paint on its paws. “You would think that the
cat named Picasso would like the easel, but no, it’s Pumpkin.”
The cat snuggles into Will’s arms, and Will sighs again before scratching its ears and kissing
its head. “Our fur son is such an idiot. I’m so glad we picked him.”
Mike stands there frozen, trying to process as Will gently scolds the cat while petting its
head. “You’re so stupid… you know how many of my paintings you ruin? Do you? No, you
don’t… you’re as oblivious as your dads were when we were thirteen, yes you are…”
Eventually, he looks back up to Mike. “You’re awfully quiet. Rough day?” Will asks, walking
over and tucking a piece of Mike’s long hair (is he older in this dream too?) behind his ear,
the cat still in his arms and purring. “Was Jackson being a dick again? He’s just mad that
you’re a better editor than he is.”
“Um…” Mike says, trying to decide whether to tell Older Will the truth that this isn’t his life
or lie and take it as his own. “...yeah, Jackson… was… being a jerk.”
Will makes a ‘mm’ noise before leaning forward and pressing their lips together, the cat
sandwiched between them. Mike kisses back - it might not be his Will, but it’s still Will,
and… this one loves him, while his Will doesn’t.
Eventually, Will pulls away and gives a small smile.
“I’m sorry. You want to order in and watch TV? We could get Chinese or pizza… I think the
deli’s still open if you want that. And I know we watched Jurassic Park last week, but I don’t
mind watching it again. I know it’s your favorite.” Will says softly.
…This isn’t real.
Mike knows it’s just a way for Vecna to fuck with him.
But… can’t he pretend, for just a minute? That Will is his husband, that this is his apartment,
that those are his cats and his pictures and sticky notes and diploma on the wall? What harm
does it do to pretend?
Mike’s opening his mouth, about to say ‘Yeah, Chinese sounds great’, but then it hits him.
Will’s been pretending. He’s been saying everything’s fine, even though he’s been depressed
and suicidal and had an eating disorder, and he’s suffered for it.
Pretending can do a hell of a lot of damage.
And, in the end, this man isn’t his Will.
“I’m sorry.” Mike whispers. “I… I’d love to. But… this… me being here… is a mistake. I’m
not… I don’t belong here.”
Will looks at him puzzledly, tilting his head slightly like he always does when he’s confused.
“What do- Mike, what are you talking about? Of course you belong here. You belong here
with me.” Will says, reaching a hand to touch him.
Tears sting at Mike’s eyes, because he wants this, he wants this to be real so fucking badly,
but it’s not, it’s a lie-
“No.” Mike whispers. “I don’t. I’m so sorry. But… I don’t belong here. This- this isn’t even
real.”
Will’s eyes widen in disbelief behind his glasses, hurt in his gaze. “But… does that even
matter? You’re here with me now. Why- why would you leave? I love you. Don’t you- don’t
you love me?”
Tears start to slip down Mike’s face. “I’m so sorry.” he whispers, and as he turns away from
the life he wants so badly, the floor disappears from under his feet.
He cries out as he’s thrown onto a wet surface, surrounded by complete darkness and water.
“Even if it was real, you would turn him down, wouldn’t you? Do you know why, Michael?”
Mike looks around. How does he get out?
“Because deep down, you know you don’t deserve happiness. Deep down, you know you
don’t deserve anything, least of all Will. You’re lucky that he even tolerates you. That he
even wants to be your friend.”
Mike’s twelve. He’s walking home from school - his bike chain broke, and he has to wait for it
to get fixed before he can ride it again. So he’s walking. Will wanted to walk with him, but
he’s been limping a lot (Mike thinks one of his dad’s old injuries is coming back), so Mike
told him to just go straight home so that he wouldn’t hurt his legs more. Will didn’t want to
leave him, but Mike managed to convince him.
The road is mostly empty, which is nice, because Mike doesn’t really want to talk to anyone.
People suck. They’re mean and it feels like they all hate him.
Mike’s too busy walking and thinking to notice someone coming, though.
“Hey, frog-face!” Troy calls from his bike, about fifty feet away. James is at his side. Why do
bullies move in packs?
Mike freezes, his breath short as Troy comes closer.
“Where’s your boyfriend, huh?” he asks.
He tightens his grip on his backpack straps. He shouldn’t let it bother him, but… they’re good
at hitting nerves.
Troy circles him on his bike, James beside. “Did he ditch you, or did he grow eyes and see
what an ugly loser you are?”
Mike tries to walk past, but James blocks him on his bike. “Well?” he asks.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Mike says quietly. “We’re best friends.”
“Sure, frog-face. You two are practically inseparable. It’s disgusting.” Troy says.
Mike’s heart hurts at the way they’re dragging Will into this.
“Yeah, always holding hands and whispering to each other. What are you, some kind of
queer?” James laughs.
Mike clenches his hands around his backpack straps. He should just ignore them, keep
walking and pretend that he can’t hear them, but it’s hard. It’s always hard.
“Leave Will alone. You don’t know anything about him.” Mike says.
Troy smiles. “Everyone knows. You’re constantly together. My dad says it’s freaky that you’re
basically joined at the hip. Actually… maybe you’re the reason he’s limping now. Fairy stuff,
you know?”
Mike’s face turns red with a mix of rage and embarrassment.
“He’s not a- Will’s not gay. Neither am I.” Mike says. “And even if he was, what- he doesn’t
deserve this crap.”
“Oh, Frog-Face is trying to stand up for his little boyfriend! How cute.” Troy sneers.
“Yeah, real cute.” James says. “They should get a room.”
Mike’s fists are so tight around his backpack that his nails are digging into his palms.
“Leave him alone.” Mike snaps. “Leave us alone. We aren’t bothering anybody.”
Troy laughs, getting off his bike and walking towards Mike. “You’re bothering me. You and
your fairy friend. And you’re bothering everyone else. Freaks like you shouldn’t exist.”
Mike’s shaking now, and his teeth are clenched so tight that his jaw hurts.
“Don’t cry. You look even uglier when you cry.” James laughs.
“Well, that’s pretty hard. Look at him.” Troy says. “I mean, he’s hideous. Look at that big
spot on his face. It’s so ugly. That plus how weirdly pale and lanky he is? Man, I think he’d be
doing everyone a favor if he just crawled off and died where nobody would have to look at his
ugly face.”
Mike stays silent. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? Not engage?
“Yeah, frog-face, just go die!” James leers.
Mike’s eyes sting, and he angrily swipes at them. “Leave. Me. Alone.” he snarls.
Troy shoves him backwards hard, sending him on his back on the ground.
“Or what, frog-face?” Troy says. “Who are you gonna cry to? Your crybaby fairy
boyfriend?”
Mike gets back up, wiping his eyes again, before he snarls, “Go to hell.”
They both laugh. “We’re not the sinners! You and Byers are!” James says.
The laughter echoes in Mike’s ears as he walks away.
“Cry to your mommy, ugly! Frog-face!” is called after him as he goes away and out of their
line of sight.
Mike’s hands tremble as he squeezes his nails into his hands. He ignores their jeering as he
walks away. They can’t see that it affects him.
He just keeps walking, one foot in front of the other. And even though he tells himself that he
doesn’t care what they think, he still keeps thinking about it. And he can’t help but wonder if
they’re right.
“They were right. You are nothing, Michael. You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve
friendship. Look at the mess you’ve made of everything. Your friends, your family, Will -
especially Will - would all be better off without you. That’s why you jumped, after all.”
Mike’s twelve. Troy's holding a knife to Dustin's face, threatening that he’s gonna torture him
if Mike doesn't jump off into the quarry. Dustin’s shouting that he can take it, just don't do it,
Mike, please-
Mike looks down. He knows there's no way he survives.
But who cares? Will's dead. Will’s dead and Mike’s alone.
Maybe if he leaps, the rock in his chest that hasn't left since Chief Hopper sat them down and
said Will was missing will stay on the ledge and he’ll be free and fly.
Maybe death will free him from the grief. Maybe he won't hurt when he dies in the same place
they found Will’s body.
He ignores Dustin’s screaming and begging.
Mike steps forward off the cliff and goes into freefall.
“Isn’t it? Is that not why you jumped? You’re so desperate for attention, for affection, that it’s
pathetic. You can’t stand the thought of people leaving you. That’s why you cling to people,
isn’t it? To William, to Eleven, to anyone who can tolerate your presence. But they always
leave, don’t they? They always leave you behind, alone and broken. You’re a burden, a
worthless, disgusting, ugly creep. And you know it, don’t you, Michael? You know you’re
not worthy of love or happiness. You’re just a miserable, pathetic excuse for a human being.”
Mike’s crying as he shakes his head, getting up from the wet floor as he whispers, “No, no,
no, leave me alone, stop it-”
“Nobody loves you. El doesn’t love you. Your friends don’t love you. And Will loves you
least of all. The only reason they keep you around is because you make them feel better about
their own flaws. Will has an eating disorder-”
“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Will tells Mike quietly.
Mike stares at him. He knows Will’s gonna do something in the bathroom. If his suspicions
are right and Will has an eating disorder, is he gonna throw up?
So as Will starts to get up, he grabs Will’s bicep.
“Will, wait.” Mike says, his voice shaky with the worry he feels.
Will turns to Mike, his expression neutral, but with that little furrow of his eyebrows he
doesn’t even know he does when he’s scared.
“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
Mike stares into his eyes, trying to convey ‘I know, Will, and please don’t do it. You’re so
beautiful, please don’t hurt yourself like this’, but Will looks away after a minute.
“Will, I know.” Mike whispers after a minute, his heart breaking. “I know something’s really
wrong. And I can’t just watch you suffer.”
Will stares at him, his eyes getting wide. He’s gonna try to bolt. Mike knows him. He tightens
his grip.
“I’m here. I’m always here. Whatever’s happening in your head, you don’t have to deal with
it alone. You don’t have to just take it. I’m here. Other people are here. Just… whatever
you’re doing… please, just don’t. I’m worried, Will. Just… please.” Mike says, soft like he
would talk to a scared animal. Don’t run away, Will, please just talk to him-
He can see Will about to cry.
“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.” Will lies, his voice hardly a whisper.
Bullshit! Stop lying! Please, just let me help!
Mike gives a bitter smile, starting to tear up. It’s all he can do, because Will’s so light and
small that Mike doesn’t think he can carry on like this much longer without killing himself
and he doesn’t know how to help. “I know that’s bullshit.” he says. “I know. And I can’t just
sit here and watch you starve to death, Will. You’re so thin. You’re so fucking thin that it
scares the shit out of me. You know how I said I can’t lose you? Well… I’m losing you. And
this time it’s not to another universe or to my own stupidity, it’s to whatever’s happening in
your head. Please, Will, just… let me help.”
“I…” Will starts, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “...I don’t know what to
say, Mike, I just… I don’t know.”
Mike moves his hand from Will’s bicep to his hand, squeezing lightly. “Just try.” he says,
trying to keep the shake out of his voice.
“I’m scared, Mike.” Will says after a minute, tears welling in his eyes as his voice shakes.
“I’m so scared. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared of food, and I’m scared of calories,
and I’m scared of being fat, and I- I’m just scared. I can’t stop, and every time I eat I feel so
disgusting, and I- Mike, I hate myself, and I can’t look in the mirror anymore. I can’t eat, and
I have to- have to make sure I’m not fat, and if I’m not losing weight I- I feel like a failure.
I’m scared because I- I need to control something but I’m not in control, I can’t- I can’t even
eat one meal without feeling like I need to throw up. I’m so scared and everything’s wrong
and I can’t fix it, I don’t know how- I don’t know what’s wrong with me-”
Mike’s grip tightens on Will’s hand, tears starting to track down his face too. “Will, listen to
me. You’re not disgusting or fat or a failure. I- God, I can’t imagine how scary it is, but it’s
gonna be okay. I- I’m here for you, and I’m always your best friend, no matter what. I- I don’t
know what to say or do yet, but we’re gonna figure it out, okay? I’m gonna figure out how to
help make it better. You’re gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let you do this alone. I- you’re not
alone, Will, I promise that you’re not alone.”
“I don’t know how to make it stop.” Will cries. “I don’t know how to fix it or make it go away.
I’m stuck, and I’m drowning and I don’t know how to stop-”
Mike’s scared, because his best friend and favorite person in the entire world is starving
himself and making himself throw up and he hates himself and he’s so goddamn thin, but he
pushes it aside to grab Will and pull him tightly against his chest.
As Will cries into his shirt, he wishes he were the one dealing with this instead. He already
hates his appearance enough for the both of them - why couldn’t Will see how pretty he is and
how perfect he is at a normal weight, and why couldn’t Mike be the one to try to starve
himself til he dies?
Will deserves better. Better than this, better than him.
So Mike just whispers reassurances and promises to Will, telling him how he deserves better
and how Mike’s never going to leave him.
Mike wishes he could suffer, not Will. He’s so much uglier than his friend - how is Will
insecure like this?
“-and the reason he’s starting to eat again is only because you’re so ugly that he feels
attractive compared to you. You’ve always known how ugly you are, Michael - it’s another
reason you’ll always be alone.” Vecna says.
Mike’s sitting at the dining table. He’s ten. His mom is making him a snack after school.
“Um… Mom?” he asks quietly.
She looks over at him. “What’s up?”
“I… wanted to ask you about something that’s really important.” Mike says.
His mom sets down the apple she was cutting up and walks over, sitting down at the table.
“You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”
He takes a deep breath and nods. “I… I know. But, um… it’s about my birthmark.”
She looks at him confusedly. “Your birthmark? What about it, sweetheart?” she asks.
“I… I hate it.” Mike says. “I hate it so much. I hate the way it looks, and I- I just don’t want
it.”
She reaches out to touch his hand. “Sweetheart, it makes you special. I mean, you literally
have a heart on your cheek. I think it’s beautiful.”
“But it’s not!” Mike shouts. “It’s not, Mom! It’s this big, ugly spot on my face that I can’t get
off! You don’t know what it’s like! I hate how I look! And- and people make fun of me at
school for it, and they all stare at me, and I- I can’t take it!”
“I-” his mom says, apparently stunned.
“Isn’t there- isn’t there something we can do?” Mike says, his voice dropping down to a
whisper. “Like- some- some kind of surgery or something?”
His mom sits there for a minute before getting up and moving around the table to give him a
hug. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you hated it so much.” she says quietly.
Mike just hugs tight.
“But I don’t want you to get rid of it.” she whispers.
He pulls back again. Wasn’t- was she not listening?
“You are a beautiful, smart, kind person, and I love you the way you are. Your birthmark is a
part of you, sweetheart, and I don’t want you changing who you are so that people will be a
little bit nicer at school. When you’re older, you’re gonna grow to like it, I promise.”
“But I don’t like it.” Mike whispers desperately. “I hate the way I look. Please just let me get
rid of it.”
“Honey, that’s a big decision. One that I think you’re making a mistake of even thinking
about. When you’re an adult, if you really want to, you can get it removed. But while you’re
still young, you shouldn’t try to change how you look permanently. Okay?” she says.
Mike mutters a ‘fine’ before he lets go and leaves, and he knows that it’s mean to his mom,
but can’t she see that it’s making him miserable to have this big ugly mark on his face?
When he goes upstairs, he looks in the mirror at the birthmark and wishes he could scrub it
off.
The next day, the mirror’s covered with a towel carefully tacked over it.
“You’re ugly, Michael. You knew it even as a child. And not only are you hideous, but you’re
a predator. The way you think about Will… do you think he would ever want to be around
you again if he knew? If he knew about the way he looked at him, the thoughts you’ve had?
Being queer is wrong, Michael - you know that. You have for years. Yet here you are.”
Mike’s watching the 60 Minutes special on AIDS and HIV. He’s listening to them talking
about how it’s leaving tens of thousands of gays dead on the street, how they’re literally dying
on doorsteps and in gutters, how it’s only affecting the gays, how nobody’s helping to stop
this epidemic.
He can’t breathe, because all he can think about is all those times he’s stared at Will’s lips or
legs or ass or collarbone, how the sight of his eyes or smile or even his hair is enough to
make Mike’s heart leap, how everything about Will is so perfect and attractive in Mike’s eyes.
He realized he was a queer when El kissed him before leaving, and not only did it not feel
right, but he wanted her to be Will instead. He knows it’s wrong. He knows it’s dirty. But he
wishes El were a boy. Wishes she was Will.
He wishes Will was a girl. Then he could be normal. Because… Will’s so easy to be around.
He’s so kind and artistic and sweet and smart, and he’s so cute and pretty and has those big
hazel eyes and beauty marks, and… he’s just so… captivating. In every way imaginable.
But Mike listens to the statistics and narratives from the TV, and the knowledge that he’s
wrong for feeling like this and that if he acted on it, he would be ostracized and lose everyone
combines with the terror that he’ll get sick too to form this weight on his chest like a load of
bricks.
As he listens, he resolves to bury these feelings. El's awesome, and he likes her company - if
he ends up marrying her, it… won't be ideal, but he'll be fine. At least then he won't get
ostracized. At least he won't be hated. At least he won't be sick.
“You’ve already lost Will so many times, Michael - aren’t you afraid of what would happen if
you tell him?”
He’s standing there behind the ambulance, watching a body lifted from the water that reflects
the red-and-blue emergency services lights. He sees the red and yellow of the vest on the
body that looks impossibly small. He can’t breathe.
“It’s Will.” Lucas whispers.
Mike’s shaking his head. “No. No, no, no, no.”
He- Will can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. He can’t be-
Mike can’t breathe, so he turns to El and screams at her. He doesn’t even know what he’s
saying, but it doesn’t matter, because Will’s dead, Will’s dead, Will’s dead, Will’s dead-
She looks like she’s about to cry. Mike doesn’t care. Will’s dead.
He goes to his bike, gets on, and starts to ride home.
He’s crying too hard to see. Will’s dead, Will’s dead, Will’s dead, Will’s dead-
Mike crashes his bike, and it hurts where he skins his knees, but he doesn’t care as he gets
back up onto the bike with a sob. Nothing matters. Will’s dead, Wil’s dead, Will’s dead-
He goes home, and he’s standing in the hallway when his mom sees him.
“Mike? What-?” she asks.
Mike practically dives into her arms and sobs as the TV turns to a breaking news report that
Will Byers’ body has been found in the quarry, that the search is over.
Will’s dead. Will’s dead. Will’s dead. Will’s dead. Will’s dead.
And Mike thinks he might have died along with him.
“And you got him back, and you got that part of yourself back. But at the expense of Eleven.
Were you glad, Michael? Were you glad when she died because it meant you got Will back?”
El has the Demogorgon trapped against the blackboard. She looks exhausted, like she’s going
to collapse.
She turns to look at Mike, tears in her eyes.
“Goodbye, Mike.” she whispers.
No. No, no, please no, no-
She screams as she and the Demogorgon disappear, at the same time that Mike shouts for her
not to.
A minute later, where this amazing girl was, there’s just broken tile and ash.
“Which was worse? Losing Eleven, or watching Will suffer?” Vecna asks. “Watching Bob
die?”
Will’s screaming.
Mike knows it’s not Will, but he still can’t stand it, the tortured sounds being forced out of
Will’s throat as he writhes.
“STOP! STOP! HELP ME!” Will calls before he screams again.
Mike doesn’t know how such an awful sound can come from him. It sounds like he’s being
ripped apart, like he’s being horrifically tortured. Maybe he is.
As Will keeps screaming, all Mike can think to do is cover his ears.
“Was watching Will or Bob suffer worse?”
Mike can just stare in horror as the demodog leaps at Bob, knocking him to the floor as its
flower mouth opens and bites.
The screams echo, Hopper grabbing Ms. Byers and dragging her away as Bob’s torn apart.
As Bob’s screaming starts to cease, his organs and blood spreading across the floor as he’s
eaten alive, all Mike can think to do is drag his unconscious best friend away from the
horrific sight.
“But the thing is, those were not even the last times you lost Will. The difference is, the
others were your own stupidity.”
Mike’s being an idiot. He knows he’s being a dick, making fun of Will’s campaign and being
so disinterested and sarcastic, but El just dumped him - why does Will have to make things
about him again?
“Okay. Fine.” Will snaps upon Mike saying they killed themselves so the campaign could be
over. “You guys win. Congratulations.”
He slams the stop button on the music, tosses off his Will the Wise costume, and grabs his
backpack.
“Will, I- I was just messing around.” Mike says, his annoyance faded to panic now that Will’s
actually mad. “Hey, let’s finish for real. How much longer is the campaign?”
“Just forget it, Mike.” Will mutters as he puts on his backpack.
“N-no!” Mike says in a panic. “You- you want to keep playing, right?”
“Y-yeah!” Lucas agrees hurriedly. “Yeah, totally!”
“We’ll just call the girls afterwards!” Mike says.
“I said forget it, Mike!” Will snaps. “Okay?”
Oh, shit. He’s really mad.
Oh, no.
“I’m going home.” Will mutters, stomping up the basement stairs. Mike knows it’s bad when
Will stomps - he prefers to walk silently. He only stomps when he’s restraining himself from
shouting at everyone.
“But- Will- Will, wait!” Mike says desperately, hopping over the table and running up the
stairs after him.
He follows Will out to the garage, where he starts to get his bike.
“Will- Will, come on. You can’t leave. It’s raining.”
Last time you went home when it was dark, you disappeared. You can’t. Please, I can’t do that
again.
“Listen, I said I was sorry, alright? It’s a cool campaign! It’s really cool! We’re just… not in
the mood right now.” Mike says.
“Yeah, Mike!” Will snaps, spinning around to face him. “That’s the problem! You guys are
never in the mood anymore! You’re ruining our party!”
Doesn’t Will know that they should be growing up and getting girlfriends, not playing games?
“That’s not true!” Mike denies.
“Really? Where’s Dustin right now?” Will asks.
Mike doesn’t know. He can’t tell him.
“See? You don’t know, and you don’t even care, and obviously he doesn’t either and I can’t
blame him! You’re destroying everything, and for what? So you can swap spit with some
stupid girl?”
Yes! That’s what they’re supposed to do! Doesn’t Will see that he’s the one ruining
everything? He’s the one trying to be a kid! They need to get girlfriends so that nobody thinks
they’re queers anymore!
“El’s not stupid! It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” Mike shouts before he can think
through what he’s saying and why, exactly, it’s one of the worst ideas he’s had in a long time.
Will flinches back like he’s been slapped, his hazel eyes wide with tears.
Why did he say that?
Why did he say that?
He sounded like Troy or Lonnie. Why did he say that?
He has to try to fix it.
“I- I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay? But… we’re not kids anymore. I mean, what did you
think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my
basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?” Mike says.
That… was not fixing it. What is he doing?
“Yeah.” Will says as he sniffles slightly. “I guess I did. I really did.”
As Will starts to cry, he gets on his bike and leaves into the rain.
Mike hates himself. He hurt Will. He made him cry. How could he?
“Will!” Mike shouts after him before going inside and getting his jacket and Lucas.
They ride after Will in the rain, and it isn’t long before they get to Will’s house.
Mike doesn’t bother to prop up his bike, just dropping it onto the ground as he jogs toward
the front door.
He pounds on the door with his fist. “Will! Will, I’m sorry, man, alright? I was being a total
asshole! Please, can you just come outside so we can talk?”
Nobody comes to the door.
Mike keeps pounding, shouting for Will, Lucas joining him after a minute.
Then Lucas freezes, grabbing Mike’s shoulder.
“Castle Byers.” he says. “That’s where he’d be.”
“Shit!” Mike says, running down off the porch and into the woods toward where Castle Byers
is.
They hear screaming, and Mike runs even faster, his hood falling off but he doesn’t care is
Will hurt-
When they get there, though, Will’s just standing there, silent and stock-still, soaked and
shaking.
“Will! I’m so sorry- oh my God, what happened?” Mike says, stopping when he sees the pile
of broken wood and lights and tarp that used to be Will’s safe place.
“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He’s back.” Will says, voice eerily steady and quiet.
“I- Will, I’m so sorry-” Mike says.

“DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME?! IT DOESN'T MATTER! HE’S BACK!” Will screams, whipping
around to face him.
Mike wants to apologize, to fix it.
But as Will walks away, he looks at the ruins of Castle Byers and knows there isn’t a way to
go back.
“You would think you learned your lesson. But you didn’t. And you lost him again.”
Mike can’t breathe, just whispering apologies as Will shouts at him. He says Mike hates him,
that he wishes Will were dead, that Will is his second choice. Mike’s heart is already broken
after he realized Will didn’t love him back, and now-
“You know what, Mike? I’m just gonna do you a favor since you hate me so much. We’re no
longer friends. And as soon as we’re back in Hawkins, you can stay the hell away from me.”
No.
No no no no no, he can’t lose him, he can’t lose him-
Mike sobs apologies, tries to hug Will, but he just makes things worse.
He’s lost everything.
“You ruin everything, Michael. Your friends’ lives and yours. Tell me why. Is it because
you’re afraid?”
Mike yelps as he’s thrown into a red landscape, a broken house and pillars and vines around.
Mike’s watching another romance movie. He started watching them with Nancy, but then he
started liking them on his own - the way that things always work out and everyone always
ends up with the one they love makes him happy.
His dad comes in and sits down in his recliner. “What are you watching?” he asks.
“‘Sixteen Candles’. It’s really good. Kinda mean to people sometimes, though.” Mike says.
His dad sits for a minute, before he says “You do know this is a romance, right?”
“Yeah, duh.” Mike says.
His dad’s quiet again, before he says, “Give me the remote. We’re changing it.”
“What? Why?” Mike asks.
“Romance movies are for girls and sissies. You’re not one. Turn it to something else. You’re
not watching those movies anymore.”
“What? But I like them, and I’m not a girl or a- that!” Mike complains.
“You already seem like a homosexual to most of the town with the way you act and stay
around that queer little Byers boy. Don’t make it worse. Trust me, you don’t want to be a
queer. They’re sick.”
Mike shuts his mouth, tears pricking his eyes as he gives his dad the remote.
He can’t be a queer. They’re sick.
“I know what you are, Mike Wheeler.” Vecna says, approaching him as vines shoot out from
the floor and wrap around his limbs and throat, pulling him to his knees as he chokes. “And
you do, too.”
Mike wheezes as his windpipe is crushed. Maybe Vecna’s right. He’s ugly and sick and mean
and worthless. Maybe they’re better off without him.
But then-
“Come on, Mike! You can do it! Come on!” calls Will’s voice, echoing through the red
hellscape.
He can’t die. He has to get back.
Mike wills the vines to disappear, and when they loosen, he yanks, breaking them.
He hits the ground with an ‘oof’ before he runs for the red portal that Will’s voice is coming
through, and after a minute, he goes through.
“Mike! Oh, thank God!” Will says once he’s back in his body, pulling him into a tight hug.
Will always gives the best hugs, like he’s sticking your broken pieces back together in his
arms. “I thought you were gone! Oh my God!”
Will pulls away after a minute, his eyes teary and with tear tracks down his cheeks, and he
rests their foreheads together, nuzzling their noses, which is… not something Will would
normally do, but Mike did almost die - who knows?
Either way, it makes his heart race.
Will’s hands cup his face as his eyes search over Mike’s face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?
What did he show you? I- you know what, as long as you’re okay, that doesn’t matter.”
He presses their foreheads together one more time before pulling back, looking at Mike
almost expectantly.
His hazel eyes are wide and teary, and his eyelashes have tears on them that look like little
pearls, and his cheeks are pink and streaked, and Will’s always been such a pretty crier-
Mike feels like Will would return his feelings if he told him in this moment. Maybe nothing’s
wrong with him - Vecna’s been wrong before, after all.
So he moves his hand to cup Will’s cheek before leaning forward and down a little to kiss
him.
They stand there for a minute, Will still and Mike nervous as fuck, before Will plants his
hands on Mike’s chest and shoves him back, causing Mike to fall to the floor.
“Michael, what the fuck?” Will snarls.
Mike stares at Will in horror. Oh, God. Oh, no, oh no no no no no-
“I- ew!” Will says. “Ew, ew, ew! Oh, that’s disgusting!”
Mike can’t breathe. He just stares up at Will from the floor.
“Oh my God, I- I just got kissed by a boy! Ew!” Will says, wiping off his mouth.
“I- I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking- I’m so sorry-” Mike stammers, tears in his
eyes.
He reaches out to touch Will, to apologize, but Will moves away, giving Mike a frightened
look.
“No! St-stay away from me!” he says.
“I’m so sorry-” Mike whispers. “I’m so sorry, I- I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t touch me!” Will says. “I- I don’t wanna get sick!”
Mike just keeps whispering apologies as Will runs out of the hospital room.
“No- don’t leave me- please, don’t leave me-” Mike whispers.
As he falls backwards onto the floor with a sob, bringing his hands up to cover his ugly face
that he was stupid to think Will could ever even consider liking, he falls backwards through
the floor until he’s floating in the air, falling and collapsing in a heap on the ground.
‘Smalltown Boy’ blasts in his ears.
“MIKE!” Will shouts, grabbing him and pulling him to have his head on his shoulder. Mike
notes that he doesn’t have the Walkman on. “Oh, God, you were floating! Oh, God, I- I oh
my God-”
Mike relishes the hug, but- it’s nurturing his dirty wants. He can’t have this, even if he wants
it.
He shoves Will off before scurrying away, immediately feeling bad at the confused and hurt
look in Will’s eyes.
Will shakes it off pretty fast, though, going back to relief after a second. “I was so worried. I-
I was worried about who was gonna get Vecna’d next, so I- I’ve been carrying around
everyone’s favorite songs. I- I was worried it was silly, but it meant I- I was able to save you.
Oh, thank God, I’m- I’m so glad you’re okay, Mikey-”
Mike can’t stand his sweet, worried eyes filled with tears any longer. Why does he have to be
so… good? So perfect? He makes Mike’s life so much harder - it means he can’t like girls
when he has the epitome of beauty here in front of him.
He scrambles to his feet, causing Will to lean back, a mix of pain and self-loathing and
gratitude clawing at his insides until his heart is torn-up and bleeding.
“I- I appreciate it, Will.” Mike says, avoiding eye contact. “Th-thank you for saving me. But
I- I- I need to be alone for a minute. I- I need a- a little space. Okay?”
Will looks hurt again before he nods.
“Of course. I- I get it. Just- keep the headphones on, okay?” Will says. “Are- are you sure? I
don’t- I don’t mind walking with you-”
Mike nods and mumbles about how he’ll be fine before he leaves the room.
As he starts to run away down the hallway out of the hospital, tears stream down his face as
‘Smalltown Boy’ plays in his ears.
‘Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away….
Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away…’
Mike just runs, bursting through the doors as he fights to breathe.
After he runs until he’s on the edge of the woods, Mike collapses, back against a tree as he
sobs.
Vecna’s right. He’s disgusting and sick, and Will would hate him if he knew. They all would.
And even if that wasn’t the worst part about him, he’s unlovable and ugly. He’s just a burden.
Mike wishes his feelings were something he could carve out of his chest with a knife, but
since he can’t, all he can do is bury it deep down.
They’ve tolerated his annoying personality and disgusting face and body for a long time. If
he can just tone down his unlovable traits and suppress his feelings, maybe they can care
about him still.
Mike restarts ‘Smalltown Boy’ as he leans his head against the tree.
Deep breaths. Just take deep breaths, and it’ll be okay.
Chapter End Notes
Y'all have no fucking idea how hard it is to write a Vecna scene up to par with Will's
when that boy's more traumatized than a water balloon in a cactus patch. But I did try
my best, and I hope it met expectations. Thank you guys! Leave a comment or Kudos if
you liked it, and I hope to see you soon!
Also, once again, sorry this was so late!

Isolation
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's a short angsty chapter to make up for... literally no fluff, the next chapter's
even worse lol. Anyway, enjoy!
me know!)


Overall rating: PG.

Trigger warnings:
- Self-destructive behavior
- Self-isolation
They bike home from the hospital in silence, ‘Smalltown Boy’ still playing in Mike’s ears.
Will’s tried to talk to him a few times, but Mike’s pretended he can’t hear him. It’s a dick
move, but… it’s not fair to exploit Will’s kindness for his own advantage. It’s not right to
think about Will like that when he doesn’t feel the same and isn’t like Mike. It’s better for
both of them if Mike stays away.
It makes his heart ache, though - it’s so hard to not say a word to Will when he’s so close,
when he’s right there and trying to talk to him.
He knows he’s doing this for Will. To protect him from Mike. But he also knows that Will’s
gonna feel so hurt by this, and the thought of causing Will pain makes him want to cry.
By the time they get back to Mike’s house, the silence is almost unbearable, and it feels like
Mike’s throat is closing like that time he got stung by a bee and had to go to the hospital.
As they go into the house, Mike steals glances at Will, who looks so worried and upset. He
has that line he gets when he furrows his eyebrows. Mike wants to kiss it until the skin’s
smoothed out and he’s not upset anymore. But Will wouldn’t want that - he’s not a freak like
Mike.
They sit in the basement with the others for a while, neither mentioning why Mike’s wearing
the Walkman and not Will (oh no, he needs the music too, is he gonna get Vecna’d?) before
Will yawns.
“Hey, you don’t mind if I go to bed, right?” Will asks Mike quietly.
Mike shakes his head. “I’ll go to bed too.”
Will nods, and they both get up, bidding goodnight to their friends before they go up to
Mike’s room.
“You want to take a shower first?” Will asks gently.
Mike nods, getting his clothes and leaving before Will can say anything else that’ll hurt.
He takes a quick shower, not taking his time like normal and getting out and getting ready for
bed as quickly as he can. If he cries in the shower, that’s his business.
Once he’s out, he takes a deep breath and goes back to his room where Will’s sitting on the
end of the bed waiting, the Walkman next to him.
“Alright. I’m gonna take a shower and be back in a few minutes, okay, Mike?” Will says as
he gets up. “If you want to cuddle-”
“I don’t.” Mike blurts as he’s getting out pajamas for Will, it’s a lie, he wants to, he wants to
hold Will more than anything, but he can’t-
Mike takes a deep breath. “Not- not like that. I- I’m sorry. I just… still need space. So… I… I
just can’t do that tonight. Okay?”
Will looks hurt for a second before he schools his expression and nods. “Okay. I- okay. I’ll
bring up the air mattress.”
“What?” Mike asks, immediately shaking his head. “No. No, you- I’m not gonna make you
sleep on the floor, of course you’re still sleeping in my bed, I just- I- don’t want to cuddle.
Okay?”
Will stands there awkwardly, but then he nods. “Sure.” he says. “Okay. Sorry.”
Mike wants to say ‘no, don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault I’m a freak’, but Will grabs the
pajamas out of his hands and leaves before he can say anything.
Will comes back about half an hour later when Mike’s already on his side of the bed and the
room’s already dark. Even though it’s so dark, Mike can see that Will’s hair is fluffy again,
and he can see that Will’s cuffed the sleeves and pant legs successfully this time.
“Goodnight, Mike.” Will says quietly as he gets into bed, and Mike’s heart breaks, because
he wishes there were anger in his voice, but instead there’s just hurt and worry and care.
Mike wants to say ‘Goodnight, Will’, but that would be pulling him closer, not pushing him
away, which is what he needs to do.
So he just tightens the covers around his shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut so that he
doesn’t cry.
Chapter End Notes
Poor Mike :( you ain't gonna have it easy for a while.
Leave a comment or Kudos if you enjoyed, and see you soon!

Fight
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's Chapter 71. I would say 'enjoy', but... maybe not. Sorry!
me know!)


7: https://www.tumblr.com/ngalu/742643522695577600/sleepy-glimmer-byler-cuddles-
eeee?source=share
8: https://www.tumblr.com/wave-lights/743431182100889600/for-
aglimmeroflightrefusingtofades-fic-on-ao3?source=share
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Homophobic slurs
- Self-hatred
- Suicidal ideation
- Derogatory language
- Disordered eating
- Body dysmorphia
- Language
- Manipulation

When Mike wakes up, eyes still closed, he goes to stretch, but is prevented by a weight in his
arms.
He opens his eyes and still sees nothing but darkness, so he pulls his head back a little and
realizes that his face is buried in Will’s chest, his arms around Will’s waist and hands hooked
behind Will’s back. Will has his legs wrapped around Mike’s waist, his arms around Mike’s
shoulders, and his face in Mike’s hair.
Before Mike can think about why, exactly, he’s an evil person for loving Will and why he’s
an abomination, he just hugs him closer, moving his head so that he can look into Will’s face
as he sleeps.
For a minute, Mike just admires Will, looking so calm and content in his sleep and letting out
little huffs of breath, his eyelids moving as if he’s dreaming. And then Mike’s overcome with
the want he feels.
He wants to press his lips against Will’s in soft kisses until both of them are fully awake.
He wants to kiss Will’s forehead and the tip of his nose and all over his gorgeous face until
Will wakes up all confused, at which point Mike would laugh and pull him closer under the
covers.
He wants to hear Will’s gentle laugh in his ear every night, wants to wake up to his and Will’s
bodies curled together like they were designed to be so close, wants to drift off with a sleepy
Will the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night.
And then the fear hits him.
He can’t feel this way. Not for a boy, and least of all for Will. It’s wrong and predatory and
gross to look at his best friend like this. What’s wrong with him? He really is a faggot.
Vecna’s right. He hates himself for it.
So Mike panics and pushes Will off of him.
He regrets it immediately as Will falls off the bed, his eyes flying open and making a little
‘Ah!’ noise as he hits the floor.
“Ow.” Will mumbles, rubbing his head. “Sorry. I must have gone closer to you in my sleep.
I’m sorry.”
Mike’s breathing heavily, eyes wide with fear where he’s sat up.
“Mike? Are you okay?” Will asks, moving his hand from his head to Mike’s wrist,
presumably to give a gentle touch to his arm.
“Don’t touch me!” Mike spits, scooting away from Will’s hand. If Will gives him that soft
look and those gentle touches, Mike’s not going to be able to hold back the want, and he’s
going to give in. That can’t happen. He can’t prey on Will like that. He can’t be a faggot.
Will recoils, retracting his hand and looking at Mike with wide eyes full of confusion and
hurt. “You- but- it was fine the other night? I- you said it was like before. Just another
sleepover lie we’ve had a million times.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d be so touchy!” Mike snarls. “I didn’t think you’d be- be acting
like a queer!”
Mike’s brian is screaming at him, telling him to shut the fuck up before he ruins everything
yet again.
Will’s hurt and confusion turn to an emotion Mike can’t name before it’s covered by anger.
He gets up off the floor, grabs his shoes from next to the bed, and marches over to the door to
Mike’s room. With his hand on the handle, he turns and looks at Mike, pain and fury battling
on his face.
“You know what, Michael? Fuck you.” he spits before leaving and slamming the door shut.
“Wait. No, wait, I’m sorry.” Mike whispers to a now-empty room.
He curses as he gets out of bed and puts on the nearest pair of shoes before running out the
door.
“Where did Will go?!” Mike shouts to Dustin, who’s in the kitchen.
“Uh- the garage?” Dustin says confusedly, holding a piece of toast.
Mike doesn’t stop to thank Dustin, instead running out to the garage, where Will is muttering
to himself from where he sits on one of the garage shelves as he puts on his shoes.
“Will, I- I’m so sorry.” Mike says.
Will doesn’t look up, but his hands still on the shoelaces.
“I’m so fucking sick of you saying ‘I’m sorry’.” Will says after a moment that feels like
forever.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.” Mike says.
Will looks up and stares at Mike with a fury that’s rare, but also one that comes out more
often the more Mike fucks up. “No. No, sometimes there isn’t anything to say. Every single
time you say something that really hurts me, I forgive you, sometimes without- without so
much as an apology. And I- I put my foot down at Surfer Boy Pizza, but that only lasted a
while. Because I’m stupid. You keep fucking up and giving me this bullshit about how sorry
you are, but then you turn around and do it again.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mike whispers, because Will’s right-
“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to understand how fucked-up the shit you say to me
is! I don’t care if you say you’re sorry, I want you to stop fucking hurting me!” Will shouts.
Mike flinches. Will doesn’t shout like that. Even when he’s truly angry and shouting, he’s
still not as loud as that. He whispers another apology.
Will finishes tying his shoes. “You know, you- you’ve always been the person I’ve trusted
most. You- you’ve always been my best friend. You’ve always been the person who protected
me from bullies and Lonnie and any homophobic person who came at me. And- Michael,
you- you just called me a fucking queer. I thought you were the one person who- who would
never say that to me. And I was wrong.”
Mike’s eyes are teary, and he’s shaking his head. “I- I didn’t mean it.” he says.
“Then why the fuck would you call me a fucking slur?!” Will shouts. “‘Oh, I didn’t mean it’,
but you tell me that the best day of your life was the day I died! You make fun of me, you
ignore me, you call me slurs! But I’m supposed to forgive you because you ‘didn’t mean it’!”
“I- I’m so sorry, I was just- I was just scared.” Mike says.
“Of what?! The big bad faggot?! Oh, so- goddamn- scary!” Will snarls, forming his fingers
into claws and mockingly raising them at Mike, sparking his fingers in his direction.
And much to his chagrin, Mike steps back on instinct.
Will’s anger fades for a minute, staring at Mike with so much hurt and pain that it hurts Mike,
too.
He turns away from Mike, getting up from the garage shelf and going over to his bike.
“And to think you were the one person who I thought would never make me feel like a
mistake.” Will says, unlocking his bike while angrily scrubbing tears from his face with the
heel of his palm.
Wait.
And when you’re different, sometimes… sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make her
feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different. And that gives her the
courage to fight on.
“The painting was from you.” Mike says, staring at Will in shock. It takes a minute for his
anger to catch up. “The painting was from you!” Mike shouts. “Why did you lie to me?! The
painting was from you!”
Will looks at Mike in fear instead of anger for the first time in a hot second. “N- no, it
wasn’t.” he says.
That pisses Mike off even more. Will knows Mike knows he’s lying. Why won’t he just
admit it?
“Bullshit!” Mike shouts. “Bullshit! Stop lying, Will! It was from you!”
All of Mike’s pain, his pining, his self-hatred over that stupid, beautiful painting because the
painting wasn’t from Will, but it was pointless, because it was from Will after all.
Will doesn’t say anything, just getting his bike ready to go.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?! You could have told me the truth!” Mike shouts.
Will whips around, letting his bike fall to the floor.
“Because you wouldn’t want the painting if it was from me!” Will shouts. “Tell me you
wouldn’t have gone from loving it to wanting to- to set it on fire or something if I told you I
was the one who would always need you! If I told you I was the one who was lost without
you! If I told you I was the one who would fall apart without you! Would you still have
wanted it if you knew?!”
No. It- it would have made him love it even more. He would have cherished it even more.
Mike’s throat tightens. Does Will really think he would be like that?
Well, he did just call Will a slur, so… he can see where he’s coming from.
“Of course.” Mike whispers. “Of course I would.”
“Bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!” Will shouts, tears streaming down his face. “Just- don’t
lie to me! I know the truth!”
“And what’s that? Huh? What’s the truth, then, because apparently you don’t know how to
tell it!” Mike snaps.
Will’s eyes are wide and afraid, but above all, they are genuinely angry.
“You want the truth, Michael? Here’s the fucking truth! You want to know why I didn’t tell
you about the painting? Because I was scared! I was scared that I would lose my best friend
once you knew how much of a freak I really am! I was fucking scared that if you knew how
much I care about you, you would run away and never look back! I was scared that you
would realize I’m just a worthless, broken mess that doesn’t deserve anything good, let alone
someone as good as you! But apparently it was for nothing, because you still realized it and
now you’re pushing me away anyway!”
“Will-” Mike tries. How can he think that? He’s everything.
“Just stop! You think I don’t know? I know why you’re pushing me away! You figured it out,
didn’t you?! Vecna told you yesterday! You figured out that I’m so fucked up and disgusting
and- and goddamn defiled- that you can’t stand to have me around! That you can’t stand to
touch me or hug me or anything that matters! You figured out that I’m a queer and some-
some mentally ill, pathetic slut, and now that you can see that I actually am, you hate me! I
can’t blame you, either! I hate me, too! You want to know why I want to fucking die? It’s
because I can’t take this anymore! I hate myself, you hate me, and so will everyone else when
they know everything!”
Mike’s heart is ripping itself apart, how could Will say that about himself-
“Fuck you! I’m leaving!” Will snaps, getting his bike up.
“Where? Where are you even going to go?” Mike asks, not even sure of anything other than
the fact that he doesn’t want Will to leave.
“Home!” Will snarls.
“Oh yeah? Where’s that? You don’t have a home anymore!” Mike shouts. He can’t leave-
“Go fuck yourself! I’ll figure it out!” Will shouts back.
With that, he gets on his bike and rides away, leaving Mike standing there in the garage,
reeling.
Wait.
The painting and speech were, in fact, Will’s all along.
He called himself queer, as well as… many other things. (‘Some mentally ill, pathetic slut’
and ‘disgusting’ and ‘defiled’ and ‘fucked-up’ come to mind, but he tells his brain to shut
up).
Oh, no.
Oh, shit, Mike really fucked up this time.
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear or see Dustin coming until he’s shoved
backwards.
“What the actual FUCK, Michael Wheeler?!” Dustin shouts.
“I don’t know.” Mike whispers.
“YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Dustin screams at him. “YOU DON’T SAY THAT SHIT! YOU
DON’T LET HIM SAY THAT SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK!”
“I know. I know. I- I messed up.” Mike says, starting to cry.
“He’s getting Vecna’d! He’s getting Vecna’d and you just handed Vecna a loaded gun! Shit!
Where’s he going?!” Dustin asks.
“I- I don’t know. He said- he said he’s going home. That he’s gonna- gonna figure it out.”
Mike stammers.
“Fuck!” Dustin curses, dragging his hands down his face. “Give me the Walkman. Me and
Lucas are gonna go find him. I’m going to go look for my best friend. Who I would never,
ever call that.”
“I’ll- I’ll go too. We have to find him.” Mike says, finally snapping out of it. “Be-before
Vecna gets to him.”
“No. You’ve done enough.” Dustin snarls, turning away and going over to his bike.
Mike just stands there, trying not to cry.
Lucas walks from the open garage door past him, presumably to the bike rack, but then he
turns around and sighs. “Dustin’s- Dustin’s right, man. That was really shitty to do. You
know how people have been to him. I’m- I’m sure that things’ll work out, but… I think you
should stay here until everyone’s calmed down. Maybe think of a way to make it up to him.
Don’t worry, though. We’ll bring Will back. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Mike feels like he’s in a daze as he brings down the Walkman with ‘The Chain’ in it to
Dustin, who glares at him one more time before he and Lucas ride off into Hawkins, dark
with the ash and clouds in the sky.
All Mike can do is go, sit in his bedroom, and stare at the wall covered in Will’s drawings as
he cries.
Will’s curled up against a tree near Castle Byers, pressing his face into his legs as he sobs and
rocks, his arms wrapped around his legs like always.
He doesn’t know what to do. Mike hates him. He knows that Will’s a queer, he knows what
Will did, he knows how disgusting and worthless Will is, he hates him, he probably wants
him dead-
Will makes himself breathe as he continues crying and rocking. Not breathing won’t help
anything.
After a while of being against the tree and on the cold ground, Will gets up and moves, going
over and sitting on a fallen tree instead. He hugs his arms around his midsection and stares at
the ground as he rocks, his tears still falling, but this time onto his pants instead of into his
hands.
Will winces when he feels how thick his abdomen is when he squeezes his arms. He ate for
nothing, too. He did it so that Mike would be happy, but apparently that didn’t matter,
because Mike still hates him. Now he’s started to get fat again for literally no reason. How is
he so disgusting? So pathetic?
God, Will wishes he were dead.
“Will Byers.” says a voice from behind him.
Will knows that voice. It’s Vecna. But who cares?
“What do you want.” Will says flatly, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his
hand.
“I just want to talk.” Vecna says.
“You know what? No.” Will snarls, still facing away from Vecna, his back hunched. “I know
why you’re here. I know you want to kill me. You use people’s worst memories and thoughts
and fears against them, and then you kill them. You do that to make them feel alone and
unloved and damaged, to make them feel like it would be better if they died. But I already
know what I am. I already know that I am alone and worthless and a freak and a faggot and a
whore and broken and unlovable. You don’t have to trick me.”
Will takes a deep breath to force the lump in his throat down as he wipes his cheeks again. “I
know you’re here to kill me. I don’t care. Go ahead. I don’t care if I die, and nobody else
does either. Hell, they’ll probably even celebrate. And, like- I want to kill myself anyway.
Why fight it? If nobody cares and I already want to die, why fight it? Go nuts. I don’t care.
Go ahead and kill me. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to die. I’m done fighting.”
Vecna’s still silent.
Will lets out a shaky breath. “Just… just go ahead and kill me. I’m done fighting.” he repeats
in a whisper.
A hand comes on his shoulder, and Will flinches, expecting it to be his end, but when he
looks, it isn’t the red, vined, clawed hand that he expects, but instead a pale, smooth, human
hand, gently resting on Will’s shoulder.
He looks back into Vecna’s face, but instead of the skeletal vines, it’s a boy with blue eyes,
blonde hair in a wave, and a sharp face in a kind yet sad expression. He’s wearing a white
uniform. Will thinks he’s actually quite handsome, which is a far cry from Vecna’s normal
form.
“I don’t want you dead, Will.” says the boy, and his voice is so much higher and lighter and
softer than Vecna’s. “I think you deserve so much more than that.”
Will stares at him for a minute, before he says in a pained, quiet whisper, “Why?”
“Because you deserve better.” the boy says, and he opens his mouth to say something, but
then he stops. “May I sit?” he asks instead.
Will stares again, but then he nods.
The boy takes a seat on the fallen tree, about two feet away from Will. Just enough that Will
doesn’t feel crowded or trapped, but close enough that Will can see the detail on his face and
the boy’s hand can stay on Will’s shoulder. Will’s nervous, but… the touch isn’t aggressive or
binding. If he wanted, he could shrug it off and get up. It’s just a gentle reminder that the boy
(it doesn’t feel right to call him Vecna) is there.
“You’ve suffered so much.” the boy says quietly. “The world is on your shoulders, and it’s so
heavy that it’s crushing you. Anyone can see it. It’s in the bags under your eyes, in the
tension in your shoulders, in the shake of your hands and voice, in the way you carry
yourself. You’ve been holding on so long, Will. You’ve suffered so much, and you’re still
suffering. But you keep going. You keep fighting. Even though you hold this burden and the
world is against everything you are, you still keep fighting. And that, Will, is truly
admirable.”
Will stares at the boy as he speaks, listening as his breath shakes as he processes the words.
This isn’t what he was expecting. He was expecting some kind of torment, some kind of
mockery or inflicted pain, but this… this is different. The only pain this is causing is this ache
in his chest at the sound of someone saying ‘yes, I see you, I see all of your pain, I see you at
your worst and say you deserve better’.
“You face your demons, Will. You face them head-on, whether real or internal, and you’ve
come out seemingly stronger every time. But winning a battle doesn’t make it easier once it’s
over. You are not invincible, Will Byers, and though you act like you’re alright, I know the
truth. You’re afraid, hurting and lost. And it is okay to be. You’re allowed to be scared.
You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to feel broken and lost. But that doesn’t make you
any less deserving of good things.”
Will’s eyes sting with unshed tears, because this is Vecna, so it must be a lie, but he wants to
believe, he wants to believe so badly-
The boy’s hand squeezes gently on Will’s shoulder, offering comfort that feels… surprisingly
genuine.
“You’ve been through so much, Will. Far too much. Yet here you are, shouldering this burden
and still standing, still fighting. You have a strength in you, Will, one that is beyond most
people. You have seen true evil and come out the other side. People underestimate you, Will
Byers - they have your entire life. But they should not, because not only are you a strong,
good person, but you have the power to destroy and rebuild the world.”
“Is that- is that why you’re being nice to me?” Will whispers. “Because you want me to
destroy the world?”
“No.” the boy says calmly. “I want to help you, Will. I want to offer you something you’ve
been deprived of for so long. I want to offer you someone who truly understands you. What I
offer is compassion, understanding, companionship, a chance to be seen as who you truly are.
To be who you truly are. I know the pain you carry, and I want to help you shoulder it. But
ultimately, the choice is yours. I will not force you, but I hope you will take my offer.”
Will just stares at him for a second, before he whispers, “What does that mean?”
The boy gives a small smile. “It means I want to be your friend.”
But- on top of him being Vecna… he’s seen in Will’s head. He knows everything. Why would
he want to be around him?
“Why?” Will asks in a whisper as a tear slips down his cheek. “You don’t have to be around
me. You know all of it. Why would you want to be my friend?”
The boy looks into his eyes. The blue is calming, like a wave of peace washes over Will and
quiets his thoughts. He feels almost drunk off the blue of this boy’s eyes. What’s happening
to him?
“May I?” the boy asks as he raises his hand to Will’s face.
Will just stares for a minute before nodding slightly (which is almost involuntary, what’s
happening?), and the boy gently wipes away the tears with his thumb.
“No need to cry. If they can’t see how special you are, that’s on them.” he says gently, tracing
his fingers over Will’s cheek (which- normally, with anyone other than close friends and
family, would make Will uncomfortable and make him twist away, but it’s like he’s
hypnotized into staying still).
“You’re blinded, Will. You’re blinded by your self-hatred, instilled in you over years. You are
an admirable, wonderful person who deserves the world, who deserves so much more than
your lot, who deserves to be loved. What you’ve been through… what society’s put you
through… it’s made you blind. You deserve everything good. Including friendship. I would
be a fool to not want you as a friend.”
Will’s actually considering.
But then he remembers.
“But you’re Vecna.” Will whispers. “Will the Wise doesn’t- doesn’t side with the bad guys.”
“Henry.” the boy corrects gently. “I’m not Vecna. He’s different. While he is a part of me, this
is who I really am. Not One, not Vecna, Henry. Just like how you’re not Nineteen or Bill, but
you’re Will. We all have parts of us, Will - different facets. And just because we all have bad
parts of us, like Vecna is a bad part of me and Nineteen is a bad part of you, doesn’t make us
bad people. You and I are so similar, Will. Two sides of the same coin. If anyone understands
that Vecna and I aren’t the same, you would.”
It doesn’t quite make sense, but Will does understand. He understands that people see
monsters in anyone different. Maybe… that’s all that happened to Henry. All of his kills are
suicidal, after all - maybe he was just putting them out of their misery. And… Will lost
control at Nina and at Hawkins Lab. He’s killed more people than Henry has. He does
understand.
Henry rises from the tree, turning and holding his hand out to Will.
“You’ve suffered, Will. But I can make sure you never feel like that again. I want to give you
everything you could ever want. Just take my hand. Come with me. I can make you feel
whole, can make it so that you no longer feel alone and unloved. Just take my hand, and I’ll
give you the world.”
Will looks at Henry’s outstretched hand, and he feels a pressure against his throat. Is it
betraying his family to take Henry - Vecna’s - hand? Is it betraying his friends?
But then he realizes.
His mom has Jon and El.
Jon has Nancy and their mom.
El has Hopper and Mike and their friends and their mom.
Lucas has Mike and Dustin and his family, and Henry promised he could give Will anything -
he could get Max back. So Lucas could have Max, too.
And Mike? Mike needs him least of all.
He’s alone. If he dies, he’d be surprised if anyone even cared a week later.
They were happier when he was gone. That’s why they got over his death so fast.
If he dies… who would care?
Not Will, for sure.

He takes a deep breath.
He reaches out.
And he takes Henry’s hand.
Chapter End Notes
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WILLLLLL! MIKE!!!! MY BOYS!!! 😭

I'm sad now :(
Thoughts? Opinions? Emotional outbursts? Put em in the comments! Leave a comment

or Kudos if you're up for it! Thank you for reading and see you soon!
Wrong
Chapter Notes
Hi! You wanted Vecna being creepy? No? Too bad! Enjoy!
me know!)


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Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Sexual assault (groping)
- Sexual assault while asleep
- Implied rape
- Mentioned past rape
- Gaslighting
- Manipulation
- Emotional abuse
When Will wakes up, the first thing he knows is that everything is wrong.
He’s freezing, and he’s lying on an uncomfortable surface that’s covered in bumps, which
makes it hurt his back. While that’s already not ideal, what’s the main thing that’s wrong is
the fact that he isn’t alone.
A cold hand is up his shirt, fingers tracing in an unsettling pattern up his torso. Panic surges
through Will, what’s happening, is it Lonnie, is he at Nina, what’s happening, are they gonna
make him have sex-
“Calm down. I can feel the beat of your heart. It’s racing. Why are you afraid?” a male voice
whispers, the hand slipping down to Will’s stomach to massage and gently grope at his
stomach and abs.
Will tries to move or open his eyes or do something, anything, but he’s trapped, like he’s
weighted or tied down. All he can do is make a weak whimper, and he hopes that it conveys
the ‘no, leave me alone and get your goddamn hands off me’ that he needs it to.
“Shh.” The hand slips down again, caressing the dip where his hips protrude. “You aren’t in
any danger. It’s alright, Will. I’m just… curious. It’s been so long since I’ve seen another
human being, after all… let alone one like you…”
The cold hand slides up the center of Will’s torso and begins to grope at his chest, tracing
circles across his skin. “I know how much you hate yourself, Will, and it truly is such a
shame… you’re so beautiful, after all… so valuable… so pure…”
Will struggles, but he can’t move, though after a minute of who he’s realized is Henry feeling
him up, he’s managed to gain a little control over his vocal cords.
“Stop- don’t-” Will forces out.
“Will, please… can’t you understand that I need this? That I need this connection, this
closeness? It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to feel skin other than my own. You’re the first
person I’ve been around in so long… and you’re so close… so warm… so desirable…”
Henry whispers, squeezing Will’s waist. “And don’t you want to remember that touch doesn’t
have to hurt? That this kind of touch can feel good?”
“No-” Will says. “Please-”
Henry sighs. The hand retreats from under Will’s shirt, and Will’s relieved for a minute, but
then the touch comes on his forehead instead.
“Go to sleep.” Henry whispers, and like he’s been hit over the head, Will’s out.
When Will wakes up, he’s leaning against some kind of pillar, and unlike before, he can
move.
Will sits up further with a gasp, immediately getting up to his feet and looking around.
There’s debris floating around the entirely-red landscape, and there are vines everywhere.
Will thinks he can see figures a ways away on and around the pillars.
His first thought, embarrassingly, isn’t where he is, but instead whether or not Henry… did
anything… while Will was unconscious.
He’s not in any pain (well… more than the ache in his head and knee and back that’s
becoming normal), which could mean that Henry didn’t… penetrate… but… all the times in
the past, nobody used… um, lube other than blood or spit or… other bodily fluids. Maybe if
he used lubricant, it wouldn’t hurt after, but… God.
Will honestly has no idea if anything happened while he was out. And that scares the shit out
of him. Plus, there’s the nausea from the thought of being violated while he was asleep, and
the memories of Henry’s touch while he was basically paralyzed makes his skin crawl. He
tries to dismiss the thought, but it lingers.
As humiliating as it is, Will tentatively reaches down to run down his legs and sides to check
if he’s dressed, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he finds that he’s still fully clothed.
He could’ve redressed Will once he was done, though.
The uncertainty and the horrific possibility still mess with him, and his entire body is
wracked with shivers from disgust and anxiety as he slowly creeps toward the figures in the
distance.
After a few minutes, he’s greeted with Henry, still dressed in his white uniform, standing,
looking like he’s contemplating one of the figures on the pillars.
When Will comes slightly closer, though, he turns, and whatever person he was looking at
disappears in a red mist.
“Will.” Henry’s calm, even voice echoes. “I see you’re finally awake. Did you sleep well?”
“Where are we? What did you do?” Will asks, a voice so quiet he can hardly hear it. “While I
was asleep. What did you do?”
“We are in a place I think of as my home. Another realm.” Henry says calmly. “As for what
transpired, you don’t need to worry. I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have wanted. I simply
sought closeness, needed to feel connected. Human touch is something so rare, and it has
eluded me for so long.”
Will genuinely might vomit. “Conn- connection? Closeness? I- Henry, I was unconscious.”
Henry’s gaze is unnervingly steady, filled with calmness and warmth. “You don’t understand,
Will. It’s been so long since I’ve touched another human like that, felt that warmth. You are
so warm, valuable, and beautiful, Will… so pure. It’s only natural for me to want to
experience that warmth and purity myself.”
Will can’t breathe, did he do- do that- while Will was unconscious, he wants to throw up or
cry or- or do something-
“Henry, that- that’s not right- you can’t do that- Henry, that’s wrong-” Will attempts.
Henry looks serene, like he doesn’t understand how disgusting Will feels right now. “Will, I
understand that you are distressed. But… you must understand, in my solitude, the
boundaries of morality blur. The longing for connection, for intimacy, becomes
overwhelming. You are a beacon of warmth and good in this world, and I could not resist the
temptation to feel that warmth, even if only for a moment.”
Will’s confused and scared and hurt, but he has to understand. “But- I was- I was vulnerable
and defenseless. That- that’s hurting someone, not intimacy.”
“I didn’t mean to harm you, Will. I truly did not. My actions were driven by desperation, a
yearning for connection and warmth that eclipsed all reason.”
Will doesn’t know what to say to that. Because… he hugged Mike while he was asleep. That
was what got him into this situation in the first place. Mike didn’t say it was okay to hug him.
Actually, he explicitly said not to. Maybe what Henry did was like that. Maybe Will’s just
like him. He touched Mike when he asked not to be - it’s the same thing. Right?
“You also have to remember that with your past experiences, Will, your brian is wired to
process such touch differently. While what we did was nothing bad or unenjoyable, your past
negative experiences might make you feel like it was bad or scary. I assure you, it is just in
your head. You enjoyed it.” Henry promises.
Will’s confused, because… maybe Henry’s right. Maybe what his dad and the people at Nina
did just messed up his brain. But… it didn’t feel right. It was still scary and made him feel
gross. But- maybe he’s just making things up?
“I- okay. You- you’re probably right. I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to accuse you of
anything.” Will says quietly, looking down at his shoes. “But… next time, can you- can you
please ask?”
“Of course. I did not mean to make you unhappy or uncomfortable, and I will do nothing else
without your consent.” Henry says calmly. “Speaking of, I wanted to ask you about
something.”
Please don’t ask for sex. Please don’t ask for sex. Please don’t ask-
“I need a vessel. In order to be a part of the world, which I so desperately desire, I need a
vessel other than my own, which is trapped in the Upside Down. I would take good care of
your body, Will - good care of you. But I would require access to your body, and I would like
permission before I took control.” Henry says.
Will stands there for a minute processing.
“You want to possess me?” he asks at last.
“Far more complicated than that. It would all be consensual, unlike what happened to you
when you were thirteen, and you would still have access to your body.” Henry explains.
Suddenly, Will gets an idea.
“Okay.” he says quietly. “Okay. You can take over. But I have conditions.”
“Name them. The world is yours if you so desire.” Henry says.

Will takes a deep breath. “One: my friends and family get immunity. You can't hurt them no
matter what. My mom, Jonathan, El, Mike, Dustin, Lucas… Hopper, Nancy, Robin, Steve…
Murray… um, none of their families… Eddie too. You can't hurt any of the Party or their
families.”
Henry smiles. “Of course not. If that is what you wish, Will. Though, I must ask… after all
they've put you through, the way they've hurt you, why do you still take their side? Still
protect them?”
Will's quiet for a minute as he thinks. “It doesn’t matter if they don't care about me, because I
care about them.” he says at last. “I love them enough to make up for… if they don't love
me.”
Henry stares for a minute, before he whispers, “Such a noble, good soul.”
Will doesn’t react to the comment.
“Two, you put Max back in her body, and once she's back to life, she gets the same
immunity.” he says.
Once again, Henry nods. “Of course.” he says.
“And three… I get to talk to Max before you take over. In private. To… so that she can pass
on what I want to say to the Party.”
Henry smiles. “If that is what you want, of course. Anything you want.”
Will nods and exhales shakily. “Okay. Those are my conditions.”
Henry smiles wider, outstretching his hand for Will to take. “Perfect. I accept. Shall we go to
Maxine to have you say your goodbyes before she is sent home?”
Will hesitates, looking at the hand that violated him not too long ago, possibly in more ways
than he knows for sure. Is he sure?
That doesn't matter. He has a plan.
Will once again takes Henry’s hand.
Chapter End Notes
FUCK. VECNA.
Haven't I Given Enough
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's a heartbreaking chapter. Try listening to 'Gilded Lily' while you read - it'll
hurt more. It's what I listened to while writing it.
me know!)


eeee?source=share
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Self-sacrifice
- Grief
- Language
- Self-hatred
- Suicidal thoughts
When Will opens his eyes, he’s standing in a red field, vines covering every surface. About
ten yards in front of him, there’s a person, yelling and waving her arms.
“HEY! HEY, VECNA! VECNA, YOU LITTLE BITCH! COME HERE, ASSHOLE!” she
shouts, and though the whole world is red, her hair, the same red as the fire in her heart, still
stands out. “GET YOUR SLIMY ASS OVER HERE! I’M GONNA FUCKING GET YOU,
MOTHERFUCKER!”
“MAX!” Will shouts. “MAX!”
She turns from where she’s shouting into the void to look at him, and her face turns from
annoyance to confusion.
“Will?” she asks. “What- is that you?”
Will doesn’t answer, just walking over to her. He’s a few inches taller than her - when did that
happen? - and he has to look down a little.
“It’s me.” he says, his voice cracking a little. “Hey, Max.”
She stares at him for a minute before all but launching herself at him, grabbing him in a hug
so tight that Will makes an ‘oof’ noise.
“Oh my God. Oh my God, I missed you.” she says, gripping him like he’ll disappear if she
lets go. “Will, oh my God-”
“I know. I missed you too.” he whispers into her shoulder as he squeezes back. “I missed you,
Mad Max.”
She pulls back, laughing a little and wiping her eyes. “Thought I’d never see anyone again.”
“I know.” Will says again.

Her happy smile suddenly fades. “Wait, why- why are you here?”
Will shifts his weight on his feet. “It’s… well, it’s complicated, but basically, Henry’s gonna
possess me. And I- I came to talk to you. Before.”
She stares at him for a second in silence, before she shouts “Are you FUCKING kidding
me?!”
Will flinches back a little bit. “No, no, no, I have- I have a plan. Don’t worry.”
She stares daggers at him. “Talk. Now, Byers.”
Will nods. “Okay. I- while you were gone, I- we figured out that the Upside Down and our
world are like tectonic plates, and that they’re getting pulled together by the cross-overs.
Right?”
Max looks a little confused, but she nods.
“Henry’s one of those crossovers. And if he dies, not only will he not hurt anyone else, but
the main tie between the worlds would be cut.”
“O…kay?” Max says. “Why are you-”
“If he possesses my body and my body dies, so will he.” Will whispers, interrupting her.
“And he’d fight back, but I’ve been possessed before - I can take control long enough to be
put down.”
Max is shaking her head now. “No. I- are you fucking joking? You aren’t being put down like
a- like a goddamn dog. You’re our friend. We- we aren’t gonna fucking kill you.”
“I’m a connection, too.” Will says quietly. “I was possessed. I was taken into the Upside
Down. I’m a- I’m a tether between the worlds, too. I’d need to be killed anyway for
everything to go back to normal. And if Henry and I can both die with one bullet? Two birds
with one stone.”
Max is still shaking her head now. “No. No way.”
“Yeah.” Will says, his eyes tearing up. “I’m- I’m sorry. But- it makes sense. It’ll make killing
Henry possible, and it’ll make getting rid of the Upside Down easier.”
Max stares at Will in a mixture of disbelief and horror, staring at him like she’s trying to tell
if he’s messing with her.
“You can’t be- You can’t be serious.” she says, shaking her head. “You have to be joking.
You can’t be actually considering this. You- you can’t- you can’t just fucking sacrifice
yourself-”
“Max.” Will whispers. “Please don’t. You have to trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Max snaps. “Because this is gonna fucking break everyone. You- God, you dying?
Everyone would just- we would shut down. We can’t lose you.”
“Henry promised me that in exchange, he’s gonna send you back to your body, and you and
the rest of the Party and our families are gonna be safe. You get immunity, and we kill Henry
and send the Upside Down away. There’s no downside.” Will says.
“You’re gonna die!” Max shouts. “That’s a downside! A really fucking huge one!”
“Max.” Will says quietly. “Please. Just trust me. This is my choice, and it’s the one that gives
us the best shot of winning. Let me go out on my terms. If you all get out alive, it’ll be worth
it.”
“But-” Max says. “I-”
“You don’t have to accept it right now. I just- when the time comes, and I’ve managed to hold
him off for a minute, you- you have to promise that you’ll use that time. That you’ll- that
someone’ll take the shot.” Will says. “That someone’ll take us both out.”
Max doesn’t want to accept.
Will knows. He can see it in the desperation, the rage, in her blue eyes.
But he can also see resignation starting to appear too. He knows that she knows that this
could be the only option that doesn’t end with everyone dead.
Max gives a shaky exhale.
“Fine.” she says, her voice barely above a whisper and cracking. “I promise.”
Will’s heart aches, a weird mixture of gratefulness and sorrow washing over him, but he
nods. “Good.”
With that, he pulls her into a hug.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna see you again.” he whispers. “But just know that you’re one of
my best friends. I love you, Mad Max, and whatever happens, it’s okay. You can get through
this, okay?”
She nods, tightening her grip.

“And- tell everyone that I’m sorry and that I love them, okay? The whole Party. And my
mom and Jonathan. Tell them I love them and that I’m sorry, okay?”
“Will-” she starts, but Will isn’t listening, too caught up in his goodbyes.
“And tell Mike that I’m sorry for what I said. I was out of line. I started it, and I was mean
and overly aggressive, and- just tell him that I’m sorry for our fight. I was overreacting and
being stupid. Okay?”
“I doubt that. Mike’s the dumbass, not you. If anything, it was probably his fault.” she says
into his shoulder.
Will gives a broken little chuckle. “Mike’s actually really smart. After- after this is over-
promise that you’ll try to get along with him? The Party needs to stay together. Stay friends.
And you two are actually way more similar than you realize.”
She sighs. “I guess.”
Will’s gonna say something else about… power of friendship or something?... but she
interrupts, pulling away and grabbing his cheeks to make him look at her.
“Listen to me.” she says, staring into his eyes. “If there is another way - even just a single
possible option where there is a chance you will survive - you’re going to take it. Promise?”
“Max-” Will says.
“And if there’s another way for us to save you and kill him, we’re taking it no matter what.
Got it?”
Will doesn’t want to say ‘okay’. He knows it’s a bad idea, that killing them both is the best
option with the fewest risks and casualties. But with the glare she’s giving him, filled with
desperation and fear, Will knows it’ll offer the most comfort.
“Okay.” he says, gently brushing a piece of her long hair behind her ear. “Okay. If there’s
another way.”
“There will be.” she says, almost as if it’s a statement and not a question. “There has to be.
We’ll find another way, Will. We- we’ll find one. We have to.”
“If you can.” he says.
“We will.” she insists. “Just- we’re gonna take care of it. We’re gonna save you.”
Will smiles, but it’s probably sad. This is the last time he’s gonna see her.
“And when we save you, we- we’re gonna hang out. Got it?” Max says, starting to cry. “We-
we’re gonna hang out. And, like, go to the mall or some- some shit. We’re gonna hang out
once this is over.”
“Please don’t cry.” Will whispers. “Please don’t cry. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You- you- you’re gonna get possessed. And you’re gonna- unless we can stop it,
you’re gonna die. Nothing is okay right now.” Max says.
Will hugs her again. “Lucas is gonna be happy to see you.” he says instead.
That just makes her cry harder, squeezing tightly as her hair tickles his cheek and her tears
get his shirt wet.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna go home soon. Okay?” Will whispers.
Max doesn’t answer, and they just stand there for a while hugging.
After a while, a breeze stirs across the red landscape.
“Will.” calls Henry from across the field. “Are you ready?”
Max tightens her grip, but Will lets go and steps back as he takes her hand and squeezes.
“Remember. Follow the plan, tell the Party and my family that I’m sorry and I love them, and
apologize to Mike for our fight. Okay?”
She nods, her normal teasing or annoyed expression gone to devastation.
“I’m gonna miss you, Mad Max. Love you.” he says.
With that, he squeezes her hand one more time before letting go, turning his back and
walking to Henry.
“I’m ready.” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks.
He doesn’t know why he’s crying. This is his choice, his sacrifice. He needs to do this. He
needs to save the world and save the people he loves no matter what it takes.
And it doesn’t matter if part of him is screaming and begging to live, saying haven’t I given
enough, I’ve given everything, I have nothing else to give, please don’t take what little
autonomy I have left, please don’t destroy my mind and then my life, please, haven’t I given
enough, because in the end, he knows that this is worth it. This is how he makes his life
matter: by giving it up to save everyone else.
He comes to a stop before Henry, looking up a little bit to meet his eerily blue eyes.
Will’s facing the inevitable as he stands before Henry, both of them somewhere between
human and monster, two sides of the same coin. But that’s the difference. Henry chooses
destruction, pain, burning down the world. Will chooses peace, friendship, making good out
of the ashes.
Henry and Will have both suffered. The difference is that while Henry wants everyone to
understand his pain, Will wants to make sure nobody ever has to. And that’s why Will’s
choosing to go out not in an explosion of fury and vengeance, but in a quiet act of sacrifice
and selflessness and love.
He stands before Henry. And even if it’s not true and he knows that it isn’t, as a small bit of
comfort, he tells himself that he’s not alone, that it’s going to be okay.
Will takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do. And he’s ready to face this head-on.
“Yes.” he repeats, making his voice stay steady despite the tears still staining his cheeks. “I’m
ready.”
Henry cups his chin despite Will flinching away, tracing his fingers to wipe away the tears.
“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt at all. It will feel good, if anything.” Henry whispers as he raises
his fingers to Will’s forehead.
As a last act of mercy to himself, Will closes his eyes, forcing himself to take one last breath
as Henry prepares to possess him.
“This won’t be like last time.” Henry whispers as a wave of sleepiness crashes over Will,
making his knees buckle. “This time, it will not be scary. It will be more comfort than you’ve
ever known. You will not even know it isn’t real.”
Wait, what?
Before he can even start to comprehend what Henry’s doing, the wave’s pulled him under,
and as he falls down, down, down into the darkness, he feels Henry open his - their - eyes.
Will feels an agonizing pain echo through him, and as he begins to scream, a wave of peace
and pleasure’s taken over, and before he knows it, the pain’s over.
He feels so strange.
But he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t have time to understand before he’s forced to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
🥺🥺🥺 Will... 🥺🥺🥺

Duality
Chapter Notes
Hi! Here's an explanation of what Vecna's decided to do to Will. Enjoy!
me know!)
Shoutout to heidibyers(emiliano), HesterAnadilFoREVER, Ngalu,

TheSunflowerQueen333, Eggosandnumbers, AnArsonisticGhoat, ZombieOcean,
amaragf, Richietherich, Crossovergenius111, Hatatattat, TooGayForYourDrama, and
Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and

eeee?source=share

Trigger warnings:
- Manipulation
- Splitting souls
- Age regression
- Sexual thoughts
- Pedophilia
When the boy wakes up, it’s to something tickling his nose.
He giggles, moving his head away from whatever’s tickling him, but instead of it stopping,
there’s just a vibration on his chest.
The boy opens his eyes and looks down, only to be greeted with the sight of a cat. Its fur is
long and black - must've been what was tickling him - and it has large green eyes looking at
him expectantly as its ears and whiskers twitch.
“Hi, kitty!” the boy coos. “Oh, you’re so pretty! Hi!”
He brings his hand up to scratch the cat’s ears, and after a minute, he scratches the cat’s chin
as well, earning a purr.
Eventually, though, the cat gets tired of him, hopping down from his chest and starting to
walk away, doing that little strut that cats do.
“Hey! No, kitty, come back! Don’t you want scratchies?” the boy calls, getting up and
following the cat. He notes that they’re in a forest, filled with trees and with pinecones on the
ground. He pauses and grabs a particularly neat pinecone before resuming his following of
the cat.
He almost catches it a few times, but it just meows indignantly at him (earning more cooing
and laughter) before resuming its travel.
After a while of following the cat, though, it stops, turning back to go back towards him and
rubbing against his legs.
“Hi, kitty!” the boy says again, leaning down to pet it with a smile. “Where’d you bring us,
huh?”
He looks up, only to find a beautiful sight that makes him gasp.
It’s an open clearing amongst the forest, a large oval of grass and sunshine surrounded by the
trees. In the middle is a large playground, with several slides and monkey bars and lookout
towers and chalkboards to color on. A ways away, there’s a sloping, grass-covered hill,
leading down to a creek and a little pond.
There’s a picnic table with a checkered blanket over it on the playground too, a large picnic
basket on top of it, as well as a glass-looking dome about ten feet away from the rest of the
playground.
The boy picks up the cat, cradling it in his arms, before he walks over to the dome, ducking
inside of the rectangle that makes an entrance.
Inside is a mattress on the floor, dozens of cozy-looking blankets and pillows on it, along
with a large bin of stuffed animals next to it. There are strings of warm little twinkling lights
strung in circles across the dome’s inside. There’s a dresser too, a three-drawer tall thing with
shelves over it that hold books and paper and crayons and colored pencils.
The boy loves it. He’d happily spend forever here.
He carefully sets the cat down on the mattress, where it settles in, before continuing to look
around. Behind the mattress is a carefully-concealed door, through which is a small bathroom
with a sink, toilet, and shower stall.
Once he knows everything about the little dome-house, he leaves with a whisper of ‘be good,
kitty, I love you’, back outside.
He runs over to the playground, looking around with a giddy smile before he starts to
explore. He climbs the lookout towers, climbs up and down the rock-climbing wall, zooms
down the slides, and plays on the monkey bars, giggling with excitement the whole time.
As he plays, he can’t help but feel happy. This place feels perfect, like it’s his own little
paradise. All the adventures he could have here!
After a while, he realizes that he’s hungry, and he remembers the picnic basket. He slides
down the slide one last time with a happy little scream, getting up and rushing over to the
picnic basket once he’s on the ground.
The boy eagerly opens it, only to find sandwiches, chips, fruit, and cookies, all neatly packed
inside. He grabs a sandwich, unwraps it, and takes a big bite, savoring it as he sits down on
the ground and looks around the clearing.
He eats a sandwich, an apple, and Doritos before he’s done, and he gets up and looks around
for what to do next.
The boy looks over at the playground again, and unlike last time, he sees a new metal
structure.
Ooh! A swingset!
The boy giggles again and jogs over, plopping down on the swing. It’s the perfect height -
just high enough that his feet don’t touch the ground, but low enough that he can get on and
off.
He starts to pump his feet, leaning forwards and backwards to gain more speed as the swing
starts to move.
The boy swings back and forth, each time he hits his peak bringing a rush of exhilaration.
The wind blows through his hair, and he can’t help but let out joyous laughter. The world
blurs, and all he can feel is the sensation of flying.
With each swing, he feels like he’s soaring through the sky, and he whoops as he just flies.
He swings until the sun starts to dip below the horizon, casting the clearing in a warm,
glowing light, at which point he reluctantly slows and stops. He hops off the swing, feeling a
bit wobbly at the ground instead of just air beneath his bare feet, and with a contented sigh,
he goes back to the dome.
Inside, the cat lounges on the bed, and Will curls up next to it, cooing praise as he strokes it
and the sun disappears to the pretty stars.
As he nods off, looking through the glass dome up at the stars, he smiles.
The boy likes it here. He thinks he’s gonna stay.
Enemies, all of them. Everything is a threat.
Will paces around the darkness, making a growl of frustration when he can’t find a way out.
Something bad has to be happening. There’s always something there to hurt him, but he can’t
seem to figure out what it is, and it makes him upset and on-edge.
All he knows is that he is trapped in this darkness, and that no matter how much he stalks and
creeps through the dark, nothing changes. He’s still stuck here.
Will stomps his feet again, throwing as much electricity into the ground as he can. It
illuminates the darkness in blinding light for a minute, but then it goes back to darkness.
He hates it! He wants to get out! Let him out!
With a frustrated scream, he throws lightning out of him again and again and again,
desperately trying to light the space up, find and annihilate whatever’s keeping him here so
that he can get out and leave.
Nothing happens, though. It doesn’t matter what he does.
Will screams one more time, pouring all his rage and fear into it, before he begins to move
through the darkness again. Something has to happen at some point. He has to get out of here.
He wants to lose it, to find something to rip apart and destroy, but he needs to stay calm. The
way to get out of here is to stay calm, to be rational and find the threat and kill it.
He just has to stay calm and keep his head. Then, once he kills whatever’s trapping him, he
can be as angry as he wants.
And God, he wants to be angry.
Henry smiles as he watches the two boys, separated by a wall put up by him: the happy one,
playing with cats and butterflies, swinging and laughing and having fun, and the hurt one,
scared and angry, lashing out at everything that moves.
He had gotten the idea when he had first come across the boy in the woods. He was naturally
kind and selfless, but if you were to disassemble him, what would you get?
Henry has split Will Byers into two creatures. And they’re magnificent.
One, the happy one, is the essence of everything good about him. Kind, happy, and innocent,
perfectly content playing and swinging. He has the mind of a child - Will Byers carried
enough pain that to remove and separate it, he had to wipe much of the boy’s mind.
He’s beautiful. The essence of purity and innocence, kind and sweet and childish. Without his
bad memories, he’s naive, which makes him even more perfect. He cannot perceive threats,
only able to see good and beauty and wonder, like he is in a perpetual spring where flowers
bloom and birds sing and all is happy and safe. The simplicity of this creation, the pure joy
and innocence and naivety, makes Henry marvel. The way he frolics and plays without a care
in the world, without knowledge of the suffering that suppressed and then created him, is
truly amusing.
The other, the angry one, is just as beautiful, but while one is the essence of innocence and
good, the other is pure pain. A complete opposite, a stark contrast and living reflection. It was
a painstaking process, carefully removing every single trauma and mental scar and negative
emotion and shaping it into this creature made entirely of pain and fear. He carries all the
burdens of the past, and though it weighs him down, it makes him the perfect weapon, the
perfect soldier.
The hurt one prowls like a wounded animal, eyes filled with rage and desperation and terror.
He lashes out at the world around him, unable to trust or find solace, thinking everything is a
threat or an enemy. Henry can’t help but admire the raw power and agony emanating from
this creature. He reminds Henry of a tempest, a swirling storm of emotions that lashes out at
the world in a desperate attempt to protect itself.
He watches with fascination and joy as the happy one frolics in a happy, idyllic world,
blissfully ignorant, and the hurt one struggles with his anguish, wrestling demons only he can
perceive.
The happy one is beautiful like a shooting star, illuminating the night sky with brilliance and
innocence and purity, the air around him shimmering with his positivity. Every movement of
his is a dance, every laugh and happy scream a lovely melody. His heart is vast as the
universe, radiating warmth and kindness and care. He paints his dream-world with the colors
of happiness, left behind by his smiles and giggles and infectious laughter.
His presence is a burst of light, warming all around him. As he plays amidst the vibrant hues
of the imaginary world, he leaves trails of laughter and joy in his wake. Each moment spent
even pretending to be in his company feels like an escape from reality, a fleeting glimpse into
a realm where innocence is not only supreme, but all there is.
The happy one seems as though his embrace would cause all Henry’s troubles to fade away,
like his kiss or the feeling of his bare skin could erase every bad moment and memory. Henry
longs to truly feel the happy one, to attempt to consume his innocence and purity like he’s a
man starved.
Henry allows his mind to wander for a moment. To dress the boy up in pure white, both so
that his appearance becomes even more beautiful and so that he could look as angelic as his
spirit is, and to see if he could break him.
With the way he designed their separation, such a thing would be impossible, but the happy
one not only reminds Henry of an angel, but also of a porcelain doll. Part of him wants to see
at what point his halo would fall, how rough he would have to be to break that pretty little
doll, at what point his cheeks would become damp with pleasured tears with what Henry was
doing. See what point the innocent angel would become a debauched mess.
But the happy one isn’t the only beauty around, though he’s certainly the most radiant.
The other is hauntingly beautiful like a raging storm. His beauty lies in his fierce intensity,
the way he commands attention and respect and fear. He is not to be trifled with or ignored;
he demands to be reckoned with, to be felt and heard and paid attention to. He moves with
haunting elegance, captivating and awe-inspiring, yet his presence taints the air with a sense
of danger. Each step he takes crackles with power, a reminder to all who cross his path of
what he can do. His gaze, filled with a fiery determination born of pain and anger, pierces
through the darkness with such ferocity that it leaves Henry breathless.
There’s a rawness to his beauty, a wildness and desperation that reminds of a cornered animal
that isn’t meant to be tamed or contained. It’s in the way his muscles flex with each
movement, in the way he silently stalks, leaving a crackling in the air, in the scars that cover
his desirable, lean form. Each inch of his skin, firm and scarred where the naive one’s is soft
and supple, tell stories of battles fought and survived and wounds endured, of the pain and
suffering that compose his very being. Yet, despite the scars and the rage that simmers barely
beneath the surface, there’s a twisted allure to him, a magnetism that draws Henry in like a
moth to a flame.
The hurt one’s beauty is in no way conventional. It’s in the raw vulnerability that shines
through his eyes, the way his jaw clenches and his fingers twitch with emotion and power, the
way he creeps in the shadows like he belongs in the darkness as much as the happy one
belongs in the light. His beauty is the way he seems to embody the essence of pain, the way
he’s completely composed of every hardship endured, every tear shed, every scream silenced.
The beauty is tortured, and it’s enchanting.
And as well as that, there’s something else about him, something primal and animalistic and
untamed that calls to Henry’s most base instincts.
It’s in the way he moves, a fluidity that tells the story of the turmoil inside him, a dance of
pain and fury that captivates and enthralls. Henry finds himself mesmerized by the intensity
of his gaze, by the fire that burns behind those haunted eyes. There’s danger there, a palpable
sense of unpredictability and wariness that sends a shiver down Henry’s spine, and he can
hardly tear his gaze away.
The hurt one is a paradox, a contradiction of beauty and brutality, of vulnerability and
strength. He’s a survivor, and there is a primal allure to him that Henry cannot deny. In his
scarred and battered form, Henry sees nothing but a constellation made of anguish, and he’s
always loved the stars.
The hurt one prowls through the shadows, a silent predator in search of prey, and it causes a
surge of something primal in him. The pure one makes Henry feel light and carefree, but the
presence of the hurt one causes him to feel alive in a way he hasn’t in years. There’s a thrill in
the danger, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins like wildfire, and there’s the urge
to tame the untamable, control the fire that rages. Oh, how he longs to conquer the damaged
one, to hold him close enough that he can feel his heat and his pain, to taste the bitterness of
his suffering and claim it as his own.
Henry’s obsession deepens as he contemplates the duality of his creations. The juxtaposition
of the happy one’s celestial purity and the hurt one’s hellish turmoil sends a thrilling chill
down his spine.
The wide difference between the angel and the demon is a canvas for Henry to paint his own
twisted desires and ideas, a masterpiece of his own making. Their existence is so intricate.
The happy one dances in the sunlight, a beacon of innocence and joy. The broken one, on the
other hand, moves like a shadow, haunted by the echoes of a past he can never escape. It’s a
dark ballet, a performance orchestrated by Henry himself.
The two split pieces move, prowling and dancing in a dark, twisted, tantalizing waltz. Each
step they take, each breath they draw, reminds Henry that they are his and his alone.
Henry can’t help but let his mind spiral into a twisted fantasy, where he envisions breaking
the happy one, shattering the illusion of innocence, and dominating the broken one, claiming
that feral beauty and passion and chaos as his own little pet. He dreams of a world where he
reigns supreme, where they belong solely to him, both their creator and master.
Both of them hold him captive. The innocent one draws him in with the tantalizing promise
of purity, a radiant light that could cure him of his darkness, an angelic touch combined with
his own hell bringing Henry light while corrupting the sweet little thing. The dark one,
however, calls to him, the allure of the scars and danger and pain and fire almost too much to
resist.
It’s so odd, how he can simultaneously daydream of the angel unfolding under his touch,
surrendering to the corruptive force that Henry longs to unleash upon him, and dream of the
demon succumbing to the chains of possession, the storm bending and submitting to Henry’s
dominance as a loyal servant and lover in a whirlwind of desire and primal instinct.
Oh, how Henry is so glad he has both. He could never choose between the two.
As the two move through their separate worlds, their unknowing prisons, Henry looks at his
beautiful creations, one seething with rage and agony, the other without a care in the world,
and smiles, a twisted pride and accomplishment at his ability to manipulate and shape them.
And the best part of the two beings?
Henry’s in control. He’s still the puppeteer.
And he’s going to get to do what he wants with them.

The naive one is easy to control. If Henry were to simply attempt to speak to him, he would
immediately latch on like a toddler finding a new favorite person, and as he has no concept of
danger or anything bad, it would be all too easy to get close. Perhaps later, when he has
plenty of time to enjoy the process of growing close to the happy one, and later when he has
time to enjoy the intimacy that will come.
The dangerous one is just as manipulatable, though in a different way. If Henry were to
present himself as the only good thing in the boy’s life, which would not be difficult, the
dangerous one would become completely reliant on Henry and Henry alone as his only
source of love and support. Once he got that complete devotion and dependence, it would be
only too easy to slowly shift that relationship so that Henry became his friend, then his lover
and co-conspirator.
Yes, the two polar opposites, two sides of the same coin, are beautiful. There’s no denying
that.
But in Henry’s mind, their beauty is nothing more than a canvas for his own desires and
manipulations. The happy one, with his innocence and purity and childlike joy, a vessel
practically begging to be corrupted, and the hurt one, a force of nature that needs to be tamed.
As he watches his creations, his darlings, wander about, he not only plots how to destroy
Hawkins and everyone in it, but he thinks about how he can ensure that they stay here with
him. The broken one is a weapon of mass destruction, and the innocent one a tool of
manipulation, and both will be useful in the upcoming fight, but above their military
functions, Henry couldn't stand to lose them.
They're his, after all. And they always will be.
Chapter End Notes
Fuck Henry. Will (the boy) is cute. Angry Will is depressing and scary. Basic summary
lol.
Anyways! Hope you liked! If you did, please leave a comment or Kudos!
Also, I'm going on spring break and will be on vacation, so I might not be able to update
for a while. Not abandoning, just having to take a break to go overseas. I might post
another chapter or two before I go, though.
Angel and Wrath
Chapter Notes
I haven't posted in forever😭 forgive me, I've been on so many planes and am so jet-
lagged I want to jump off a cliff
So you better like this chapter or I'm gonna lose it <3
Also, gonna clear some stuff up. Innocent Will and Angry Will are both physically
fifteen - it’s just that Innocent Will is so
Also, I know I haven't been answering comments lately 😭 I'm gonna catch up, I
promise. Just give me a little time OK? Please don’t stop leaving them, they make my
day.
me know!)


eeee?source=share
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
- Manipulation
- Sexual thoughts (last section)
- Invasion of privacy
- Vecna's creepy ass (last section)
The boy is sitting on the swing, watching his bare feet make circles in the sand.
He likes it here. It’s fun, and happy, and he likes it, but… he feels like something is missing.
A breeze ruffles his hair, and suddenly, the sound of his feet in the sand isn’t the only sound.
Dress shoes appear in the front of his vision, the black standing out on the sand, and the boy
looks up.
His breath immediately catches. This man in front of him is so handsome. He’s very tall, and
he has pale skin and bright blue eyes, with his hair blonde and in a wave over his forehead
and a smile on his lips.
“You’re beautiful.” the boy says, still staring, his mouth open slightly.
The man smiles wider. “You only say that because you haven’t seen yourself.”
He moves and sits down on the swing next to the boy, and for a second, he wants to object, a
flash of a boy with dark hair rather than blonde in that swing across his mind.
That’s Mike’s swing, he thinks, and then it hits him: who is Mike?
He desperately tries to grasp at the memories, but they’re gone as soon as they came.
“Hello.” the man says, smiling at him. “I’m Henry. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m…” the boy says, and he goes to say his name, but… what is
it?
He tries to think, find what he’s called, but he can’t.
“...I don’t know my name.” he says, looking down disappointedly at his feet, buried in the
sand.
Henry laughs. “That’s alright. I’m sure we can find one for you.”
The boy perks up, looking back at him. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. You need a name, after all.” Henry says before looking deep in thought.
“How about… Angel? You look like one, after all - ‘Angel’ would be a fitting name.”
“Angel.” the boy says, looking up at the sky. “Angel. Do I really look like one?”
Henry laughs again. “More than you know. Here, take a look.”
When the boy looks over, he's holding out a mirror. Where did he get that from?
Still, the boy takes it, and when he looks into the reflective bit, he gasps. “Oh, I’m pretty!”
He has big eyes in a pretty shade of hazel, and he has kind of long eyelashes. His features are
delicate but defined, looking almost ethereal. His brown hair is down to his jaw in gentle
waves, making him look even prettier. There are beauty marks on his face and neck, scattered
like stars on his light brown skin. There’s a softness to his appearance, in the slight roundness
of his cheeks, that makes him look sweet and approachable and innocent.
Henry nods, taking back the mirror with a smile and putting it into his pocket. “See? You’re
an angel. The perfect name for the perfect boy.”
The boy - Angel - giggles and nods. “Angel.” he says. “My name is Angel.”
“And it fits beautifully.” Henry smiles. “You really are an angel.”
Angel nods and smiles, looking down at his bare feet again.
“Aren’t your feet burning?” Henry asks.
“No, the temperature here is perfect.” Angel says, brushing his hair behind his ear with his
hand. “I like it here.”
“Good.” Henry says. “I’m glad you like it here, Angel.”
He smiles, and they sit in silence on the swings for a minute before Henry speaks again.
“You’re very beautiful. Those clothes, though… they don’t bring… you out.” Henry says.
Angel looks down at his clothes - a long-sleeved T-shirt and khaki shorts, worn and faded -
before looking back at Henry, his brows furrowing. “Hm?”
Henry leans in closer, his eyes sparkling. “I mean, they’re nice, but they don’t truly reflect
your beauty. You deserve to wear something that accentuates your features.”
Angel blushes a little, but he doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment or curiosity.
“What are you thinking?” Henry asks quietly.
“I’m not sure.” Angel says. “Does it really matter? I’m happy.”
“It does matter.” Henry says smoothly, gentle yet persuasive. “Imagine how it would feel to
wear something to make you look even more beautiful than you already are. You could look
like the angel you truly are, inside and out.”
Angel thinks about it for a minute, and after a minute, he decides that the idea is intriguing.
“Okay.” he says, giving a shy nod. “If you wanna dress me up, you can.”
Henry smiles, getting up and offering his hand to Angel. “Come on. I have an idea.”
Curiosity and excitement are mixing in Angel’s belly as he takes Henry’s hand, letting him
pull him up, then letting him gently pull him over to Angel’s dome.
“What’s in your dresser, hm?” Henry asks as he opens the drawer and Angel sits on his
mattress.
He rummages through Angel’s dresser, pulling out garments before laying them next to
Angel and setting shoes on the floor. “I think these will work. They’ll compliment your
delicate features, and make you even more ethereal.”
Henry looks excited as he chooses, and Angel watches with anticipation and curiosity,
wondering what Henry has in store for him.
“Here. Try this first.” Henry says, laying a piece of soft, smooth fabric across Angel’s lap. He
marvels at the feeling of the texture, running his fingers down it. He’s fascinated by the
clothing.
“Allow me.” Henry says, touching Angel's shirt.
Angel has a weird, not-good feeling in his belly, but he doesn’t understand why or what it is,
so he nods.
Henry’s hands go to the bottom of his shirt, and he tugs it off, Angel lifting his arms to help
him. It feels weird, an odd warmth across his cheeks and ears and a sinking feeling in his
stomach.
Angel watches as Henry undresses him, only to begin to redress him once more, sliding on
underwear and putting flat laced-up sandals on his feet. It feels weird, but he still feels happy,
still feels safe.
“Arms up.” Henry commands, and when Angel complies without another thought, he slips on
a piece of fabric over his head and arms.
“Alright. Up.” he says, lifting Angel up by the biceps to stand on his own.
He holds Angel there for a minute, bright blue eyes raking over his body, before he smiles.
“You look breathtaking, my angel.”
Angel goes to say ‘just Angel, not ‘my angel’’, but then he gets distracted by Henry lightly
running his fingers up and down his bare arms. “Look at you.” he murmurs.
Angel looks down for the first time, only to see that he’s wearing a white robe-thing. It looks
like a tank top on the top half, bunched in by a cord at his waist, before going to an overhang
of fabric covering down to about three inches above his knee. It’s made of… satin? Chiffon?
Angel doesn’t know. It drapes over his frame and makes him look thinner, the curve of his
waist made to look more prominent. On his feet are sandals, the tops of his feet exposed and
a flat platform on the bottom, leather coming up and going around his ankles and the front of
his feet to keep it in place.
Henry steps back, looking over him again and again, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction.
“You look divine. A true celestial being. Just like an angel. Spin.”
Angel smiles and blushes before complying, a surge of pride at the words. He looks down at
himself again once he’s still, marveling at the soft, billowy fabric that coats him, making him
look even prettier.
“Thank you, Henry.” Angel whispers, smoothing his hands over the fabric.
Henry smiles warmly. His eyes look affectionate, but they also have this look in them that
makes Angel feel a little uneasy, though the feeling is gone as quickly as the memories of…
what was his name?
“Of course, my angel. It’s my pleasure.” Henry says.
With that, he takes Angel’s hand and lifts it to his lips, lightly kissing the back of it and
making eye contact, which makes his stomach feel weird and fluttery.
“I have to go for a while, Angel, but I will be back soon enough.” Henry says, his voice soft
and smooth. “Have fun.”
He lets go of Angel’s hand and, with a smile back at him, he leaves, Angel still standing in
the dome.
After a minute, he goes back outside and sits on the swing again, looking at his sandals with a
smile.
Not only does he have this place to live and play, but he looks beautiful, and now he has a
friend.
He’s so happy. He could stay here forever.
When Will wakes up, he’s lying on a cold floor, looking up at the ceiling, which is open like
in an industrial warehouse, black metal, insulation, and air vents above him.
He immediately sends out lightning in every direction. If someone’s watching him sleep,
waiting for them to strike first is a mistake. Everything is a threat, but Will sure as fuck isn’t
defenseless, either.
After electricity makes the floor buzz for a minute, Will sits up, looking around as he gets to
his feet. He’s in an apartment, everything brick and metal and leather, with most everything
black.
He clenches his hands into fists, gathering his power in them. If something’s brought him
here, he’ll electrocute them. Everything is a threat.
“Good morning.” someone says from behind him, and with a shout, Will throws as much
force as he can towards them.
He’s expecting the speaker to be thrown into a wall, knocked unconscious, but instead, the
force shatters against an invisible barrier that’s in front of a man dressed in white, pale and
with blonde hair and blue eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” Will snarls. “Let me leave.”

“Calm down.” the man says easily. “I do not aim to harm you.”
“Bullshit!” Will shouts, throwing electricity at him. It’s pointless - he knows it’ll just hit that
barrier - but if nothing else, it’s a display of power and a way to blow off some steam.
“Calm down.” the man repeats, apparently unruffled by Will’s attacks. “You’re safe here.”
Nowhere is safe. Everything is a threat.
Will continues to glare daggers at the man, tense and ready to fight. He’s on-edge and a little
bit afraid, but he has powers - nobody can hurt him as long as he can fight back.
The man in white raises his hands in what’s supposed to be a calming gesture. “My name is
Henry. It’s nice to meet you.”
Will nods curtly, still glaring. “Great. Can I leave now?”
The man - Henry - seems annoyingly unbothered. “I understand you’re wary, but I assure
you, I am here to help.”
Nobody ever helps. Nobody protected him from Lonnie, from the Upside Down, from the
people at Nina, from himself. Nobody helps. Everybody’s too selfish and cruel to care.
“Bullshit.” Will repeats, electricity arcing across his skin and fingers, leaving a pleasant buzz.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I know, Will. I know you’ve been through a lot, and now you are not only unable to trust
others, but you are lashing out in order to protect yourself. But I will not hurt you. You are
safe.”
Will’s guard doesn’t falter. “Fuck you.”
Henry’s expression remains calm, the only change an uptick of his lips as his eyes stare into
Will’s, the blue sparkling with amusement. Despite Will’s hostility, he puts out patience and
amusement.
“I understand your anger, Will.” Henry says softly, his voice carrying a soothing tone. “But I
promise that I mean you no harm. I only want to help you.”
Will’s fists clench tighter, electricity crackling through his body and fingers enough that the
hanging lights in the room flicker before going out with a shattering sound. His gaze flicks
around the room, though still keeping his attention on Henry, assessing every possible threat,
every potential escape route and obstacle. If he needs to get out, he’ll figure out a way.
The room is a small industrial studio apartment, the walls weathered brick, the floor concrete,
the ceiling open, and the lights black hanging Edison bulbs (that are, right now, broken).
There’s a large bed against one wall, black metal as the frame and a white comforter, and a
matching nightstand and lamp alongside. There’s a black dresser along the wall, several
boxes on top of it, and a large, black-framed mirror above it. Beside is a tall wardrobe, also
black.
There’s a leather armchair, able to spin and with a footrest in front, which has a blanket
draped on it, and a television set a few feet in front. In the corner is a kitchenette, light wood
and a black granite countertop, with a fridge and microwave along with the basic cabinet
setup. Next to it is a black table with two leather chairs matching the armchair, and next to
that is a small door, presumably to a bathroom.
There’s no exit. Just one window, which is clearly sealed shut.
There’s no escape.
He is completely trapped here.
Will’s scared, he’s trapped, why is he here, how is he even here-
He screams and throws lightning out again in strike after strike, making the room blinding for
a while and turning his vision white-hot before it goes back to normal, leaving him panting
and almost slumping with the effort as blood drips down off his face onto his clothes.
Will takes a step back, but his legs are shaky from so much exertion, and after a moment of
swaying, he crumples.
Henry leaves whatever protective bubble he was in, shooting forward and catching Will in his
arms, bringing Will’s back against his chest, Henry’s forearms supporting him under Will’s
armpits.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Will screams, trying to throw out another burst towards Henry’s
head, fry his brain, but he’s spent. No, no, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him- “DON’T
FUCKING TOUCH ME! GET BACK!”
Henry just wraps his arms around Will’s midsection, dragging him over to the bed.
“NO! NO, GET BACK! GET BACK!” Will shouts as he attempts to thrash.
Henry holds onto Will gently but firmly as he carefully maneuvers them both down on the
bed, Will still pressed against him, apparently ignoring the onslaught of protests and struggles
and screams.
He adjusts, scooting back and pulling Will back as well to make sure he’s more on the bed. Is
he- is he trying to make Will comfortable?
“Please calm down, Will. You are exhausted and overexerting yourself. You’re going to hurt
yourself.” Henry says, making his voice soothing, though there’s a tinge of stress to it. “Stop
struggling. I’m here to help.”
Will’s chest heaves with exertion as he fights to push away, breath coming in ragged gasps,
his entire body trembling with adrenaline and exertion as he fights against the exhaustion to
get away.
“YOU FUCKING LIAR!” Will shouts, voice becoming rough from screaming. “NOBODY
HELPS! NOBODY CARES! EVERYONE LIES! GET OFF!”
“I’m not lying.” Henry whispers, rubbing circles on Will’s chest, which just makes him fight
more. “I understand why you’d feel like that. The world is cruel. But I’m not like them. I
want to help.”
Will clenches his fists, knuckles white with tension, but when one of his hands comes into the
corner of his vision, he freezes.
There are webs covering his fingers and hands and where his wrists are exposed, a dark red
reminiscent of blood in a pattern of branches, like a tree.
He brings his hands in front of his eyes, flipping them over and over like if he does it enough
it’ll change the patterns spread across his skin.
His breath catches in his throat as he reels with confusion and fear. What’s happening? What’s
happening to him?
Henry apparently notices his sudden stillness, as his head moves to look at Will’s hands, too.
“It seems as though your powers are manifesting in a new way.” Henry remarks softly, his
voice laced with curiosity. “You truly are extraordinary, Will.”
Will remembers that he’s trapped by this man’s arms and back and legs and jerks away again,
panic flooding his veins. He’s trapped, and he has these weird dark webs on his body, and he
doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s losing control, his body is betraying him (yet again, but
in a different way)-
“Get away from me!” Will shouts, his voice ragged with fear and desperation that he tries and
fails to disguise as rage, desperately trying to scramble away.
Henry releases him, raising his hands in a placating gesture as he says, “I’m sorry, Will, I
didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Will’s already on his aching, shaking legs, his heart pounding in his chest as he backs away
from Henry, his mind running in circles of panic and questioning and anger. He looks at his
hands again, still covered in the strange, dark patterns, a shiver runs down his spine.
“What did you do to me?” Will asks. When Henry doesn’t respond, he screams, “WHAT DID
YOU DO TO ME?!”
“I didn’t do anything to you, Will. They’re a physical manifestation of your powers. I have
them too. See?” Henry says, leaning forward and holding up his hands. Will sees them; small,
silver marks on the tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands, like big paper cuts. “It’s
alright. I have them too. And I have powers too, just like you.”
“I- I need to get out of here-” Will mumbles as he looks around, even though his head is
swimming. “How do I get out of here-”
He tries to get over to the window, try to break the glass, but he takes a large step and
immediately collapses again, dropping like a stone to the concrete.
“Allow me.” Henry says, sighing softly as he approaches Will. He crouches down beside him
and lifts him up, supporting him with one arm around his back and another under his knees.
Despite Will squirming and protesting and demanding to be released, Henry carries him back
over to the bed and carefully lays him down, arranging his body to be more comfortable
(though Will kicks at his hands and curses up a storm when he attempts to touch his legs).
“Please just let me go.” Will pleads, his voice strained with exhaustion and fear once Henry’s
backed off.
“I can’t do that.” Henry says, sitting down on the bed next to Will. “I’m sorry. But you aren’t
in a state to leave. You’re exhausted, and there’s nowhere that’s safe for you, anyway. This
place has everything you need. You can just stay here until it's time.”
“Where the fuck am I, anyway?” Will asks.
Henry’s quiet for a moment, before he says, “This is… my apartment.”
“Like hell am I sleeping in your bed.” Will snaps. “Put me in- I don't know, a hotel or
something.”
“I will not stay if that is what you want. I can leave and come back to check on you in the
morning. But I won’t let you go out on your own when you’re vulnerable.”
Fuck him. Will’s not all vulnerable, and he can sure as hell take care of himself.
“I’m not vulnerable. I could kick your ass if I wanted.” Will snarls. “You want to try me?”
Henry smiles gently, once again unfazed by Will’s threats. “I have no doubt that you could,
but that’s not important right now. You need rest. You are exhausted, and you aren’t in any
shape to fight right now.”
“Try anything, and you’ll see just how much of a fight I can put up.” Will says, but he knows
he’s bluffing, and Henry probably does, too. He knows he’s too exhausted to keep up the
fight, and he can feel bruises forming where he slammed into the ground when he collapsed.
“I believe you. But I will not try anything.” Henry says calmly.
“Damn straight.” Will says.
It’s quiet for a moment, before Henry says, “Would you like to sleep? I can leave.”
Will glares at Henry suspiciously. “Why do you care if I sleep or not?”
Henry sighs, though he still maintains a patient look on his face. “You need it. You’ve pushed
yourself to the limit, and your body needs to recover. Sleep is essential for your well-being.”
Will grumbles something, but he doesn’t truly respond. He’s still tense and scared and
confused and trying to cover it up with fake self-confidence and anger, but he knows that if
this man tried anything, he couldn’t fight back right now, not really.
He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, eyeing Henry warily.
“I promise you, I mean you no harm. I brought you here because you needed help and a place
to stay.” Henry says, his tone sincere, but he could be lying.
“Why should I believe you?” Will retorts.
Henry’s expression is soft and sincere, and Will doesn’t trust it. “I understand your
skepticism. You’ve been through a lot, and trust doesn’t come easily. But I do not ask you to
trust me immediately; I simply request that you give me a chance to earn it.”
Will remains silent, glaring at him.

“Listen.” Henry continues. “I understand that you must be overwhelmed and frightened. But I
assure you, I want to help. I won’t force you to do anything you do not want to, and I will not
harm you.”
Will still doesn’t respond, shoulders still so tense they hurt.
Henry sighs softly. “Sleep. I will leave you alone, and I will be back in three hours to wake
you. If you require anything or want company, just call my name, and I will be here
immediately.”
With that, Henry stands up from the bed, and Will blinks and he’s gone.
He looks around the room again, trying to figure out where he disappeared to, but after a
while, he gives up.
Will succumbs to the exhaustion, crawling under the white covers and sheets and letting his
head fall against the pillow, falling asleep nearly immediately.
He wakes up to the sound of a drawer closing.
Will immediately shoots up, preparing his electricity, but then he sees that it’s Henry going
through the dresser.
“What are you doing?” Will asks.
“I’m moving out and moving you in.” Henry says.

Will’s eyes narrow, still on-edge. Appearances are deceiving, and just because this man
claims that he’s friendly doesn’t mean that he is.
“Why?” he says, his tone sharp.
Henry looks over at Will, his expression calm and collected. “I believe you’ll be safe here.
The apartment is secure, and it offers more safety than any hotel or temporary
accommodation. Plus, I will be able to keep an eye on you here.”
Will narrows his eyes at Henry, not fully convinced by the explanation. “And why, exactly,
do you need to keep an eye on me? What do you want?”
Henry lets out a soft sigh as he takes something out of the drawer and puts something in off
of a bag on the floor, seemingly unconcerned with Will’s suspicion. “I’m concerned for your
well-being. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re vulnerable. You need help with your
powers. I want to ensure that you’re safe and that you have everything you need.”
Will’s guard doesn’t falter. “What do you get?”
Henry pauses. “Pardon?”
“What do you get in exchange for- for taking care of me? Unnecessarily, by the way. I can
take care of myself. But- why?” Will asks.
“I don’t doubt that you can care for yourself. But I see someone who’s been through more
than anyone should, someone who’s hurt and struggling both mentally and physically, and I
want to help.” Henry says, his voice gentle and earnest. “I don’t expect anything in return. I
just want to help.”
“And what if I don’t need your help?” Will asks.

Henry stares at him for a minute, before he smiles. “Walk over to me.” he says. “Doubt you
can.”
“Fine. I will.” Will snaps, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s gonna prove his
point.
But, of course, as soon as he stands up and takes a few steps, his legs give out beneath him,
and he stumbles and falls.
Henry immediately drops whatever he’s holding and runs over and catches Will, easing him
back onto the bed. “Yes, you are perfectly capable of walking the streets right now.” he
deadpans.
“Fuck you. I can do it.” Will says, trying to suppress his heavy breathing.
“Yes, of course. But you also can rest.” Henry says.
“I don’t want to.” Will says, and he probably sounds like a brat, but he doesn’t care. “I’m
tired of sleeping. I want to get up and do things.”
Henry shakes his head with a resigned sigh. “I understand. You’re strong-willed,
independent, and don’t like to feel confined. But you need to take a break and take care of
yourself. You’ve been pushing too hard, and your body needs time to recover. Having a brain
tumor pressing on your skull is bad enough, but you exacerbated the side effects by pushing
yourself too far. Rest. Let yourself heal.”
“How the fuck do you know about my tumor?” Will snarls.
Henry sighs. “I have one as well. I have powers too, remember?”
Will stares. “What?”

Henry sighs again. “That is a long story that I will tell you as a reward for when you go back
to sleep.”
Will scowls, but he doesn’t argue further. Even though he just woke up, he’s still tired down
to his bones, and he doesn’t want to admit that Henry might be… a little bit right. All of his
scars cut down deep into him, into the lowest part of his skin, some into his heart, and his
powers are hurting him, too, whether in his headache or in the marks on his arms.
The marks!
Will raises his hands in front of him, but where they were bright red just a moment ago, now
they’re a silvery white, the same as Henry’s. Maybe they only turn red when he uses his
powers.
He sets his hands back on the covers next to him, and Henry continues organizing the
drawers, looking over at Will occasionally. He watches warily, still not sure why, exactly, he’s
helping Will, but the exhaustion weighs him down so that he can’t think too hard about it.
Eventually, Henry sets a stack of clothes on the bed at Will’s feet.
“I took the liberty of buying you some clothes. They should fit. If they are not your style, let
me know. I can get you different ones.” Henry says.
Will eyes the stack suspiciously. “Why would you buy me clothes?” he asks.
Henry shrugs. “You need them. Your current attire is… lacking. And covered in blood from
your nose.”
Will snorts. “Gee, thanks. But I don’t want your charity.”

“I understand. But this is not charity, this is necessary. You need proper clothing, especially if
you’re going to be staying here.” Henry says, his tone firm but not unkind.
Will sighs, conceding defeat for now. “I’m not wearing anything ridiculous.”
Henry smiles. “Of course not. I made sure that they are simple and comfortable.”
Will nods, and he waits for Henry to leave, but he just stands there at the end of the bed.
“Aren’t you leaving?” Will asks.
“You’re exhausted. You might need help-” Henry shrugs, but Will isn’t having it.
“Fuck no. Get out. I’m not changing with your creepy ass in the room. Leave. Now. Or I turn
your ass into chicken-fried fuckface.” Will threatens.
Henry sighs, a placating smile on his face. “Right. I’ll be in the bathroom, then. Shout when
you’re done.”
He goes and shuts himself in, and when Will hears the door lock, he quickly grabs the clothes
and tosses off his own jeans and bloodstained white T-shirt as quickly as he can, putting on
the clothes that Henry’s given him. It’s a dark red short-sleeve T-shirt the color of wine, black
skinny jeans, and a black belt, socks, and underwear. On the bottom of the pile is a black
leather jacket.
Will doesn’t care about them. They’re nice, but… whatever. He just wants to leave.
So he puts them on as fast as possible, praying that Henry doesn’t come out before he’s done.
Once he’s dressed again, the fabric feeling weird and tight against his skin, he takes a deep
breath, trying to steady his nerves. He’s still on edge, still wary of Henry’s intentions, but he
also knows that he’s reliant on him right now, and he needs to be careful to follow
instructions until it no longer suits him.
“Done.” Will calls, and the bathroom door opens, a slightly-smiling Henry stepping out.
He looks over Will and nods approvingly. “You look good. They suit you.”
Will mumbles something and looks away, uneasy with the compliment. He doesn’t want
praise or compliments that make him feel weird. He wants answers and a way out of here.
“Come, don’t you want to see yourself?” Henry says.
Will shrugs.
“Come.” Henry says, and he reaches out to grab Will, but Will flinches away. Don’t touch
him.
“Alright.” Henry says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, no touching. I will
only touch you if you fall again.”
Will eyes him warily, but he carefully gets up, leaning against the bed as he walks over to the
large, black-framed mirror over the dresser. When he sees his reflection, his eyes widen in
surprise - he looks a lot different than he remembers.
“You clean up well.” Henry remarks, but Will doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with his own
thoughts.
What’s Henry’s game? The clothes and the room, it’s all too much, too fast. He’s being
maneuvered, slowly brought into a corner, and he doesn’t like it. Once he’s trapped in that
corner, who knows what’ll happen?
“You look presentable now.” Henry says. “But there are a few ground rules to cover. First, do
not try to escape. It is not safe out there for you and I don’t want you in danger. Second, use
your powers responsibly. I do not want any accidents or for your condition to worsen. Third,
take care of yourself. And fourth, call my name if you need anything. This is your home, and
I want you to be comfortable.”
“My home?” Will snaps, scowling at Henry. “I’m not staying here a minute longer than
necessary. And I don’t want your charity or protection.”
Henry remains unfazed. “Call it what you want. I’m genuinely trying to help. Now, do you
have any questions?”
“Yeah, what’s the goddamn catch? What do you want? I-” Will starts, but then he gets dizzy
and falls forward a little bit into the dresser.
“Will-” Henry says, starting forward.
“No.” Will says, gripping the sides of the dresser’s top. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
Henry nods. “Once again, there is no catch.”
Will doesn’t believe him. Every bit of kindness comes at a horrible price.
So he looks back at himself in the mirror, and he isn’t sure what to think.
The clothes make him look weird. The red and black make his skin look lighter, and his hair
and eyes both look dark brown instead of their usual mouse-brown-and-hazel combination. It
pairs with the dark circles under his eyes to make him look even more pale and tired.
There’s a sharpness to his face, angles on his cheekbones and jaw, as well as a wrinkle
between his eyebrows from furrowing them. His expression, the look in his eyes, he looks
scared and angry and on the defensive, like a caged animal in a zoo.
He doesn’t recognize himself.
He doesn’t look like Will anymore.
He looks like someone new.
But then it hits him.
Maybe he isn’t Will anymore. And maybe that’s a good thing.
As he looks into the mirror, he smiles, his dark appearance finally reflecting just what he can
do.
He's going to destroy the world and everyone who's ever hurt him. It’s his right.
He may be a sinner, but he’s blessed, too, given gifts that nobody else could ever have.
This boy is a sinner. But he’s one that’s been chosen to destroy those who’ve wronged him.
As he examines his eyes in the mirror, he whispers six words.
“I’m not Will.

“Call me Wrath.”
Henry’s playing with fire, and he knows that.
By dressing them up, he’s made his obsession worse.
Angel (which is not only a name that fits him so well, but one that Henry finds alluring for
reasons he doesn’t care to explain) is beautiful. He dressed him in a Greek short chiton and
sandals, and he did so because he thought he would look good, but he had no idea what he
was doing. The boy looks not just like an angel now, but instead a Greek god as well, just
enough skin exposed to tempt anyone who lays eyes on him. It’s a good thing Henry’s the
only one who sees him. Angel belongs to him, after all.
His naivety is so endearing. He didn’t know what was running through Henry’s mind as he
undressed him - which he had lain still for, not a protest or peep from his lips. It had taken all
of his self-control to redress him again, and it had almost hurt, to cover up his smooth golden
skin and hide the sight of the pretty body, skin stretched taut over muscle and bone, with a
thin layer of fat to make him still seem soft and delicate.
Angel had been completely unaware, laying there at Henry’s mercy, that he was the
embodiment of so many of the fantasies that Henry had ever harbored, that Henry just longed
to possess him in every way he possibly could. Oh, how his innocence only fuels Henry’s
desire.
It’s a good thing Henry has restraint, or he would have given in to his fantasies already,
destroyed and debauched the boy like he wants so badly to. But with the trust and connection
he showed Henry today, Henry doesn’t think it will be long before he gets what he wants
without needing lies. A few more days, maybe? If he continues to gently push Angel’s
boundaries a little bit further each day, gently push them back far enough that they become
almost non-existent after a while, he’ll eventually get what he wants, and when he does, that
will be a glorious day.
Wrath, on the other hand, will take much longer. Henry hadn’t gotten to see his body like he
had with Angel, but the glimpses he caught of collarbones and slim wrists perfect for
grabbing and pinning under the perfectly-tight clothes combined with his rough edges and
untamed spirit to stir that primal feeling in Henry once again.
Wrath is different. He rejected Henry, pushed him away and rejected all attempts at physical
contact and connection again and again and again. His demeanor is of defiance and mistrust,
fear attempting to disguise as anger. It intrigues Henry, the prospect of pulling off layer after
layer of hostility until he bends exciting him in a completely different way than Angel’s
compliance.
Henry has to tread carefully with Wrath. He has to earn his trust slowly, patiently. He can’t
afford to rush, to push too hard and risk driving Wrath further away. No, with Wrath, he has
to play a different game, one of subtlety and cunning, of seduction and manipulation.
Just as he relishes Angel’s innocence, he relishes Wrath’s challenge, his defiance. The thrill
of the chase, the conquest of the wild, calls to him. When he finally breaks through Wrath’s
defenses, when he claims him as his own and forces him to submit, it will be a sweet victory
better than anything he’s ever had.
The anticipation of that moment courses through Henry’s veins, a heady mix of desire and
triumph at the mere thought. But with Wrath, patience is not only a virtue, but a necessity -
there’s a delicate balance that must be achieved in order to weaken Wrath’s resistance, to tear
down his walls.
He’ll have to gradually chip away at Wrath’s defenses. It’ll take time, and it’ll be tiring, but if
all goes well, he can just use Angel twice as much to make up for it until he gets his
counterpart, too.
The uncertainty adds to the allure. Wrath’s fiery spirit will either be his downfall or the
catalyst for an even more intoxicating conquest. The challenge excites him, but he has to be
careful not to lose himself in the game. The flames he’s playing with where Wrath is involved
are more volatile and dangerous, but the reward, if he succeeds, will be equally exhilarating.
Thus, the dance continues, Angel leading him down a path of sweet temptation and desire, a
path of the robbing of innocence, Wrath beckoning him with the promise of triumph and
conquest and forced submission. Henry is stuck navigating the delicate balance of these two
opposing force, fueled by his obsession and lust and desire to take them both as his own. But
though the flames lick his skin, Henry doesn’t mind. He revels in the heat, in the danger that
surrounds him, for it is within the flames that he finds his purpose, his satisfaction. With each
step closer to the edge, Henry feels alive, electrified by the adrenaline coursing through his
veins.
For him, turning back could never be an option, no possibility of hesitation in his pursuit of
what he desires. Angel and Wrath are so perfect, vessels through which to fulfill each and
every one of his dark fantasies. And as he walks the tightrope between them, Henry knows he
will stop at nothing to possess them both fully, to bend them to his will and quench the
hunger in him.
Angel and Wrath. The perfect pair. One fiery and filled with attitude, the other docile and
sweet. One a willing captive, the other an elusive prey. So close, but so far, though that's
changing.
Soon enough, Henry will get what he wants: both of them completely his, and the world
burned down to ash.
Chapter End Notes
Angel - adorable and sweet

Wrath - badass and the original bad boy
Vecna - punchable, let's fucking kill him
Let me know what you thought in the comments, leave a comment and/or Kudos if
The World Is Quiet Here
Chapter Notes
This one made me cry. Enjoy! <3
me know!)


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Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Panic attacks
- Blood
- Sexual abuse (flashback)
- Incest (flashback)
- Manipulation
- Possession
- Language

“Did you find him?” Mike asks the second Lucas’s bike comes into the driveway.
“No.” Lucas sighs. “I don't- I don’t know where he could be. We've looked all over town.”
“Fuck!” Mike shouts, dragging his hands down his face. “Motherfucker! He couldn't have
left! He has to be around here somewhere! Where the fuck is he?!”
What little sunlight that's visible through the clouds is disappearing. Will’s been gone since
eight this morning, and now it’s just past six. Nobody’s seen him, though they've all been
searching Hawkins.
“Mike.” Lucas says softly. “It's okay. We'll find him.”
“If it's okay and we're gonna find him, why haven’t we yet?!” Mike snaps. “He's in danger,
and now he's missing! For all we know, Vecna could have-”
The thought of Will’s body, limbs and bones snapped like twigs and his hazel eyes gouged
out, his crumpled dead body on the side of the road somewhere, all the life and beauty and
everything Will sapped out of him, makes Mike break, and instead of finishing his thought of
‘For all we know, Vecna could have killed him’, he just stands there, covering his face as he
tries not to cry.
“Hey. Hey, hey, it's okay, man, we just gotta find him, alright?” Lucas says, grabbing his
shoulders. “He's fine. I'm sure he's fine.”
Mike doesn’t answer, because he’s the reason Will is out there alone and vulnerable right
now, he could be the reason Will’s dead-
“Whoa. Whoa, dude, you gotta breathe, alright? Calm down. I'm sure he’s fine.” Lucas
soothes.
Mike makes himself take a few breaths, swaying as he tries to stop. Having a stupid fucking
panic attack isn't doing shit.
“There you go, dude. Just breathe. You need to sit down? You should probably sit down.”
Lucas says.
Mike nods again, dropping to the floor, where he sits with his legs criss-crossed as he tries to
breathe, his hands still covering his face.
Lucas is so amazing. So are Will and Dustin and El. Why do they even stick around a
pathetic loser like him? He doesn't deserve them. He's just some gangly, worthless, ugly nerd
who has a temper and mouth that talks too much and says shit he doesn't mean and a big, red
mark on his face, and-
“Calm down. It's okay. Will probably just got lost and that's why he hasn't been back yet,
alright? He's fine. He’s okay. And once we bring him back, you can apologize and you two
can make up and- and everything'll be normal again. Okay?” Lucas says.
Mike nods.
“See? It'll be fine. Just breathe and calm down and then we can go out and look for him.
You've been inseparable since you were five - you've gotta know where he would go.” Lucas
says. “Just calm down and then we'll go find him.”
Mike makes himself take deep, shaky breaths. He doesn’t want to, but he wants to find Will.
He needs to find Will.
After a while, he takes his hands off his tear-streaked face, sitting up from where he was
hunched over.
“You good?” Lucas asks gently.

“Yeah.” Mike nods jerkily. “I'm- I'm fine. Let's go find Will.”
Lucas stares, then nods. “Okay. Where- you know him best. Where'd he be?”
Mike thinks for a minute, then he remembers.
They're eight. Mike rides his bike alongside Will to the Byers house. Mike’s only been over
about two dozen times over the past three years - every time he suggests going to Will’s
house, Will doesn’t look in his eyes, mumbling some excuse and shifting his weight, acting
weird until Mike drops it.
But Will suggested it today, said his dad was gone for work and that the house would be
empty except for Jonathan and Mrs. Byers, who are both really nice.
They're laughing and talking, Will occasionally wincing (Mike thinks he must've fallen and
gotten hurt, cause there are really dark bruises on his arms and neck and face, especially his
eyes. He thinks they go down Will’s shirt, too. It wouldn't surprise Mike - he's clumsy. He
always falls into things, and he's always covered in bruises or with braces and casts. It makes
Mike hurt too) and shifting on his bike.
They come to a stop, but as they're standing outside of Will’s house, instead of the silence Will
had promised, there’s crashing and loud shouting inside.
Mike looks over at Will, who looks scared and a little sad as he looks at the house.
Then it hits him.
Will isn’t really that clumsy, is he?

It’s his dad that’s doing that to him, isn’t it?
“I- come on. We can go to my house.” Mike says. If his dad’s the one breaking his bones and
leaving those bruises, there’s no way Will’s going in while there’s so much shouting.
Will stares at the house for another minute before he shakes his head. “Come on.”
He brings his bike over to the side of the house before starting to walk for the woods.
“Will! What are you doing?” Mike whisper-shouts.
Will waves for him to follow, so Mike leans his bike against Will’s and starts after him.
After about ten or fifteen minutes of following Will through the woods, Will sits down on a
tree stump, taking off his shoes and socks.
“Will. Seriously, what are you doing?” Mike asks.
Will smiles at him, though it looks a bit sad. “Just trust me.” he says.
And Mike does trust him, he trusts Will more than anyone, so even though it’s March and it’s
still cold, he follows suit, taking off his shoes and socks, leaving him barefoot.
“Come on.” Will says softly, getting up and taking Mike’s hand.
He gently tugs Mike along, his bare feet crunching in the snow. Though the feeling makes
Mike shiver and his feet go cold and numb, Will apparently doesn’t mind.
After a while, Will apparently finds what he's looking for in a little creek, as he smiles and
pulls Mike over to walk along it.
“Where are we going?” Mike asks.
Will shakes his head and keeps walking, his warm hand entwined with Mike’s making up for
the snow.
Eventually, Will stops again at the bottom of a large, leafless oak tree, turning back to smile
at Mike and taking his other hand.
“What are we doing?” Mike asks.
“Shh.” Will says. “Listen.”
Mike does, and the sounds all around are just… amazing.
There are birds chirping, and there’s the sound of the water in the creek, and there’s the
breeze and dripping of water from branches, and then there’s Will’s breathing, and even
though it’s cold, all Mike can think of is how peaceful he feels.
“I come here sometimes.” Will whispers, face turned up to the sky, cheeks pink and eyes
closed. “When my dad gets really mad or everything gets too scary. It's like Sophia White
said.”
Mike tries to remember. Will loves to read, especially poetry, and Mike tries to read the same
things in the same way so that he understands Will’s references, and he knows the name
Sophia White, but what poem?
“The world is quiet here.” he whispers after a minute.
Will smiles, nodding slightly. “The world is quiet here.” he repeats softly. “And sometimes,
when everything gets too loud, it's nice to go where the world is quiet. Just… to be here for a
minute. Where people don't come often.”
Mike’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “That makes sense, but why aren't we wearing
shoes?”
Will smiles again. “It makes it feel like I'm part of it. Like I'm part of nature and belong here
just like the birds or the trees. Don't you feel more… connected, I guess?”
Mike thinks again. “I guess I really do.” he says after a second.
Will squeezes his hands. “It's a good place to think. And it's a good place to be when you
need space and quiet and peace. It's where I go when I'm scared, or when I'm hurt.”
“Come on. I think I know where he is.” Mike says, getting up and going over to the bikes.
He hasn't gone to the oak since… well…
Let's just say he went there the day after Will left for California.
Neither Will or Mike have gone there in a while, but if Will’s upset, it's worth a shot.
As they go down the driveway and away into the rain-drenched apocalyptic world, all Mike
can hope is that Will’s at the oak and that he’s okay.
-
Angel laughs as he rolls down the hill, because it’s bumpy and the grass is sticking to him but
it's so much fun to go around and around down the slope.
“Having fun?” calls someone, and when Will looks up at the top of the slope, Henry stands
there, looking down at him.
“Yeah!” Angel laughs, getting up to run back up. “I love this!”
“Oh?” Henry says.
“Yeah! It feels like the world's spinning!” Angel says as he gets up to the top. “You wanna
roll down too?”
Henry smiles. “I do not want grass stains on my clothes.” he says.
Will looks down at today's robe - a light blue-colored robe, the exact same style and size as
the one yesterday. “But I'm not getting stains on my clothes.”
He spins in a circle to prove his point, the bottom of the robe going out as well as his hair,
and Henry stares for a minute before he sighs.
“Very well.” he says.
Angel giggles and lays down, starting to ger ready to roll down again.
Life is good.
-
Mike drops his bike to the ground when he sees a hunched form about a hundred feet from
the oak on an overturned tree, immediately shouting “Will!” and running towards him, Lucas
close behind.
“WillohmyGodI'msosorry-” Mike blurts as he slides to his knees in front of him, but-
Will doesn’t react. His eyes are rolled back and white, blood dripping down his face from
them in dark red rivulets. He’s completely still.
“Oh, God!” Mike cries. “God, Lucas, get the Walkman- fuck!”
As Lucas runs to his bike to go and get the Walkman from Dustin, to do something, anything,
Mike prays. He doesn’t believe in God, but he knows Will does, and if one exists, he hopes
Will’s belief is enough.
No. Please, God, not him. Not him. Anyone but him.
Will still doesn’t wake up, face slack and body stiff.
As he screams for Will to wake up, the only other sound in the woods the dripping of blood
from Will's eyes, Mike can only think one thing.
‘The world is quiet here.’
The world is quiet here.

And Mike would do anything to fill the air with music, to fill that silence so Will would wake
up.
‘The world is quiet here.’
Wrath lays in the chair, wordlessly watching the TV.
He hates it here. There’s nothing good on, and he’s stuck here, and he can hardly move
without feeling like he's being crushed by a ton of bricks and collapsing, and Henry keeps
appearing out of goddamn nowhere to come talk to him-
“Hello.” Henry says from behind him. “How are you feeling?”
“Where do you even keep appearing from?” Wrath asks, annoyance in his voice. “You just
keep appearing out of goddamn nowhere.”
“I have a… secret entrance.” Henry says after a minute.
“Overdramatic bitch.” Wrath mumbles.
Henry chuckles. “I suppose.”
It's quiet for a minute, Wrath staring at the TV, Henry standing in the middle of the room,
before Henry says, “May I watch with you?”
Wrath rolls his eyes, gesturing around him. “Where, exactly? One chair, remember?”
“It is my apartment. Perhaps you can move?” Henry suggests.
Wrath glares. “Where?”
Henry looks at the small chair then back at Wrath. “You know, you could sit on the arm of the
chair.”
Wrath scowls at the suggestion, though he does consider it.
With a heavy sigh, he gets up and settles on the armrest instead, leaving an empty space for
Henry to occupy. It is his apartment, after all. It’s only fair.
Henry smiles, walks over, and sits down, and Wrath feels a surge of annoyance at Henry for
disrupting his solitude and having him move, but he deals with it.
He tries to ignore Henry and focus on the TV, but the narrowness of the arm forces him to
lean on Henry.
The feeling of touch is almost a drug, making him feel dizzy and warm and intoxicated in a
weird, addicting way.
“Oh. Would you-” Henry starts when he notices Wrath unconsciously leaning against his
shoulder. “Would you like a hug?”
Wrath immediately starts to push away. “No. I-”
“It's okay if you do. Physical contact is a basic human need.” Henry coaxes.
“Fuck off.” Wrath says.
“Look. If you want an arm around your shoulders or a hug, I can do that. I won’t touch you
without your consent, and if you revoke it, I will stop touching you. Alright?” Henry says.
“Don’t be afraid to ask for things.”
“I'm not fucking- fucking afraid.” Wrath snaps.
Henry shrugs. “Sure. If you say so.”
Wrath practically spits his next words. “Alright, fine. I'll prove it. Hug me. I don’t care.”
Henry’s expression is soft at Wrath’s dare, and he slowly extends his arms and wraps them
around Wrath, who tenses, but doesn’t pull away.
It’s an unfamiliar sensation, weird and almost unnatural, but it’s… weirdly nice. Comforting.
Wrath finds himself relaxing bit by bit, leaning into the embrace and allowing himself to be
held, allowing Henry’s arms to tighten around him. He’s not used to this level of closeness,
this… vulnerability… but… he can’t deny the way that it soothes this ache that he didn’t
even realize was there.
Henry’s hold is warm and tight and reassuring, and Wrath almost feels dizzy at how nice it
feels to be touched. He feels… good? Kinda? He feels safe, anyway.
Almost against his will, he gives in, eventually just putting almost all his weight onto Henry
as he reciprocates the hug and drops his head onto Henry’s shoulder. Somehow, it feels good
yet also makes Wrath have to fight not to cry.
“See? It’s not so bad, is it?” Henry asks quietly, starting to rub circles over Wrath’s jacket.
Wrath grumbles as he leans away again, and Henry lets him go, though he keeps a hand on
his back.
As they go back to watching TV, Henry keeps his hand on Wrath’s shoulder, gently and
absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in circles over Wrath’s jacket. He’ll never admit it, but he
loves the feeling, wants to collapse into the touch and just crumple into a little ball that Henry
could hold until he stops feeling this… this craving.
But as Henry gently keeps his hand on Wrath, he starts to think.
…Maybe Henry isn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe he can trust at least one person.
Mike’s shaking Will by the shoulders, the blood dripping from Will’s eyes mirroring the tears
from Mike’s own, both mixing with the rain.
“WILL! WILL, CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Mike shouts, trying to reach his best friend - well,
maybe not his best friend anymore after the fight they just had, but Mike doesn’t care if Will
never wants to talk to him again as long as he's alive-
“PLEASE! PLEASE, NO! I CAN’T LOSE HIM!” Mike screams, praying that whatever
higher powers there might be are listening.
Why are his eyes bleeding? That only happens after the bones break and his bones aren't
broken-
Mike sobs. “Please! Please, not him! Anyone else but him!”
Take me instead! I don't care! Not him!
“Where’s the Walkman?” he asks. “WHERE’S THE WALKMAN?!”
“It- it’s waterlogged!” Dustin shouts from where he’s run up next to Mike, Lucas and
Jonathan in tow. “The rain-!”
“FUCK!” Mike screams. “WILL! WAKE UP!”
There’s no music.
The world is quiet here.
And that silence is going to kill Will.
Wrath can’t breathe.
He falls off the arm of the chair upon Henry moving his hand down a little and touching his
waist. It was supposed to be comforting, but-
He’s biting too hard. Will knows that. It’s in the blood dripping down his lips and chin, filling
his mouth with iron and his eyes with tears.
Still, he keeps in his cries and whimpers with the lip clenched between his teeth so tightly that
his teeth puncture the skin. He just has to hold on a little longer, and Dad’ll be done. He just
has to wait.
“Stop that, Bill.” his dad snarls, hands still gripping his waist so tightly that Will can feel it
bruising. The hands that only ever hurt are keeping a tight hold on him, lifting him up and
down so that his dad gets that glazed-over, sweaty look. “You’ll leave marks. Your mother
will ask questions. Do you want your mother to ask questions? She’d be mad at you. You’d be
in trouble.”
Will can’t answer. If he lets go of his lip, he’ll cry.
“You look just like her.” his dad whispers. “Like when she was young and beautiful. Do you
know how we met?”
He drops Will down especially hard, getting a moan from himself and a pained whimper from
Will. It always hurts, but he can’t do much - just ignore the pain and the bulge in his belly
until hot stickiness and blood drips down his legs and makes him want to throw up.
“She was fourteen. I had just turned twenty-one. Mm… I got her into the best bars… got her
beer and cigs, gave her rides in my car… her mom hated me, but all her friends thought I
was the best… but she was special, Bill, she wasn’t like the other girls… had this spark, this
fire in her eyes… when I saw her, I knew I had to have her… I made her feel special, like she
was the only one in the world, and she fell for me, hard…” he whispers.
Will listens with a gross horror. He wants to beg him to stop, to just get it over with, to stop
talking and do it in silence if he has to do it, but that doesn’t get him anywhere, so he stays
quiet.
He wants to slip away, so he does, letting his mind drift off into that safe little space he can
sometimes make it to where nothing is real and he's safe and loved and far, far away, but then
his dad brings him back with a tight squeeze and hard move up.
It isn’t surprising. His dad says he isn't allowed to ‘get spacey’ because he hasn't learned his
lesson. But it still hurts that he has to be here and real and awake the whole time. He doesn’t
want to be.
"She was mine, Bill. Mine to take care of, mine to protect. And now, you're just like her. So
beautiful, so innocent," his dad murmurs, his breath hot and alcoholic against Will's ear as
he pushes into him over and over in an awful rhythm. "But you have to learn, just like she
did. You have to learn who's in charge here, just like she did.”
His dad's moves and noises get less predictable, and Will thanks God. It's gonna be over
soon.
He’s a pawn in a game where the prize always goes to his dad, and the only prize Will gets is
pain and fear. He doesn't want to play anymore. It doesn't matter what he wants.
As his dad finishes Will’s punishment, his fingers tighten so much that his jagged, unkempt
nails cut open Will’s skin in half-moons on his waist.
Will’s always liked the moon.
As he looks at the red, bloody moons on his body, though, he doesn't think he likes it
anymore.
Wrath lies mumbling on the floor, twitching occasionally. I’ve learned, Dad, I’ve learned
whatever lesson you were trying to teach me, please, whatever I did to make you do this, I’m
sorry, please, forgive me, please, stop-
“Wrath. You’re safe. You’re alright. He can’t hurt you. Nobody can.” Henry soothes. “It’s
alright. Deep breaths.”
Wrath makes a choked wail as he pushes away from Henry, he can’t trust anyone, they’re
gonna hurt him-
“I'm going to touch you now.” Henry tells him. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to
gently touch you. It’s alright. I mean no harm.”
Wrath tenses even more at Henry’s words, his mind made of confusion and fear and pain.
Everything in him screams to run, that he’s gonna get hurt again, that all touch comes with
that awful price that his dad would make him pay-
“It’s alright. Take a deep breath.” Henry whispers.
A hand starts to gently brush through Wrath’s bangs as he forces his trembling limbs to stay
still, forces himself to endure the gentle touch that he both craves and fears. Henry’s hand
combs through Wrath’s hair, gentle and tentative like he’s afraid to cause more harm.
Tears blur Wrath’s eyes as he tries to send out electricity, not sure what else to do, but instead
of reacting, Henry reaches out, grabs him under his armpits, and pulls him closer.
“No, no, no, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry-” Wrath cries as he starts trying to thrash and wriggle
away, his whole body still trembling uncontrollably.
Henry still pulls him close until Wrath’s back is against his front, at which point he wraps one
arm around Wrath’s shoulders, effectively restraining him, and strokes the other through
Wrath’s hair. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise.”
Wrath still fights for a minute, but after a while, he grows too tired, and he gives up, just
collapsing back into Henry’s chest as his screams and cries turn into quiet, muffled sobs, his
body still trembling with the aftershocks of fear and pain.
“It’s alright, Wrath.” Henry murmurs, still petting his hair. “It’s alright. Nobody’s going to
hurt you. I’m going to keep you safe. I won’t hurt you. In fact, I’m here to protect you.”
The hostility begins to ebb. Henry’s taking care of him. He… Henry cares. Wrath… maybe
Wrath can trust him after all.
Henry soothes him, still giving gentle touches that Wrath’s never experienced before, and in
place of the anger Wrath’s held toward him, a tentative and fragile trust starts to form instead.
“It’s okay to be afraid.” Henry whispers. “But it’s unfounded. Nobody will ever hurt you
again.”
Wrath tries to suppress the tears, but he can’t.
As Henry keeps him close, his head under his chin and Wrath’s legs outstretched on the floor,
his arms wrapped around Wrath’s shoulders as he gently shushes and reassures, he breaks,
and he turns and buries his face in Henry’s shirt and cries.
His friends leave on their bikes, splitting up to find a Walkman and leaving Mike and Will
alone, both on the ground. Mike can’t breathe. It’s too quiet, and Will’s gonna die. The world
is quiet here, even though he wishes it weren’t.
“What’s your favorite sound?” Mike had asked one day while Will was in the hospital after
getting back from the Upside Down. “They said you’d be here for another week while you
recovered from the lung surgery, so I can record it so you can hear it.”
Will’s quiet for a minute, before he quietly says, “I like your heartbeat. It reminds me that
we’re alive. That we’re gonna be okay.”
Mike smiles at him, giggling a little before he slides into the small part of the hospital bed not
occupied by cords or equipment or Will. It’s uncomfortable, but worth it to be close to him.
“I like your heart too.” he whispers as he snuggles closer.
Will giggles too, scooting over to make more room for Mike’s legs. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Mike whispers. “More than you know.”
Mike grabs Will, pulling his limp, rag-doll body off the tree and into his lap, head lolling
until Mike grabs the side of his head and pushes Will’s ear into his chest.
“Come on, please work, please work…” Mike whispers, squeezing Will’s body with the arm
not cradling Will’s head. “Come on, you said you liked my heartbeat, please come back to
me… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry for what I said, I never should have, I didn’t mean it…
please come back… you don’t have to forgive me, you can hate me for the rest of your life,
but please just come back, please just come back…”
It becomes a mantra as Mike rocks, both him and his best friend dripping in rainwater, Mike
covered in mud, Will’s face in blood. “Please come back, please work, please come back,
please work… please work… please…”
Mike sobs, he’s scared, what if his heartbeat doesn’t work and Will doesn’t come back and he
dies, what can he do-
“I would say I’m sorry if I thought that it would change your mind… but I know that this
time I have said too much, been too unkind… I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with
lies… I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, cause boys don’t cry…”
Mike sobs, carefully pulling Will even closer and burying his nose in his hair as tears fall
down his face.
“I would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, plead with you… but I know that it’s
too late and now there’s nothing I can do… so I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with
lies… I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, cause boys don’t cry… boys don’t
cry…”
Please don’t let it be too late. Please come back. Come back. Please.
“I would tell you that I loved you if I thought that you would stay… but I know that it’s no
use and you’ve already gone away… misjudged your limits… pushed you too far… took you
for granted… thought that you needed me more…”
Mike sobs again, brushing his fingers over Will’s cheek and trying not to think about the
blood that gets on the tips of his fingers.
“Now I would do most anything to get you back by my side… but I just keep on laughing,
hiding the tears in my eyes… cause boys don’t cry… boys don’t cry…”
The song’s over, but Will still doesn’t wake up.
“Please, please, please come back, please, Will-” Mike cries. “Come back, please, I need you,
I love you-”
Mike’s voice keeps cracking as he pleads for Will to come back, his heart’s pounding in his
chest somehow both crushing Mike’s lungs and providing the slightest hope that Will’ll come
back.
“Please, Will, come back.” Mike sobs. “I need you. I- I can’t lose you. You- you’re
everything, you’re my world, and I- please, don’t go, don’t leave me, I need you here, I love
you-”
It feels like those words are the heaviest things in the world, because he doesn’t know if he’ll
ever get to say them to this boy again.
“I love you! Please- I didn’t mean what I said, okay? I was scared! Because I- I’m a freak,
and I’m disgusting, and I- I messed everything up, but I- please, just come back and we can
talk about it! I was scared, but I- I promise, if you just come back, I’ll never say anything like
that again! I- I can’t lose you again! I love you more than anything! I- I love you more than
life! I would destroy the whole world if it meant keeping you in it, and- please, just come
home to me! Please!”
Mike knows that if Will can hear him, he’s screwed, but he doesn’t care as long as Will
wakes up.
“I’m sorry!” Mike shouts again. “I’m so sorry! I never meant to hurt you! I was scared and
hurt and so fucking stupid, but I love you! I have for ages, and I- I can’t lose you now!
Please, just- come back! Come back to me! You’re my best friend and my person and worth
more than every star in the sky! You’re my everything! I love you! I can’t do this! I can’t lose
you again! Please, Will, wake up! I can’t lose you!”
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of his confession or
because Will’s still not waking up.
He prays. A response, a deep breath, a single twitch, anything, any sign that he’s gonna make
it.
And he knows it’s wrong to do it while Will’s not awake and while he’s mad at Mike, but he
presses his lips to the top of Will’s rain-soaked head, tears dripping into Will’s hair as he
leaves a long kiss on his scalp. It’s a million things: an apology, a declaration of love, a plea
for forgiveness, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap and fix what he said and get him back.
It’s promise of a future - a future together, just like Will (and Mike) wanted - if he just wakes
up, please just wake up-
Mike waits. “Please wake up. I love you. Don’t leave me.” he whispers.
He watches for a minute, and then he sees it.
Will blinks, his eyes starting to roll back from where they were completely back in his skull
as takes a deep breath, and he coughs twice as he leans forward.
“Will?” Mike whispers, a smile on his face and tears of relief in his eyes.
“I- yeah.” Will whispers. “It’s me.”
Mike looks in Will’s eyes, bloodshot and looking so different than normal, almost looking
brown rather than hazel, but Mike doesn’t care as he squeezes Will as tightly as he can,
moving his best friend and burying his face in Will’s chest, at which point he starts to sob.
“I’m so sorry.” he cries. “I’m so sorry. I- you can hate me later, but I- oh, God, you’re okay.”
He hugs Will like he can keep his best friend alive and safe forever, and it doesn’t matter that
Will doesn’t hug back because he’s alive and awake.
The world is quiet here. Too quiet.
But Will’s okay. And that’s all that matters.
Chapter End Notes
😭😭😭
Did you cry too?
Also, fuck Lonnie Byers, and fuck Vecna
Sorry this was late! It's Saturday for me now, and it should be around Wednesday I start
posting normally again <3
Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or Kudos I'd you’re up for it, and see you
soon!
Temperature
Chapter Notes
Hey! Sorry this was late, there were midterms and also my GPA dropped to a 3.9 from a
3.95 this semester so I'm a disgrace (at least, that's how it feels) <3 anyways, enjoy!
me know!)


eeee?source=share
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Language
- Seizures
- Violation of boundaries
- Refusal of medical care

“Here.” Mike murmurs, kneeling in front of Will and pressing a mug of hot chocolate into his
hands. “You must be freezing. You were out in the rain all day.”
“Thank you.” Will says, taking the mug and looking straight past Mike to the basement wall.
He’s been acting weird since he got back, but Mike can’t say anything - he was getting
Vecna’d for over ten hours, after all. Ten hours of bad memories and torture, all after Mike
had called him a slur. Of course he’s off.
“You okay?” Mike asks, gently tightening the blanket around Will. It covers his wet hair and
the rest of his body, and though Mike had made Will change into warm pajamas and take a
hot shower so he wouldn’t get pneumonia (while he was waiting outside the door so that he
could knock and have Will say that he was alive and un-Vecna’d every few minutes, of
course), he still must be freezing. Honestly, Mike’s more worried that Will isn’t shaking -
normally, he would be trembling like a leaf, and the fact that he’s just sitting stock-still,
staring straight ahead and not moving or shaking at all, is much scarier than if he was crying
and shaking and trying to hide like he did last time he escaped Vecna.
“Yes.” Will says, still not moving. “I’m okay.”
Mike stares for a minute, trying to find any trace of pain or any indication that he’s not okay.
He was in the cold rain for ten hours, the capillaries in his eyes burst and blood poured down
his face, and he was emotionally tormented and tortured with God knows what, and even
though he says he’s fine and his expression would agree, his physical appearance sure doesn’t
look like it.
The veins under his eyes are still popping out a little and dark, his eyes still bloodshot. His
face is completely blank, and the blanket, meant to tuck him in and provide both warmth and
pressure, is loose, Will not holding it down at all.
His eyes look brown, and Mike almost has a heart attack, immediately thinking of how they
looked when Will was possessed, but then he notices all of the dark red in the whites of
Will’s eyes and surrounding his pupils. Apparently, the blood in the veins under Will’s eyes is
going into Will’s eyes and staying there. Should he see a doctor? Is that- is that something
that should happen?
Mike takes a shuddering breath as he studies Will’s face, still sitting on his feet on the floor in
front of where he and Lucas bundled him on the couch.
“Will… are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. “I just- I know you’re mad at me, and I get it, I
am too, but- I can’t imagine what Vecna showed you. What he told you. But- I’m sorry, and
we can talk about it, but- are you okay? You seem off.”
Will looks down for the first time in a while, looking at the mug in his hands. “I’m fine. I…
just need to sleep.”
Mike’s concern deepens as he stares at Will, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The
weariness on Will’s face, just emerged from the emotionless blank slate look, seems oddly
heavy, and it hits Mike that maybe it’s not exhaustion - maybe it’s something darker. An
unsettling knot forms in Mike’s stomach as he looks at Will.
He remembers a tearful confession in the middle of the night during one of their sleepovers
after Will got back from his possession two years ago, when in a five-days-without-sleep-
because-of-nightmares haze, Will sobbed as he told Mike about a vine forcing its way down
his throat, how he was held down as he was suffocated despite his screams and cries, how he
felt like he was out of his body as Hopper found him and pulled it out of him and gave him
CPR, saying in a horrified, hushed whisper that he felt like maybe it was… psychologically
motivated, that now that he had been a part of the hivemind, he could feel the sick pleasure
that the Shadow Monster had gotten by violating him.
Mike had held Will, cuddling him until he gave in and slept despite his pleas to be kept
awake out of fear, and when he woke up almost a full day later, he was a completely different
person. He said he couldn’t remember much of the past few days, and when Mike had pulled
him aside later and quietly asked if he remembered what he had told Mike before he fell
asleep, he gave big doe eyes and said, ‘no, I- I was really tired, I can’t remember pretty much
anything past the second night without sleep. What did I say?’
Mike’s never been sure if Will couldn’t actually remember, or if he felt too humiliated and
ashamed and scared to deal with the truth he’d told Mike when he wasn’t in his right mind.
He never pushed the issue, worried that he’d upset Will by bringing up what seemed to Mike
something really close to a sexual assault, but he was never able to truly shake the worry that
Will’s experience with the vine might have added another scar on top of the pre-existing ones
from the Upside Down. And now, that blank, empty expression is bringing that fear back. Did
Vecna-?
Mike swallows hard when he realizes that Vecna might have… done something to Will. His
mind immediately starts flicking through worst-case scenarios (did he dredge up that
memory, did he force Will to relive it, did he recreate it, what happened-)
“Will?” Mike asks quietly. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but… did Vecna… do
anything to you? What do you remember?”
Will doesn’t answer, staring at the mug, and Mike’s heart drops. Oh, no. Vecna really did do
something, didn’t he?
“Will, it’s okay. I know that you’re mad, but you can talk to m-” Mike starts, but when he
grabs Will’s hands, he stops.
His skin feels like ice. Despite the shower and layers of clothing and blankets and hot drinks,
his skin, normally warm, is cold, contrasting with his usual tendency to function as a
borderline space heater.
Mike frowns, moving his hand to feel Will’s cheek. It’s cold, too. “Jesus, Will, you’re
freezing.”
“Really?” Will says. “I feel plenty warm.”
“You- oh, no, you might be coming down with something. Being in the cold and rain for so
long must’ve weakened your immune system. Shit! We- we need to get you warm, and we-
we need to keep an eye on you, this is how people get pneumonia and die-” Mike rants, going
over to the heater and cranking it up before getting more blankets from the bin where they’re
stored. “You’re super underweight, too, so your body’ll be having a harder time with fighting
off the cold and infection-”
“Mike. Stop.” Will says from the couch. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“No, you’re way too cold.” Mike says as he puts another two blankets around Will’s
shoulders. “We need to get you warmed up properly. I'll- I'll make you a blanket nest on the
couch and get you a heating pad and put something on TV, or you can get into my bed with
some extra blankets, and I can make you some chicken noodles soup, it has enzymes that'll
strengthen your immune system and it'll warm you up and get some food in your stomach,
you skipped eating all day and you need to eat- is this thing on?”
Mike taps the heater irritatedly, momentarily pausing his rant and pacing around the
basement.
“Mike.” Will says. “You’re overreacting. Stop fussing and let me sleep. I'm fine.”
His brown (they’re not brown, they’re hazel, it’s a trick of the light) eyes bore into Mike’s,
cool and detached. It feels off - Will’s eyes, even when he's shutting down, are always
expressive - but he’s just been through hell and is probably getting sick. Mike’s being stupid.
But he can’t get sick. With his weight, it’s really dangerous, and Mike’s not losing him.
“Just- you can sleep in a minute, okay? But we don't mess with health stuff. Just let me take
your temperature and make sure you're okay, and then you can bundle up and go to sleep. I
just- I gotta make sure you're okay, alright? You’re really cold.” Mike says.
Will stares at him first a minute before he nods.
“Fine. You can take my temperature. But turn that heater off. It's too warm.” Will says.
Mike ignores the bad feeling in his gut and goes upstairs to get the thermometer.
-
Wrath’s watching TV again when he feels Henry arrive.
He doesn't look up from the TV, but he does say, “Hey.”
Henry walks over to stand next to him, and when he speaks, Wrath can almost hear the smile
in his voice. “You're starting to like me more. You greeted me.”
Wrath scowls. “No I'm not.”
Henry laughs. “You can deny it if you wish, but you’re warming up to me, I can tell.”
Wrath mutters something rude under his breath.
“Actions speak louder than words. And your actions speak volumes, Wrath. You’re letting
me in.”
“Bullshit.” Wrath denies.
“Oh, really? You talk to me and share your space. You let me hug and comfort you, and you
don't push me away like you used to. That's not tolerating me like you used to. That's you
liking me.”
“No, it's not.” Wrath says.
Henry laughs again, his tone slightly teasing. “Come on, Wrath, admit it. You’re starting to
enjoy my company.”
Wrath finally looks at the TV, glaring at Henry. “Fine. Maybe I don’t hate you as much as I
used to.”
Henry’s smile widens. “Progress. I’ll take it.”
Wrath rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t be too proud of yourself.”
They're quiet for a minute, before Henry says, “How would you like to leave here?”
Wrath's head snaps to look over at him. “What?”
“I have a way for you to go home to your body.” Henry says. “Your old body.”
Wrath freezes. Henry had told him a few days ago that he was in a different body, in a
different world, but… he hadn't said there was a way to go back to being Will.
“I would go with you and co-inhabit your body. Your old friends and family… they are not
good people. They seek to harm you. And it is how I can make sure you are safe.” Henry
says.
Wrath’s quiet, before he says, “Why?”
“Because the people who want to hurt you… they have information I need. You get to go
back to your body, I get the information I need. It’s a good situation.” Henry says. “But it will
be… espionage, I suppose. We must pretend that everything is normal, and you must act like
Will, not Wrath.”
“Why should I?” Wrath asks.

“Because you will get to use your anger on the people who hurt you when the time is right.”
Henry says. “You will be free.”
Wrath’s quiet again, before he nods. “Deal.”
“Ninety-four?” Mike asks, staring at the thermometer. “Ninety- ninety-four? Am I reading it

wrong?”
“Maybe.” Will shrugs. “I'll be fine after I sleep.”
That's fucking hypothermic, that could be fatal-
“I- oh my God, we need to get you warm right now. Get under the blankets and stay there.
I'm going to get heating pads and hot food. Would warm washcloths work on your forehead?
I-” Mike says quickly.
“Mike, I'm fine-” Will says again.
“Will, please just shut up and listen to me. You need to get your temperature up right now.
You're way too cold and it's at a dangerous level right now. I don’t care if you feel warm, I
don’t care if you don't want to, you are going to get warm.” Mike snaps. He’s being awful,
and he knows it, but Will’s way too fucking cold.
“You’re being ridiculous. I feel plenty warm.” Will says, his face going from smooth,
emotionless calm and tiredness to anger. “Lay off, Michael. Now.”
It makes Mike blink. Even when Will’s angry, there's always more pain and sadness there
than anger. Rage is never his primary emotion - it’s a poorly-concealed distraction and
defense of his other, more honest emotions.
Not right now, though. He looks like he'd punch Mike given the chance.
It's a bit scary, but Mike knows Will better than anyone - he's not in danger. So he can still
keep pushing.
“Alright, fine. Either I take care of you or I call an ambulance to treat your hypothermia.”
Mike says, crossing his arms and glaring at Will. “Your move. Either way, you're not just
gonna sit there and freeze.”
He and Will glare at each other for a minute, steel meeting steel.
Mike caves to Will on a lot of things. One flash of big, sad hazel eyes and he’d do anything.
It's been like that since the first day they met, when at lunch Will didn't have enough, and
upon one look at Will’s sad but resigned expression, Mike gave Will free access to his
lunchbox.
Mike almost always caves to what Will wants. But he will never compromise on his health.
Will’s getting taken care of, whether he likes it or not, and he's going to be healthy, whether
he likes it or not. He can suck it up - his life and health always come first.
Eventually, though, Will gives in, huffing a little. “Fine. I warm up here. No doctors.”
Mike nods. “Good. Now get under the fucking blankets until I come back with other
supplies.”
Will covers his lap with one of the blankets, hardly even covering his thighs, and Mike
shakes his head.
“God, why are you being so stubborn? I'm trying to keep you safe.” Mike complains as he
grabs four more blankets and the one off Will’s lap as well as the only one left on his
shoulders (the rest fallen off and already grabbed), tucking the stack under his arm as he
fluffs up a pillow and props it against the couch's arm.
Mike waits for a minute, but Will doesn’t move, staring off at the wall.
“Now's the part where you lay down and let me cover you up.” he prompts with a sigh after a
minute.
“Mike, really, I'm warming up.” Will says. “There’s no need.”
“You’re 94 degrees. Plenty of reason to cover you.” Mike says. “You're absolutely freezing.
Just let me take care of you, okay? I know you’re mad, but… look, we can talk about it after
your temp's back to normal.”
Will starts to disagree again, but with another death glare, he's sighing and reclining back
onto the couch, bloody eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Mike sighs, this time of relief that Will’s finally listening, and carefully tucks the blankets
around Will, turning him into a burrito and making sure he’s in a cocoon of warmth. It’s a
small victory, but it’s something.
As Mike finishes tucking the seventh blanket around him, he notices that Will’s expression
and body have both gotten more tense, and that bad feeling rears its head again, but he
ignores it. Will’s alive, and that’s what matters.
“Okay. Just rest.” Mike says, his voice slipped back to the soft so-called Will Voice. “I’ll be
right back with a heating pad and some hot soup. If you need anything else, just let me know,
okay?”
Will doesn’t respond, and after a minute of hesitation, Mike turns away and goes upstairs,
worry filling every space in his head. Something’s really wrong. He’s acting really weird, and
something’s wrong, but Mike doesn’t know what it is and maybe he’s overreacting-
His thoughts just keep going in a stressed-out circle as he gets the heating pad from the linen
closet, then goes to the kitchen and makes chicken noodle soup on the stove. (He puts in
heavy cream instead of chicken broth as well as extra chicken and noodles - Will needs the
extra calories).
Once the soup’s in a bowl (with crackers on the side, he should eat solid food too) and the
heating pad’s tucked under Mike’s arm, he goes back downstairs, where Will… is only under
one blanket. The others are kicked off.
“Will, what the hell?” Mike snaps, and his tone is way too sharp, but he’s worried-
“Mike, stop fussing.” Will mutters, his voice barely audible as Mike sets the bowl down and
marches over. “I’m not cold anymore.”
“Alright, fine. Open your mouth, then.” Mike orders, grabbing the thermometer from one of
the many tables scattered around the basement.
Will closes his eyes and sighs. “I don’t want to, Mike. Please just leave it.”
“No, I’m not gonna leave it, if you’re in danger I’m not gonna let it go-” Mike snaps. “Just
open your mouth.”
“I don’t want to open my mouth.” Will says, setting his jaw. He’s never reminded Mike more
of a petulant child than in this moment. “I’m not going to.”
“Why don’t you wanna open your mouth, huh? Is it because you know that I’m right and that
you need to warm up? Is it because you’re scared of what the thermometer might say, huh?”
Mike mocks, and he knows he’s pushing way too hard, but Will’s being stupid, why can’t he
see that he’s putting himself in danger?
“You’re being an ass. I’m not opening my mouth.” Will says.
Mike’s frustration boils over, his worry and irritation at Will’s stubbornness mixing and
forming a negative reaction. He knows the smart thing to do is to be patient and
understanding, but Will’s being stubborn, and Mike’s scared for him.
“Damn it, just open your fucking mouth!” Mike snarls.
When Will glares at him mulishly and shakes his head, Mike strides forward and tries to pry
Will’s mouth open by grabbing his jaw, but Will’s immediately shaking him off, smacking at
his hands.
“Get off!” he shouts, and it hits Mike that this is a horrible idea and he needs to just keep
trying to coax Will to let him take his temperature and that he’s crossing, like, a million lines,
he needs to back off, he needs to apologize-
Right at that moment, though, his hand still trying to grasp Will’s jaw, Lucas walks in, still
wet from both the earlier rain and his own hot shower, and he stares at them.
“Um… what?” he asks, looking between them.
“Will’s being impossible. His temperature was 94 degrees last I checked and he won’t keep
the blankets on and he won’t let me take his temperature again.” Mike huffs. “And he keeps
saying he feels fine, but he looks awful.”
“Gee, thanks.” Will snarls. “And for the record, Mike’s being an overprotective drama queen
and acting like an absolute tyrant. He’s not listening and completely ignoring that I feel fine.
My temperature is just a little bit low. That doesn’t require eight million blankets.”
Lucas smiles. “Drama queen, huh? Pretty accurate-”

“Lucas.” Mike snaps.
“Alright, alright, take a step back.” Lucas says, holding his hands up placatingly as he speaks.
“Will, how are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Will mutters. “Once this asshole steps away from me and stops trying to grab my
face.”
Mike takes a step back with another annoyed huff.
“Alright. Calm down, guys.” Lucas says, and when both Mike and Will take a few breaths, he
nods. “Okay. Will, do you actually feel fine, or are you just saying that so that we leave you
alone?”
Will’s quiet, then he shrugs. “I… I’m a little cold. Not bad, though.”
Lucas nods. “Okay. Mike? Why were you doing that?”
“His temperature was 94 degrees. He’s really cold, and he won’t do anything to bring it up or
let me do anything.” Mike sighs. “I… I’m sorry, Will, I shouldn’t have done that or snapped
at you, I’m just… I’m really worried about you, okay? I can’t imagine what Vecna showed
you, and… look, I… I’m sorry for what I said this morning. You have no idea how much I
wish I hadn’t said any of that. But… look, I just want you to be safe. And right now, you’re
in danger because of your temperature. I just want you to be safe.”
“See, Will?” Lucas says calmly. “He’s just worried. And so am I - you don’t look good, and
94 is really low. Plus, I- what Vecna put you through.”
Will’s quiet for a minute, looking like he’s deep in his mind for a minute, and then he nods,
looking down at his lap. “Yeah. I… I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself.”
Mike’s heart clenches, and he sets down the thermometer to reach out and touch Will, but
Lucas beats him to it, taking and squeezing his hand before gently resting his other hand on
Will’s forehead.
He immediately frowns. “Whoa, dude, you’re ice.”
“Thank you!” Mike says. “See, Will? Something’s wrong!”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a nap.” Will objects.
Mike makes a ‘you see what I mean?’ hand gesture at Lucas’s ‘are you kidding?’ look.
“Alright. Alright, you can watch a movie and go to sleep, but first we have to make sure
you’re okay, alright?” Lucas says.
“You’re not taking my temperature.” Will says.
“I understand, but we need to make sure you’re not getting worse.” Lucas says.
“I don’t want to.” Will says.
“I know.” Lucas says. “But we still need to take care of you.”
Will stares at him, then he shakes his head. “I just want to sleep.”
“Okay. That’s okay. How about we compromise? We take your temperature, and if it’s still
below 97, we get you set up with all the warmth and you can sleep.” Lucas coaxes. “And if
it’s up, you can just nap. Either way, you get sleep, and we get peace of mind that you’re
okay.”
Will sighs and nods. “Okay.”
This time, when Mike approaches with the thermometer, Will opens his mouth obediently,
letting him place it under his tongue.
They wait in silence for a minute, watching the liquid in the glass rise, and Mike takes it out
and looks at it the second it’s done moving.
“Ninety one?! Oh my God, you need to get to the ER right now, you’re dropping-” Mike
says, panic gripping him. That’s too cold, that’s way too cold, he could die-
“No!” Will says quickly, and when they look at him, he clearly tries to school his expression.
“No, I- I’m not going to a hospital. I’m fine. I just need to warm up a little bit.”
“Will, that’s really low. You need to go to the hospital. You need medical attention.” Lucas
says firmly.
“No hospitals.” Will says, quick and cold.
Mike and Lucas exchange looks. Will’s hated the hospital since he was little, when he would
spend days there after his dad had gotten mad and hurt Will badly enough that he had to be
rushed to the ER, but it got worse since Hawkins Lab. And the Nina and Nova projects didn’t
help matters.
“Will, we understand that you don’t want to go to the hospital, but you’re in danger.” Lucas
explains patiently. “We need to make sure you’re safe.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going to the hospital. You can’t make me.” Will snaps.
Mike sighs. “Okay. We’ll only take you to the hospital if you go below 90. But we’re taking
care of you here. You’re warming up. No argument.”
Will looks annoyed, but he still relents. “Fine. But I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Thank you.” Mike sighs, grabbing the soup and handing it to him again as he grabs the
blankets. “Eat that. Lucas, help me out.”
Lucas and Mike cover Will with nine blankets, and Lucas tucks a hot water bottle under
Will’s feet as Will slowly eats the hot soup, grimacing with each bite.
He looks physically pained, and it hurts Mike’s heart. Pain is something that Will’s had so
much of, but also something that doesn’t belong anywhere near him. Mike wishes he could
take it away, wrap Will up in bubble wrap and blankets and keep him safe.
Eventually, though, as they tuck in the tenth blanket (Will looks like a marshmallow - it’s an
adorable sight, even if he looks miserable), Will finishes his soup and holds the bowl out
from the blanket pile.
“Okay.” Mike says, taking the bowl and setting it aside, grabbing the heating pad instead and
handing it to Will. “Good job. Now put that up your shirt-”
“Are you serious?” Will scoffs. What’s gotten into him? He loves curling up with the heating
pad. On bad days, he likes to get it out, snuggle up to Mike, and curl up in the basement with
cheesy movies, a blanket, and the heating pad on his stomach.
“Yes, I’m fucking serious, do it right now, William Jacob Byers, or I swear to God I will take
off your shirt and put it on you myself.” Mike orders.
Will mutters something under his breath but complies, slipping the heating pad up his shirt
and laying it on his chest under the blankets.
“Good. Now get some rest, okay? We’ll be keeping an eye on you. And if your temperature
goes down again, we’re taking you to the hospital. Got it?” Mike says.
“Got it.” Will sighs, trying and failing to move around under the blankets he’s almost
swaddled in.
“Okay. Lucas and I are gonna be right back, okay? When we come back I can put on ‘The
Breakfast Club’ for you.” Mike says, and he hopes the bribery works.
“Fine.” Will huffs, still trying to move and kick his feet.
“Quit trying to kick the blankets off. You need to warm up.” Mike says, before he grabs the
bowl and nods his head to indicate that he wants Lucas to follow him up the stairs.
“We’ll be right back. Promise.” Lucas says.
Will doesn’t answer, and with a sigh, Lucas starts up the stairs, Mike close behind.
They go to the kitchen, and as Mike washes the dishes from the soup, Lucas starts quietly
speaking.
“Mike, what's up with him?” Lucas asks quietly. “He's acting really weird. Will’s never
arguing like that, and he's never that resistant to being warm. He- he's not acting normal.
Something's wrong.”
“I don't know.” Mike sighs. “I- I mean, my best guess is that he’s upset about whatever Vecna
showed him and now he's trying to push us away and, like… what's the word? Where you're
checking out?”
Lucas thinks for a minute, before he says, “Disassociate?”
“Yeah. Maybe he’s disassociating.”
“But that- would that explain it? He doesn't seem checked out, just… really angry.” Lucas
says.
“I don't know. It wouldn't explain the cold, or how pissed off he is, but… I don’t know.”
Mike sighs. “He seemed checked out earlier, but then he just went to anger.”
“But- Will’s never angry.” Lucas says. “He only gets angry when he reaches his absolute
breaking point or when one of us is hurt or upset, but- even then, it's not like this.”
“I know.” Mike sighs. “I think- whatever Vecna showed him, maybe it just really messed
with him. I mean… that son of a bitch shows you your worst memories and uses your worst
thoughts and fears. God knows Will has plenty of bad memories, and he was in there for
almost half a day. Of course he’s off. Maybe… I don’t know. We just have to be there for
him, even if he’s acting weird. All of his trauma just got dragged back to the surface. He… he
has to deal with it in his own way, and we just have to support him and take care of him even
if he fights us on it.”
“Yeah.” Lucas sighs. “I just… ugh. Between Max and Will, it just… it feels like everyone I
love is in danger. Like they're all dying and I can’t do anything. I just… I'm scared. I don’t
want to lose anyone else.”
In that moment, it hits Mike that nobody knows that he's getting Vecna’d. Will was the one
who pulled him out of it, and Will doesn’t repeat what anyone tells him or what he sees
unless he's specifically asked to. Will wouldn’t have told them he's a target - he would be
trying to help Mike maintain his privacy about his suicidal thoughts. Should he tell Lucas…?
“Not everyone you love is in danger, and you aren't gonna lose anyone else. But, uh… on that
train of thought, I… may or may not be getting Vecna’d.” Mike says quietly.
Lucas stares at him for a minute, before he shouts, “ARE YOU KIDDING?! YOU DIDN'T
TELL ANYONE?!”
“I- I know.” Mike sighs. “I just- you know how I jumped off the cliff?”
Lucas nods, still looking upset and frustrated.
“Apparently, Vecna counts me jumping willingly with the knowledge that I would die as a
suicide attempt.” Mike says. “Will pulled me out of the trance last time.”
“Dude, why didn’t you tell anyone?” Lucas says. “We should've had a meeting like we did
with Will-”
“...cause Will doesn’t know.” Mike says quietly. “I made Dustin promise not to tell him.
He… you know how Will is. He'd get so upset. He- he'd probably cry, honestly, and when he
cries, it… you know I can't stand him hurting. And if we had a meeting, he'd find out. I just-
yeah. You and me and Dustin and El are the ones who know what happened at the quarry, and
I just- I don't want anyone to get upset.”
Lucas nods. “I get it, but- you can’t hide that you’re a target. You're on Vecna watch now. No
argument.”
Mike sighs and nods.
“You have a Walkman, right?” Lucas asks.
“Yeah. I- it should be in my bedroom. Will took it off before he took a shower.” Mike says.
“Shit, we need more Walkmans…” Lucas mumbles. “Why does everyone want to die?”
“Sorry.” Mike says sheepishly.
“You’re fine. Just… jeez. You like ‘Smalltown Boy’, right?” Lucas asks.
Mike nods.
“Kay. I'll be back. I'm gonna get it.” Lucas says, going toward the stairs up.
Oh, shit, he can’t see the drawer of letters and drawings and Will’s things-
“Don't open the bottom desk drawer!” Mike calls after him.
Lucas makes an ‘ew!’ in response, and Mike doesn’t care if Lucas thinks he's keeping porn or
whatever shit in his desk as long as he doesn't see what's basically a love admission.
When Lucas is upstairs, Mike sets down the bowl to dry and then goes back downstairs to the
basement, where he sees Will shoving the blankets off of him.
“Will- Will, no-” Mike sighs, pulling the blankets back up over him. “You’re still too cold.”
“I’m boiling! You’re not listening to me!” Will shouts, but when Mike touches his forehead,
he’s still cold.
“No, you’re not, your body is lying to you- Will, stop moving-” Mike attempts.
“Get it off me! I’m too hot!” Will cries, starting to thrash as Mike tucks him in.
“No- no, stop, it’s okay- it’s okay-” Mike says, desperately trying to soothe him. “It’s okay,
you’re not too hot, you’re okay-”
Will makes a downright inhuman noise, somewhere between a scream and a whimper as he
struggles against the blankets, thrashing and wailing.
“IT'S TOO HOT! IT'S TOO HOT! MAKE IT STOP! GET IT OFF! IT'S TOO HOT!” Will
screams. “MIKE! MIKE! MIKE, MAKE IT STOP!”
“It's okay, it's okay-” Mike attempts to soothe, even though it’s hard to talk with the painful
lump in his throat at Will's distress. “It's okay, you're not too hot, calm down-”
“HELP! HELP ME! MIKE! LUCAS! PLEASE! IT'S TOO HOT! IT BURNS! HELP ME!”
Will cries, arching his back as he desperately tries to get the blankets off.
Mike doesn’t know what to do, because when he touches Will’s head again it's still so cold.
He doesn’t know what to do. If he uncovers Will, he'll be too cold and might die, but if he
keeps him covered he'll stay in agony. He doesn't know me what to do-
With the next cry, Mike makes his choice, and he rips off the top three, hoping it'll ease the
suffering while still keeping Will warm.
“Okay. Okay, there's fewer blankets. Is it any better?” Mike asks, but Will’s breathing is still
loud and whining, and he’s clearly still in pain.
“MORE! MORE OFF ME!” Will cries, and he weakly fails his arms again.
“Shh, shh, it's okay-” Mike soothes, his voice shaking almost as much as his hand as he runs
it through Will’s hair. “You’re okay, it's okay-”
“MIKE!” Will screams. “MIKE, HELP ME!”

Mike just lays his arm over the blankets and squeezes Will through them, hoping it'll help.
“It's okay, it's okay-” Mike says.
After a minute of Will continuing to fight and wail, his eyes roll back, and he goes limp
before going rigid.
“Will?” Mike asks. “Will? Will, what's wrong? Will, can you hear me?”
Suddenly, his body starts to shake, and then it goes to flat-out convulsions.
“FUCK!” Mike shouts as Will’s muscles tense and his breathing starts to struggle.
Mike doesn’t know how to make it better, and all he can think to do is strip the rest of the
blankets and roll Will onto his side so he can breathe.
“Mike? What’s going on?” Lucas asks as he runs down the basement stairs. “I heard
screaming-”
“He’s having a seizure!” Mike says, frantically trying to keep Will on the couch. It’s not
perfect, but it’s hopefully soft enough that he won’t hurt himself.
“What the hell-?!” Lucas asks as he runs over. “What do we do?!”
“I don’t know! I- I think we just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself and wait it out!” Mike
says.
“Shit!” Lucas says, continuing to curse as Will’s head slams back into the couch. “I’m calling
911-”
“Don’t! No hospitals, remember?” Mike says. “And he has epilepsy now! He's on epilepsy
medication now, and I think he forgot to take any cause he ran out of the house- fuck!”
“He's epileptic?!” Lucas asks. “Mike-!”
“I know! You missed a lot!” Mike shouts. “That’s not important right now!”
Will makes another choking sound as his body goes rigid, then thrashes again.
“It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, Will- it's okay-” Mike says, desperately trying to reassure him
even though his own voice is shaking.
Time feels impossibly slow as they wait for the seizure to end, each thrash feeling like a knife
stabbing right through Mike’s heart.
Eventually, though, Will's shaking ceases, then stops, and he lies limply on the couch.
After a minute, he opens his brown-not-brown-can't-be-brown bloodshot eyes, and they meet
Mike’s.
“Hey. Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Mike says.
“Whha-?” Will slurs. “M'tired.”
“That’s okay. You’re okay.” Mike says, almost crying in relief. “Just stay awake for a minute,
okay?”
“But m'tired.” Will repeats, eyes wide and confused and vulnerable.
“I know. I know.” Mike says. “But stay awake for me, okay? Just for a minute.”
“Wanna sleep.” Will says.
“I know. Just stay awake for a minute, okay? I just want to make sure you’re okay. Stay
awake for me.”
Will winces, clumsily trying to wipe away the drool that went down the side of his face
during the seizure. “M'head hurts. An'm tired.”
“I know.” Lucas says, grabbing a tissue from the basement's box, kneeling next to Mike, and
wiping away the drool from Will’s cheek. “But it’s okay, buddy. We're here with you. Let's
get you sitting up a bit, huh?”
Will mumbles something, but he does allow Lucas and Mike to gently push him up to a
sitting position, at which point he all but flops back onto the back of the couch.
“Better?” Mike asks gently.
“Mm.” Will mumbles.
He says something else, but it’s incoherent, and it makes Mike’s stomach drop. Should he be
acting like this?
“Okay. You can rest for a minute, but I'm gonna wake you up in a few, alright?” Lucas says.
Will quickly obliges, his already-half-closed eyes fluttering shut.
Once he’s asleep, Mike turns to Lucas.
“Okay. I think we need to just get him up to my bed. He- it’s bigger and softer, so if he has
another seizure, he’ll be safer, and that way he can sleep more comfortably.” Mike says,
smoothing Will’s hair.
“There’s no way he gets up the stairs.” Lucas says. “Look at him.”
“Okay. I’ll carry him.” Mike says. He leans Will forward, putting an arm under Will’s knees
and one under his shoulders and lifting with a grunt.
His knees immediately buckle, and sure, Will's crazy skinny, but Mike’s also a couch potato
who works out maybe once a year and is so scrawny that his knees are the widest point on his
legs.
“Here.” Lucas says, putting his arms next to Mike’s and lifting Will away, bringing him to a
bridal carry.
“Basketball team, remember?” Lucas smiles upon seeing Mike's expression at how he's
carrying Will with ease. “He's not heavy, anyway. I got him.”
With that, he turns to the stairs, Mike close behind, and they go to Mike’s bedroom, where
Lucas stands next to the bed and looks over at Mike. “Can you get the bed set up, please?” he
asks.
“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Mike says, immediately placing a pillow and pulling back the
blankets.
Lucas gently sets Will down before rolling him onto his side again, and Will mumbles
something in a half-asleep state before putting his arm under the pillow.
“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna bring up the blankets and heating pad and thermometer.” Mike
says. “Watch him?”
“No problem. I was going to, anyway.” Lucas says, pulling the covers over Will.
Mike nods to himself and turns and runs back downstairs, grabs the heating pad and
thermometer and four blankets (hopefully only half of the original number will make it a
little more bearable) before running back up.
“Here.” he says, dropping the stuff in his arms onto the bed. “Help?”
Lucas and Mike quickly get to work getting Will comfortable and warm again, though soon
Will starts moaning and trying to push the blankets off.
“I will literally pay you if you let us take care of you.” Mike sighs. “I swear that I will buy
you… I don’t know, whatever you want, if you just behave and keep the blankets on.”
Will mumbles something else, but he stops moving.
“Thank you.” he sighs.
Lucas starts laughing, and Mike glares and says, “Shut up! He needs to chill!”
“Bribing your best friend to sleep. Amazing.” Lucas teases.
“Shut it!” Mike says again, turning a little red.

“Alright, alright.” Lucas says, still shaking his head and smiling.
Once Will’s officially bundled, the heating pad now over his shirt, Mike sighs and flops onto
the bed next to him, the exhaustion of the day catching up.
“If you want to sleep, you can.” Lucas says quietly. “I can watch you guys and make sure
Will’s okay.”
“Would you?” Mike asks after a minute.
“Yeah.” Lucas says. “No problem.”
“Thanks.” Mike says, getting under the blankets and rolling over. “I- I really do appreciate
everything, Lucas. Really.”
“You’re my best friends. I’d do anything for you guys.” Lucas says. “Now go to sleep. You
look tired.”
“‘Kay.” Mike says.
As he lays in bed next to his sleeping best friend drifting off to sleep, though, all Mike can
think is that something’s off with him. And not just the seizures.
Chapter End Notes
Mike Wheeler, the king of self-gaslighting, mother-hen-ing, and couch potato-ing,

everyone!
Also! Byclair besties!!!! :D

Hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave a comment or Kudos, and see you soon!
Plan
Chapter Notes
Happy birthday Will Byers!!!!
me know!)


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- Bombs
- Violence
- Death
- Language
When Mike wakes up, he reaches over to pat Will, just to make sure he’s there and breathing,
but the bed’s empty.
He sits up immediately, looking over, and yeah, the bed’s empty, as is the chair Lucas was
sitting at.
Mike’s immediately panicking, the same gut-wrenching fear whenever he doesn’t know
exactly where his friends (and particularly Will) are taking hold, but after a minute of
hyperventilating, he hears the sounds of people downstairs.
After a second, he swings his feet over the side of the bed and gets up, quietly walking over
through the door and down the stairs.
When he gets to the basement, he sees the Party all quietly speaking to each other, apparently
back from their respective work at the humanitarian aid and farm where Steve and some of
the older teens are volunteering at in exchange for the owner, Mr. Merrill, to harbor Eddie.
“Hey, Mike.” Dustin says, looking over at him for a second. He’s still mad at Mike. So is
Mike, though, so that’s fine.
“Hey. What are you guys talking about?” Mike asks.
“We were trying to figure out what to do next.” Steve says. “While Will was being Vecna’d,
he saw into Vecna’s mind.”
“He’s going to be vulnerable tomorrow night.” Will says. “Around nightfall. He’s pulling the
Demodogs and vines closer. He’s injured, so he’s trying to pull every resource at his disposal
closer, and he’s decided to do it tomorrow night because he thinks that it’s the window when
it’s safest to pull away. It’ll take about twenty minutes.”
Mike opens his mouth to ask what the plan is, but then Dustin speaks.
“If we make a time-detonated bomb and manage to tie it to a Demodog, and if Will’s right
and he pulls every animal and vine closer to him into one place-”
“Boom. All of them dead or injured in one fell swoop.” Lucas says.
“Okay. But how do we make a time-release bomb?” Nancy asks.
The room lapses into silence. Mike doubts any of them know how to make a bomb.
“I think I know.” Robin says. “I- I read a book on violence in Russia while I was learning
Russian. I- I have that book at my house. It has the most common recipe for explosives used
in Russian riots.”
“Okay. So Robin and Steve go to her house to get that book, and then once they have that,
they come back, and then we all split up to get the materials. Nobody’s staying by themself
right now between Vecna and the crazy mob, so we’ll go in groups of two to four. While they
do that, we start to prepare for tomorrow night. Sound good?” Nancy says.
There’s a chorus of agreement, but Mike still can’t shake that bad feeling.
“You’re doing well, Wrath.” Henry whispers. “They believe you completely.”
Wrath has to look down at his lap to hide his smile. He’s been pretending to be the shy yet
kind boy he used to be since Henry took him from the apartment to be in his old body with
his old friends.
Heh. ‘Friends’. They’ve all treated him like shit. He’s been belittled, ignored, and incessantly
teased, yet he still calls them his friends. Such bullshit.
Wrath’s going to watch them die. Instead of Henry drawing his forces in like Wrath had told
them, he’s sending them to the place that Wrath’s going to send these people. They’re all
going to die.
Sure, Wrath feels guilty, but every time he looks at them, all he can think of is the pain that
they’ve caused, that dull emptiness in his chest when they ignored him and the sharp pain
with every jab and little comment. They’ve hurt him.
And Wrath’s tired of letting people hurt him. And if that means he kills every single person to
ever have hurt him? He can do that.
“Okay. We’re gonna need an initiator, a switch, a main charge, a power source, and a
container. And if we really wanna do some damage, we’re gonna need enhancements like
nails or glass to increase the amount of shrapnel.” Robin says, reading out of the book. “The
easiest thing would be to get a pipe, like a water pipe, and turn it into a bomb. The bigger the
pipe the better. We would string a fuse through it. We could hook that up to the timed part. It
could be an alarm clock or a watch or egg timer or whatever.” Robin says.
“We can use my alarm clock.” Nancy says. “I’m getting a new one for college anyway.”
Mike doesn’t say that his first thought is that they’ll be lucky if they manage to survive this
long enough for her to go to college. He doesn’t say anything at all.
“Okay. Once we have the fuse in, we fill it with ammonium nitrate or fertilizer that has
ammonium nitrate, gasoline or petroleum-based oil, and nails. We hook up that fuse to a
blasting cap that we fill with gunpowder or dynamite and toss in some batteries, and then
once we set up that timer…”
“Boom.” Dustin says quietly.

“That’s it?” Erica asks. “Man, if making bombs is this easy, I’m making one the next time I
have a math test and threatening my teacher.”
“Erica!” Lucas cries.
That gets the first smile any of them have seen in a while.
Guess war will do that. That’s what this is, right? War?
Sure as hell feels like it.
“Okay. Mr. Merrill has most of those materials at his farm. Next time we go and check on
Eddie, we get those supplies.” Steve says.
“Can I go?” Mike asks.
Will looks up from where he’s zoned out staring at his knees. “I’ll go with you. I want to
help.”
“No way. You’re staying close to me-” Jonathan starts.
“Jonathan, you need to back off. If Mike and Steve are there, I’ll be fine.” Will says, weirdly
cold.
What’s gotten into him?
Jonathan looks really hurt and confused, and he’s opening his mouth, but then Nancy pats his
shoulder. “It’s okay.” she says quietly. “He’ll be fine.”
Jonathan clearly wants to say something, but he nods and closes his mouth.
“Okay. So it’s decided, then. Tomorrow morning, we all go out and get the materials for the
bomb.” Nancy says.
There’s a chorus of agreement, and Mike still can’t make himself agree. It could theoretically
work, yeah, but it feels like something is gonna go really, really wrong.
Chapter End Notes
OOHHHHH!!!!
The Betrayal
Chapter Notes
I'm not dead! Hooray! A friend of mine did get kidnapped and stabbed because they're
in a gang, though, so the Ao3 author's curse is still strong. Sorry it took me so long! I
think I've been dealing with some autistic burnout, and combine that with joint pain and
ADHD and it gets really bad really fast. Also, I can't stop thinking about fuckin House
MD and the sheer amount of malpractice going on there. Anyways! Here's the next
chapter! Enjoy or say goodbye to your kneecaps!
Also, happy birthday Mike Wheeler, my pookie wookie bear!
Special thanks to KeenHuntress187, my new beta reader (eee!!!), as well as Ngalu and
heidibyers (emiliano), my best friends! Love y'all!
me know!)

amaragf, Richietherich, Crossovergenius111, Hatatattat, TooGayForYourDrama,
chloooo, Hatattat, and Shiftie_pixie for giving me the motivation to write this chapter.

eeee?source=share
9: https://www.tumblr.com/aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade/745207721076342784/wrath-
fanart-i-love-it-raaaaaaaaaah?source=share
10:
https://www.tumblr.com/aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade/745657194987520000/amazing-
i-love-it-so-much?source=share
Overall rating: R.
Trigger warnings:
- Pedophilia
- Implied self-harm
- Implied abuse
- Self-hatred
- Disordered eating
- Abuse/manipulation
- Language
- Henry
Wrath doesn’t sleep, but he does run himself a bath on the coldest setting he can around one
in the morning. He feels like he’s on fire. When he was young, he got really sick with paraflu
and then pneumonia, and between not being able to breathe and a temperature of 105, he was
miserable. When he wasn’t shivering like he was in a blizzard, he felt like he was boiling.
Like he was going to die.
That’s how he feels now.
Even when he’s only under one blanket and not about to combust like he was when they put
him under many layers, it’s still far too hot.
So, ice bath.
He groans as he lowers himself in, the icy water somehow both shocking and soothing his
body. He had forgotten the physical pain in his old body in the apartment, the constant
needles and knives driven into his back and knees and ribs and chest with every breath, every
movement, every step.
Wrath groans again as he digs his fingers into the muscles in his shoulder. God, why do
bodies have to break?
The bruises that form a pattern up his side, twisting around his stomach and torso and ribs
and legs, slowly go from aching to numb just as much as his exhausted, sore muscles do, cold
seeping to the bone and turning every pain to nothing but a dull ache.
Wrath sighs and slides down, letting the water cover his hair and ears. It’s peaceful, and the
only thing he can hear is his shuddering breaths and heartbeat.
Well - not hearing. He can feel the water shift with each breath, feel the blood flow with his
heart. He’s deaf now, after all, which is…
Well, it makes him want to destroy everything. He doesn’t like not being able to hear, and
even with the hearing aids that he’s been wearing, everything’s still hard to understand. He
only gets a few words out of every sentence clearly, and everything’s still too quiet.
Wrath wonders how he was able to put up with everything, both in his mind and past as well
as his useless, broken body, and still be nice. It doesn’t feel like him.
He moves his hand to his abdomen and rubs his fingertips over the raised skin of his scars.
He’s absolutely covered with them. From the neck down, almost every inch of skin has some
kind of mark, whether from a burn, cut, puncture, surgery, or blunt force trauma. His body is
a battlefield, every single scar a reminder of what he’s been forced to live through.
All the physical damage, all the emotional pain, all that he’s had to give just to survive up to
this point… what’s it even been for? For him to feel like he’s burning and in pain every
second and to have to be in an ice bath for relief? For the people around him to hate him and
want him dead (according to Henry, anyway)?
Wrath scowls at the ceiling. Why did he try so hard to do good in a world that seems so
determined to destroy him along with everything worth saving?
There was something different about him back then. Wrath’s sure of it. Because he has fuzzy
memories of smiling and feeling light instead of heavy like he does now, but he can’t imagine
feeling anything other than bad at this point. Is he still Will? Is he a good person deep down?
Or did he get swallowed by the darkness that’s in every single thought?
No. He’s leading his friends and family to their deaths.
A good person wouldn’t do that.
He’s not a good person.
“I’m not a good person.” he whispers. “I’m worthless. I’m evil. I’m broken.”
He’s not Will, the sensitive, kind, nice person, even if he wants to be deep down.
Wrath takes a deep breath, pushes himself back into the icy water until his face is covered by
the water and the back of his head sends jolts of pain through his skull where it touches the
bottom of the tub. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he deserves what he’s had to live through.
When he knows nobody’s going to hear him, he screams and lets his mouth fill with water.
After all, maybe he deserves to drown.
“Whoa. You good?” Lucas asks, looking over at the door that Will’s just walked out of.
He looks empty, his expression blank and exhausted and numb, and he’s soaking wet. Will
likes to blow-dry his hair to make sure he stays warm (and because he likes the feeling of it
fluffy and wavy rather than air-dried), but right now, it’s hanging around his face and
dripping water onto his shoulders.
“I’m okay.” he says, but he looks absolutely broken for a second before his expression goes
back to flat again. “Everything’s fine.”
“You were in there since I woke up.” Mike says. “For, like, hours. You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Will says. “I took a bath.”
“...Okay.” Mike says. Even though Will apparently took a really long bath, he’s still wearing
the pajamas Mike had him put on last night. “You want to borrow some clothes?”
“Sure.” Will says. “Whatever.”
Mike looks over at Lucas, and that silent communication link the Party’s always had between
them is overwhelmingly ‘what the fuck’.
“Okay.” Mike says, carefully trying to keep his worry hidden. “Sure. Come on. You can pick
what you want to wear.”
They go to Mike’s room, and Will silently takes out a long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans as well as
socks and underwear.
“It’s cold. You’re gonna need more layers” Mike starts.
Will doesn’t answer, just taking the clothes, turning on his heel, and going straight to the
bathroom.
Mike tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head chanting ‘something’s wrong,
something’s wrong, something’s wrong’ and instead just goes back downstairs to Lucas.
Lucas looks over at him, immediately saying, “Will’s acting really weird, right?”
“Crazy fucking weird.” Mike agrees. “I don’t know. He- look, Will’s crazy traumatized. He’s
been through a ton. Maybe it’s just catching up to him.”
“No.” Lucas says. “This is different. Even when he’s struggling, he still acts at least a little by
himself and tries to laugh at jokes and smile and pretend he’s okay. It’s like he’s not even
faking it. He’s just… he’s acting like a whole different person.”
“Yeah.” Mike sighs. “I just- I don’t know what to do.”
“What we do is stop the Upside Down.” Lucas says. “And we stay close to him and try to get
him to talk to us and feel better.”
Mike nods and sighs again. “I- I don’t know, it just feels… different.”
“Yeah.” Lucas says, and his eyebrows furrow and he’s about to say something else, but then
Will walks in, dressed in the long-sleeve green-and-yellow shirt, jeans, and sneakers and still
looking flat and cold.
“Hey.” Mike says quietly. “Ready to leave?”
“There’s no way you can wear that and not be freezing.” Lucas objects.
“I’m fine.” Will says coolly.
“Are you sure? Cause you look-”
“I’m fine, Lucas. I feel warm.”

“He’s right, you should bring a sweater-” Mike agrees.
“Lay off!” Will shouts, Lucas and Mike both flinching. Since when does Will ever shout?
“I’m fine! Stop bothering me!”
They both stare at Will, shaking with his hands and jaw clenched, in silence.
“Okay.” Lucas says, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to upset you.”
Will huffs and stomps out of the living room to the garage, presumably to wait for one of the
older teens to show up and drive them, and Mike wants to make him eat breakfast before they
leave, but he’s not willing to cause an already-upset Will to get even angrier.
Instead, Mike goes to the kitchen and puts a sandwich together for Will later (turkey, not
ham, he doesn’t eat pig) and shoves some snacks into his backpack. He’ll still eat, even if it’s
not much. Mike’ll just make him eat a big dinner and snacks before the bombing plan tonight
to make up for it.
God. The bombing plan. Mike knows that, if Will’s intel is right, it’s damn near foolproof,
but he still can’t shake that bad feeling that’s lived in his gut ever since he managed to get
Will back in the woods.
The memory of Will, standing in the rain with blood dripping from his eyes like teardrops as
he slipped away from Mike, makes his hands shake as he packages the sandwich.
God. Ten hours. Mike was there for less than one and can’t stop thinking about it. No wonder
Will’s being so weird. It can’t be easy enduring all of his bad memories over and over again
like that.
Mike shoves the sandwich into his bag and zips it up, tossing it onto his shoulders and
starting to walk back out of the kitchen. Yeah, Will’s temper, normally rare to see, is
explosive, and they’re all having to walk on eggshells, but God, he’s gone through so much
it’s more than understandable.
He hesitates, and then he goes back and grabs two water bottles out of the fridge. He and Will
are gonna be fine. He just has to make sure Will’s taking care of himself with eating and
sleeping enough and keep him safe from the Upside Down, and then maybe Will’ll feel
comfortable enough to talk to Mike and go back to his normal, sweet self rather than this
angry person that he is now.
Will’s been through hell. But maybe if Mike tries hard enough, he can pull him out the rest of
the way.
Wrath sits silently in the passenger seat of Steve’s car. Mike, Lucas, Robin, and Nancy went
in one car, and Steve volunteered to drive ‘Will’. Wrath doesn’t know why he would want to.
Even as Will, he was pretty annoying and intolerable.
“Hey. Um…how you holding up?” Steve asks.
Wrath shrugs, looking out the window.
“Okay.” Steve sighs. “Um… I know you can’t be doing too hot after the other day. I know
how scared you must be. But we’re gonna get through this, alright? We’ve dealt with worse
and come out on top. You’ve dealt with worse and come out on top. And you’ve been through
a lot, and I’m not in your shoes and I don’t get it, but… we do care about you, okay? I care
about you. And I’m here if you need anything, whether it’s a ride or someone to talk to or… I
don’t know. But the point is, I’m here. We’re all here. I know it can’t be easy for you, but
you’re way stronger than anyone’s ever given you credit for. And we all care about you and
believe in you, kid. You’re tough as nails. And you’re gonna get through this just fine.”
Wrath’s still for a second before he nods. “Thank you.” he says quietly.
Steve nods. “No problem. Seriously.”
It’s another quiet minute along the road out to the rural parts of Hawkins until the silence is
broken.
Steve glances over at Wrath. “You got a jacket in the back or something?”
“No.” Wrath says.
“It’s, like, forty degrees. Why don’t you have a jacket?” Steve complains. “Didn’t you have
lung issues when you were younger or something? You can’t get pneumonia!”
“I’m fine.” Wrath says monotonously.
“Jesus, you’re stubborn. Here-” Steve grunts, and the next thing Wrath knows, Steve’s vest is
in Wrath’s lap. “You’re not freezing or getting sick on my watch, dipshit. Put that on.”
Wrath’s frozen looking at the green and red of the vest, and it’s stupid, it’s just a jacket that
he doesn’t even want to wear, but… he cares. Steve genuinely, honestly cares about his well-
being, enough to sacrifice his own comfort and go without a jacket so that Wrath will be
warm.
Crying is weakness. It’s a way to get yourself hurt. Wrath knows that, but as much as he wills
himself not to, he still starts to cry.
He’s immediately trying to muffle his sobs with his hand and turn his head to hide the tears,
but it’s too late. Steve’s already seen his moment of weakness.
“Whoa! Whoa, you okay?” Steve asks, reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder. It…
doesn’t feel bad. It feels comforting. And it makes Wrath cry even harder.
He quickly tries to compose himself, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and quickly
wipe his tears with his fingertips. “I’m okay.” he says.
“Look, it’s- it’s okay not to be okay, alright? You’ve been through a lot.” Steve says.
That fuels the tears that apparently won’t stop coming, and Wrath curls up on the passenger
seat as if it can hide his weakness.
“Okay. That’s it.” Steve mutters, pulling the car over to the side of the road and tossing open
the door. “Come on. Get out.”
A cold spike of fear shoots through Wrath, and he’s immediately cursing himself for being so
stupid and fucking crying, especially in front of someone like Steve, who hardly knows him
and who probably thinks Wrath’s just being a big baby about everything, but he still
unbuckles the seat belt with shaking hands and gets out of the car, closing the door and
standing in front of Steve.
“C’mere. Jesus Christ, you really need a hug.” Steve says, holding out his arms.
Wrath hesitates for a second, but… maybe it’ll feel okay? Steve touching his shoulder did.
He takes the small step to be within Steve’s hugging range, and the second he is, Steve pulls
him into a tight hug, arms around Wrath’s shoulders.
“You’re alright.” Steve says, patting him lightly on the back as Wrath awkwardly stands
there. “Get whatever you have to out, dude. You’re okay.”
Wrath doesn’t hug back, but he does lean into Steve a little bit, and if he cries into Steve’s
shirt a little, no, he didn’t, you’re a liar. It does feel nice, the physical contact, and when
Steve lets go with a clap on the shoulder, it takes all Wrath’s got not to follow the touch.
Steve gives him a concerned look. “You good to keep going, or you need a minute or another
hug or something?”
“I’m good.” Wrath says, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat. “I’m good. Let’s go.”
“Alright. Just, um… let me know if you need to stop or something, alright?” Steve says as he
gets back into the car.
Wrath nods and follows suit, getting back into his side, but before he buckles his seat belt, he
slides on Steve’s vest.
He doesn’t like the warmth. He hates hot things. He prefers the cold and ice. But the vest
feels like a different kind of warm. An okay warm.
Wrath glances over to make sure Steve’s eyes are on the road, and when he’s sure he’s not
being watched, he pulls it tighter around himself and pretends it’s another hug.
As soon as they arrive, Wrath sees Mike turn, see him through the window, and immediately
jog over with a smile on his face, the grocery bag on his arm swinging.
“Hey!” he says the second Wrath opens the door. “You warm enough?”
Wrath nods, absentmindedly smoothing his hands over the front of the vest.
“Good, good. I- I have an idea for what we can do while the others work and get the supplies
we need.” Mike smiles. “If you want. I mean, they don’t really need us right now.”
“What is it?” Wrath asks.
“Um… I was thinking that we could take the food and water to Eddie. He, um… he kinda
filled the void after you moved. He’s really cool. You’ll get along, I promise, I just- I wanted
you to meet him, you know? Because, like, you’re my best friend and he’s kind of my role
model.”
‘He kinda filled the void after you moved’.
Wrath grits his teeth and forces himself to nod. Sure, Mike needed to fill the void left by him
moving, but instead of calling or writing or doing literally anything to make an effort to stay
in touch with Wrath, he just replaced him like a pair of worn-out shoes. And now he wants
Wrath to meet the guy who Mike replaced him with? Seriously?
Mike, apparently, doesn’t pick up on Wrath’s rage and pain at being thrown out like he’s
nothing, like he’s just some piece of garbage (maybe he is, maybe Mike was right to ignore
him in favor of whoever Eddie is, maybe he’s worthless), instead just beaming and reaching
out for Wrath’s hand.
Wrath immediately pulls his hand away. He’s not accepting Mike’s pity.
Mike’s smile dims for a minute, but then he apparently shakes it off, as he smiles again.
“Sorry. You ready to go?” Mike says.
“Sure.” Wrath says through clenched teeth.

As Mike walks away towards the barn a ways away, Wrath following, his fingers twitch, but
he doesn’t try to take Wrath’s hand again.
They walk into the barn, Mike and Wrath having to push the door open together, and once
they’re standing inside the barn filled to the brim with hay and several empty animal pens,
Mike shouts, “Eddie! It’s me, Mike!”
It’s quiet, only the rustling of hay from the holes in the walls of the barn allowing a little
wind through making noise, and then someone pokes their head over the wall of hay in the
hayloft.
“Wheeler!” shouts the man. “Man, am I glad to see you! Didn’t think I’d ever say that!”
Oh, so even though Wrath was always careful to be sweet to his friends, they traded him in
for someone who isn’t even happy to see them most of the time? What do they even want
from him?
The man quickly clambers down the ladder, and he hops off at the bottom and stands in front
of them.
He has long, curly, dark hair (similar to Mike’s when he came to California - did he really try
to look like this guy?), and he’s wearing a jean jacket, T-shirt reading ‘Hellfire’, and black
jeans with several wallet chains.
The man - Eddie - looks over at Wrath.
“And who’s this?” he asks.
“This is Will.” Mike says, smiling. “Will Byers.”

Eddie stares for a second before his face breaks into a wide smile. “THE Will Byers?”
Mike nods, and Wrath sees him mouth ‘don’t be weird’ out of the corner of his eye.
Eddie takes a few steps forward and sticks out his hand to shake.
“It’s fucking awesome to meet you, Will the Wise.” Eddie beams. “Seriously. Not only are
you a D&D and art and character-creation master, but you’re metal as hell. I mean, zombie
boy? I only was in the Upside Down for, like, five minutes and I almost died, but you, you
survived a week there? When you were twelve? And then you came back from the dead and
dealt with its bullshit two more times? Holy shit, man, Ozzy Osborne wishes he has what you
have!”
Wrath’s chest constricts at the name ‘zombie boy’, at the reminder of the bullying for an
already-traumatizing experience, but after a second, it occurs to him that it’s meant as a
compliment.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Wrath says, taking Eddie’s hand, who shakes his vigorously.
“No, man, I mean it! You’re metal as hell! I mean, most people would just crumble under that
pressure, but you, you just kicked ass instead! That’s fucking awesome!”
He seems… genuinely excited. Genuinely enthusiastic. Genuinely admiring.
“...you really think so?” Wrath asks.
“Uh, yeah!” Eddie says, brown eyes shining with excitement. “I mean, you’re a total badass!
Surviving in the Upside Down, fighting Demogorgons and mindflayers and now Vecna… I
mean, that’s some legendary stuff right there. You’re straight out of a D&D campaign, man!”
Wrath’s lips twitch upwards in a small, reluctant smile. He’s not used to being praised like
this, but it doesn’t feel bad.
“And you’re not just tough, you’re creative, too! I mean, Wheeler wouldn’t shut up about
your artistic ability or how creative your campaigns are.” Eddie beams. “Man, the second all
this blows over, you’ve gotta do a campaign with me. I need to know if the rumors are true
and you’re a D&D mastermind.”
This guy doesn’t know Wrath. This is his first time meeting him. But he wants to hang out
with him. He wants to play D&D with him. He’s excited that Wrath’s here.
“I’ve heard a ton about you, man. I mean, Wheeler might be downright obsessed with you
with how much he tells Hellfire about you. The amount of times I’ve heard ‘well, Will would
do this!’ or ‘Will makes the best character sheets’ or ‘Will’s the best artist I’ve ever seen’ is
just wild. Seriously, Mike, you should either shut up about him or get a room already. I think
I know more about Will than I know about you.”
When Wrath looks over at Mike, he’s bright red. “It’s- uh- it’s not my fault Will’s the best,
okay?”
Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. That’s very normal of you, Wheeler. To talk about
your best friend more than your girlfriend or yourself.”
Wrath can’t help but smile and try not to laugh at the way Mike looks like he wants the floor
to swallow him whole. “I- shut up, Eddie!”
Eddie looks over to Will and winks, giving an impish smile. “Worried about something,
Wheeler?”
“Anyways! We brought you food and water!” Mike says, practically throwing the grocery
bag at Eddie as his blush impossibly gets deeper. “And beer! Thank Steve! We should go
now-”
“Nah, stay for a while. I’m bored here. Besides, I gotta get acquainted with Will the Wise
here, right?” Eddie says, throwing an arm around Wrath’s shoulders and not heeding the
flinch he gets in response. “Come on, Mike, be fun!”
“Yeah, Mike, be fun.” Wrath parrots. He wants to be around Eddie more.
“I-” he says, looking out the barn to the others outside. “-okay, fine! Like, half an hour!”
Eddie holds his fist in front of Wrath, and Wrath flinches and waits for a blow, but then it
occurs that Eddie wants a fist bump.
Wrath smiles a little bit and lightly taps his fist into Eddie’s.
“Alright, Will, we gotta plan a sick-ass campaign to present as a reward for surviving all this
shit. What you got?”
Wrath can’t help but smile a little as Eddie starts talking about D&D villains and character
stats and subplots.
Maybe Eddie isn’t so bad.
Maybe none of them are.
Maybe Wrath doesn’t have to be angry and scared and self-hating all the time.
Maybe Henry’s wrong.
-
After a few hours at the farm and all the supplies for the bomb (which Wrath’s feeling
increasingly guilty about) gathered, they all start to get into the cars to go back to Mike’s
house when the boy in question pulls him aside.
“Will.” Mike says. “Come on. I want to talk to you.”
With a quick glance around at his (new? Old? Are they new friends if Wrath’s only starting to
see them as such, or are they old friends if he knew them for years as Will?) friends, Wrath
nods and follows Mike as he walks away until they come to a stop outside the barn’s wall.
“I… um… I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Mike says quietly, his brown eyes large and
expressive in the sun that’s about to set. In the back of his mind, Wrath thinks that he’s going
to have to get through to Henry sooner rather than later about that.
“Of course I am. Why would you ask that?” Wrath says coolly.
“You’ve been acting… off, I guess?” Mike says. “You’re acting like a whole different
person.”
“Bullshit. I’m not. Maybe you’re the one acting like a different person, hanging out with
people like Eddie.” Wrath snaps. “Since when do you fill the void with someone else when
I’m just a phone call away?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Mike says. “Right there. You’re never this angry.
When you are angry, it’s only for a few hours and then you calm down, but this has been
going on since you got back from the woods. Something’s wrong. I can see it. I think
everyone can. You’re quiet, and you’re angry, and you’re snapping at everyone, and that isn’t
like you, Will! I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to help. I- you’re my best friend,
Will. I don’t like seeing you acting like this. Just tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. Please, just-
tell me what’s wrong.”
Wrath feels his icy heart, melting the more time he spends around these people, soften even
more, and he masks it with a scowl. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, and even if I weren’t, I
wouldn’t need your help.”
Mike sighs, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “No, you’re not! You’re clearly
hurting, and you’re pushing everyone away, including me! Whatever’s wrong, I can help!
You don’t have to do this alone! You have friends! Just talk to us! Just talk to me! Please,
just… just talk to me. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Why would I say anything to someone who doesn’t give a shit about me?” Wrath hisses,
matching Mike’s quiet tone.
He stares at Wrath for a moment, tears forming in his eyes, before he says in a bitter, broken
whisper, “Do you really think I don’t care about you?”
Mike takes a shuddering breath. “Do you think I don’t care? That I didn’t cry almost every
day that you were in California? That I wasn’t constantly thinking about you? I-”
He takes a deep breath, looking to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as if to contain tears.
“Will, I just need to make sure you’re okay. I- when you were in the woods-”
He shakes his head and bites his lip, not meeting Wrath’s eyes as tears slip from his own.
“They told me to stay in the garage. And… God, that was so hard to do, knowing you were
out there somewhere, but that I couldn’t reach you. And eventually I went out into the rain
after ten hours - ten fucking hours of not knowing if you were okay, do you know what that’s
like? - and when I finally found you, you wouldn’t wake up, and I had no way to help you. I
had to sit there and watch you like that and know that if you died, there was nothing I could
do to stop it. And thank God that you woke up, but- what if you didn’t? I- I can’t lose you.”
Mike takes a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s what it boils down to. I can’t lose you. And I want to
make sure you’re okay when you’re acting weird like this, and you’re mad at me for that, but-
just holding you as you were unconscious? When I didn’t think you’d ever wake up? I- just
holding you in my arms as you were dying - and you were dying, your eyes were bleeding,
you- you were dying - I- I can’t ever express how fucking terrifying that was. So yeah, I’m
worried, and it’s because I’m not letting you go, whether it’s to some Upside Down bullshit
or to whatever’s going on with you. Just- please. I care about you so much. Please, just talk to
me. You’re my best friend.”
Mike looks back at Wrath, and he has this moment of ‘oh’.
He has memories. Of his friends, of Mike. Of unrequited love and loneliness and being
mocked.
But now he understands where that unrequited love comes from.
How could Mike talk like this, treat him like this, and not expect that Wrath falls in love with
him?
Wrath’s been hugged a few times since he started inhabiting his old body.
But this is different.
He takes a few steps forward, until he’s only a few inches away from Mike, and he hesitantly
lays his head against Mike’s shoulder.
He doesn’t move his arms. He doesn’t express what he wants. But Mike still wraps his arms
around him, getting up on tiptoes so that he can rest his cheek against the top of Wrath’s
head.
It feels nice. Wrath thinks he likes being hugged. Especially by Mike.
“It’s okay.” Mike whispers. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And yeah, crying’s weakness, but when he cries for the second time today into Mike’s
shoulder, it doesn’t feel like pain.
If anything, it feels like home.
Safety.
Mike.
Wrath pretends to be asleep in the backseat of Steve’s car on the way home. Mike
volunteered to ride with him, and Wrath finds that he doesn’t hate being close to him, so he’s
now ‘asleep’ with his head on Mike’s shoulder. He’s bony, but surprisingly comfortable and
warm, occasionally brushing Wrath’s hair out of his eyes as the car bounces.
It’s only a few minutes until Henry appears to him, standing behind Wrath in the darkness of
his mindscape.
“Hello.” Henry says. “How did it go? Is the trap set?”
Wrath takes a deep breath.
“We’re not doing that.” he says coolly.
Henry’s quiet for a second, before he says, “Why not? Do you have a better plan?”
“I don’t want to hurt them.” Wrath says. “We can’t.”

“If this is about how they acted today, Wrath… it was all a lie. They don’t care about you.
Not like I do. They’re just manipulating you.”
“I don’t think they are.” Wrath says quietly. “They… they really seem to care.”
“That’s the point, Wrath. It’s designed to be believable. It’s all a lie.”
“But… they’re being nice to me.” Wrath says quietly. “Lucas and Mike helped me after that
seizure. Steve gave me this vest so I wouldn’t get cold and hugged me. Mike gave me his
clothes. Eddie was excited to meet me. I- Henry, I- I don’t want them to die. I don’t think
they deserve it.”
“They’re manipulating you.” Henry says softly. “They don’t care about you. They only care
about the information they think you can provide. They just see you as a weapon. A tool.
They don’t love you. In the end, nobody does but me. I’m the one that cares about you.
They’re liars. You said so yourself.”
“People are wrong. I can be wrong.” Wrath says. “And I think I’m wrong.”
“You’re not. They’re all bad. They all want to hurt you.” Henry coaxes. “Don’t give in and
believe their tricks. You’re better than that. You’re better than the humans.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be.” Wrath whispers. “Maybe I don’t want to be better. Maybe I want
to be one of them. I want to be like them. I don’t want them to die - I want them to be my
friends.”
“I’m your friend.” Henry says. “I’m the only one who can ever love you. To them, you’re
nothing.”
“Then why are they being nice to me?” Wrath asks.

“Because they’re manipulating you. They only care about you because of what you can do.”
“That’s not what Steve said. He said-”
“He’s lying!” Henry spits, all gentleness gone. Wrath flinches backwards. “Stop being naive!
They’re using you! You’re not theirs, you're mine!”
‘You’re not theirs, you’re mine.’
‘You’re mine.’
‘You’re mine.’
Wrath stares at Henry, anger and panic rising in his throat like bile. “I’m not yours. I’m my
own person.”
“Will, you- why can’t you see?” Henry snaps. “Of course you’re mine! You have been since
before you even came into existence!”
Wrath stares with wide eyes. “What?”
“I’ve dreamed of you. For years. Since the year 1959 and I first came to Hawkins. Thirty
years, Will. Thirty years of dreaming of you but always having to wake up. I knew every
freckle on your face and every hair on your head a decade before you were even born. Every
night, I had the same vision of you, riding your bike home in that red-and-yellow vest.”
Wrath’s reeling. Thirty years? For fuck’s sake, he’s fifteen! He’s not gonna- gonna belong to
a man in his fucking forties!
“That’s why I took you. That’s why I brought you into the Upside Down that night. Because I
saw you, and I knew in that moment that you were the one I dreamed of. The one designed
and born to rule the world at my side. And you were so close, and I couldn’t let you slip away
from me. Yet, even when I brought you to where you belong, you ran. You hid from me. And
I remember looking down at you, curled in on yourself in your childish refuge and singing
that song you like, and thinking that one way or another, I would make you love me back.
You had to.”
“No-” Wrath says, shaking his head as tears form in his eyes and he steps back.
“And then you still escaped. You still left me alone there. But then, you and I were entwined.
You were able to enter my world, be with me, at will. So I had the shadow take you, same as
it took me, so that we could be together. Because you belong with me. To me.”
Wrath can’t breathe.
“You took me so that I could- could be ‘yours’? So that I could- I could satisfy whatever sick,
disgusting desires you had?” Wrath snarls. “Fuck you! I don’t belong to anyone, let alone
someone three times my age who’s been obsessed with me forever and ruined my whole
life!”
“Age is trivial-” Henry says.
“That’s fucking creepy!” Wrath shouts. “You’re in your- what, in your forties? I’m fifteen!
That’s fucking creepy! I’m- I’m not gonna be some kind of pawn in your fucked-up
fantasies! I’m done with you! Now leave me the fuck alone! I’m going to be with my new
friends! Stay out of my head, okay?!”
He turns his back on Henry and starts to stomp away, but then a hand grabs his bicep hard,
yanking him around and pulling him into a harsh kiss.
Wrath immediately snarls, raising his other hand and zapping Henry in the forehead, and
when he falls back, Wrath clenches his hands into fists, glaring at him and breathing hard.
“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Wrath shouts. “THIS IS MY BODY NOW! NOT
YOURS! GET BACK!”
“Do not say that you do not belong to me. Because you are completely, unequivocally mine,
body and soul.” Henry snarls, getting to his feet and raising a hand to where Wrath burned
him.
“YOU FUCKING KIDNAPPED ME! YOU TOOK ME! YOU RUINED MY LIFE! AND
WHY?! BECAUSE YOU- YOU HAD SOME CREEPY OBSESSION WITH A LITTLE
KID!”
“I’m going to give you one last chance.” Henry says, glaring at Wrath. “Be mine. Or I burn
everything you care about to the ground.”
“Go to hell.” Wrath snarls.
Henry looks down at his feet, and he nods before holding his hand out and Wrath goes flying.
When he hits the watery, black ground, something comes up from the ground, and whatever it
is wraps tendrils around his limbs and throat that he can’t shake even as he thrashes and
screams. Are they vines?
When Wrath looks up, he sees Henry coming over to him, each step careful and deliberate as
he stops next to him. “Oh, Wrath.” he says, clucking his tongue as he kneels next to him.
“Didn’t you know?
“If I can’t have you, nobody can.”
-
Mike looks over at Will as he bolts up off his shoulder, staring straight ahead out the window,
eyes large as he sits up straight before cringing in pain and putting his hand on his forehead.
“Will?” Mike asks quietly. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Will sits quietly for a moment, breathing heavily as he grips his forehead so tightly that his
hand turns white, but then he lowers it, folding his hands in his lap.
It looks unnatural. Will doesn’t sit up straight like that, nor does he fold his hands - when his
hands are at rest, he tends to sit on them or tuck them into his pockets or under his thighs -
and the way he’s staring straight ahead is genuinely freaky.
“Will? Are you okay?” Mike repeats, gently resting his hand on Will’s shoulder.
Will blinks once, and then he smiles, a toothy grin that looks like it doesn’t belong on his
face.
“Never better.” he says.
Angel’s quietly sitting on the swing, examining his feet in his sandals, when he feels the
breeze that means that Henry’s here.
He looks up and over, immediately giving a big smile to his friend sitting on the other swing.
“Hi!”
Henry looks back, sighing slightly and giving Angel a tired smile. “Hi.”
“What’s wrong?” Angel asks. “You don’t look happy.”
“Well, I… just had a friend of mine not be very nice to me.” Henry sighs. “He’s so angry at
me.”
“Why?” Angel frowns. “You’re perfect. You’d never do anything bad.”
“No, but he thinks I would.” Henry says, leaning his head against the chain of the swing.
“Even if I’d never hurt him.”
“Why does he think that?” Angel asks.
“He misunderstood something I said.” Henry sighs. “He can be a little… paranoid.”
“Oh.” Angel says, even though he doesn’t understand what ‘paranoid’ is. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t anything you did, Angel.” Henry says.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel happy again?” Angel asks, because he doesn’t
like seeing Henry sad.
Henry’s quiet for a minute, looking up at the blue sky, before he looks back at Angel with a
soft smile. “Actually, I think there is.”
“Oh! Okay! What is it?” Angel asks.
“Come here.” he says, holding out his arm.

Angel does, doing little steps over so that their swings are side by side and their shoulders are
pressed together, Angel’s bare, Henry’s covered in white cloth.
Henry raises his hand to the back of Angel’s neck, bringing him forward, and he presses their
lips together, moving his mouth against Angel’s.
He feels warm, and Angel doesn’t know what he’s doing or what’s happening, but apparently
Henry does, tilting Angel’s head and bringing their lips even closer. Angel isn’t sure if he
likes it - it’s not a bad feeling, but something in his belly is telling him that something’s not
good.
They stay like that for a minute, Henry holding Angel’s head, Angel holding onto the chains
on the swing, before Henry pulls away.
Angel blinks at him twice, and Henry smiles. “How was that?”
He thinks for a minute, and then he shrugs. “I don’t think I liked it.”
Henry’s smile disappears for a second, and he looks angry. “What do you mean-”
He sighs, smiling again and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was just that it was the
chain in the way that made it awkward. How about we try again?”
Angel hesitates. “I don’t think I liked it.” he repeats.
“It was just an odd angle, Angel. You’ll like the next one, I promise. Let’s go and try
somewhere else. It’ll feel better then.” Henry says.
Angel frowns at his feet.

“You asked what you could do to make me happy, Angel. This would make me happy. And it
would feel good, I promise.” Henry says.
He’s still for a minute, his brain a mess of confusion, but then he nods. “Do you feel happy
now?”
“Not yet.” Henry says. “But you could make me happy. Just do what I tell you to do, okay?”
Angel hesitates, because he didn’t like it, but Henry’s sad and it would make him feel better,
and Henry’s so nice and he cares about Angel…
“Okay.” Angel says.
Henry smiles, but it doesn’t look like his normal, sweet smile. It makes him look hungry.
Angel thinks about offering him a sandwich for a split second, but then Henry reaches over
and takes Angel’s hand, pulling it from the swing chain and squeezing it before he stands up.
“Come on, my angel.” Henry coos. “You’ll love what I have planned, I promise.”
Angel stands up too, and as Henry holds his hand tight and starts to lead him over to his
dome, he feels like something’s not right, but he’s being ridiculous. Henry wouldn’t hurt him.
Henry wouldn’t hurt him.
Angel cries in his bed, squeezing the dog plushie he found in the drawer that gives him
whatever he needs. He pulled it out and went over to his bed, the same way Henry had with a
little bottle earlier.
Henry didn’t mean to hurt him. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to not listen when Angel
cried. It was an accident. He didn't mean to make Angel cry. He didn’t mean to not listen. It
was an accident. He didn’t mean it.
It still doesn't feel good, this bad feeling all over and in his heart that makes him cry. Henry
was wrong. He didn’t love it. It hurts.
Angel just curls up smaller beneath the blankets and squeezes his plushie even tighter,
burying his face in the black fur with his next sob. He just has to explain to Henry that he
didn’t like it, and then he won’t do it again.
He cares about Angel, after all. He’ll listen. He has to.
Chapter End Notes
FUCK HENRY BRUH
Leave a comment or Kudos if you had any thoughts, feelings, or extreme emotional
outbursts! See you soon and thanks for reading!
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

A Glimmer of Light

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A Glimmer of Light

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A Glimmer of Light Refusing to Fade

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49303804.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Overall rating: PG. TW:

See the end of the chapter for more notes

But after last summer?

That Mike was safe anymore.

El nods earnestly, a serious expression on her face.

"Alright, awesome! Which ones are Jonathan's and mine?" he asks.

Damn, why does she have to ask the hard questions?

"Like the Bad Men?" she asks, looking very concerned.

"Oh, okay." she says. El pauses. "Are there a lot of mouthbreathers?"

“Do you miss him?” El asks.

Nobody picks up.

He frowns, rings it again, and it does the same thing.

Chapter End Notes

Overall rating: PG-13. TW:

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“But that is how you were doing it.” El repeats.

“You do not either.” El says, staring at him.

He misses those days.

More than anything.

“I am ready to go.” she says, gripping the backpack straps.

El raises her hand. “What should I say?”

“Why?” she asks, looking puzzled.

“Come in!” a voice calls.

“Yeah, but I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” he says.

“We don’t need help. We’re okay.” he says quickly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he says. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy for you, El. Good job.” he says quietly.

He panics, and all he can do is run.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

She thinks for a moment. “I do not know.”

“Hi, Jane and Will.”

“Library.” she repeats back, this time correct.

“Why do you need to get me out?” she says, clearly confused.

“But why?” she asks, starting to look upset.

“Because they’re mouthbreathers.” Will says.

“What is our next class?” El says, still mad.

He concludes that she’s right.

“Yes, I’m fine.” he says quietly.

“Yes, I am. Intro to Art.” he says just as quietly.

“Will Byers.” he says.

“Oh. Yeah.” he says, looking down at his feet.

“Do you like art, Will?” she asks suddenly.

He looks back up to her. “I love art.”

“What’s your medium?” she asks.

“Yeah, I am.” he says. At least that’s true.

“Want to come back downstairs and watch TV later?” she asks.

He needs to be doing homework, but he's done. He'll do it in homeroom tomorrow.

Chapter End Notes

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to-”

"I had a bad dream."

“What if they do?” she asks quietly.

He squeezes back. “I love you too, El.”

“Okay. Did you have one now?”

She nods. “You were awake when I came.”

“Um… yeah. It’s not a big deal, though.” he says.

“You do not want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I don’t really need to. I’m used to it.” he quietly says.

“But… Joyce says we should talk about our problems.”

She nods, seemingly believing him. “Okay.”

“Have… have you been getting them a lot?” he asks.