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I don’t know what it was that made me love you.
Or what it was that made you hate me the way you do.
I remember what you said
And compare it to what you did
And it never made sense.
You were there
And then you weren’t.
You had my heart and I had yours.
You said it was love and so I stayed.
Maybe it was too much.
Maybe it wasn’t enough.
But I will never forget the way you made me feel.
Like I was everything.
And I will never forget the way you made me feel.
Like I was nothing.
[Antonio M Acre]
—
January 5, 1979
Will shoved his hands to his ears as if it would be enough to block the sound of his parents fighting in the background, a shouting match that trailed on continuously. Glass shattering, the front door slamming, sobbing from the kitchen, nothing was drowned out by the seven-year-old’s petite hands over his ears, yet he pretended. Pretended as though he couldn’t hear anything going on outside of the safety of his room, as if nothing else existed outside of him.
Who knows, maybe he didn’t exist either. Maybe the person his best friend, Mike Wheeler, played with was an empty space. The person Joyce and Jonathan coddled and spoiled as much as they could, was a delusion. That’s stupid, he thinks, he knows, but what does he even understand anymore?
If he understood, he would know why dad hated them so much, why the bullies at school always pick on him. Perhaps he could understand the flutters in his stomach whenever Mike touched him, spoke his name, or smiled brightly. And possibly even why Will felt so shameful for these feelings. These feelings were bad, they weren’t supposed to be there, but they were, and Will doesn’t know why or how to make them go away. His mom thinks they’re okay, natural is what she said. Dad didn’t think so.
Will would never forget the look of disgust on his face, the way his hand came in contact with his son’s face in a fit of rage as he yelled mean words at him. He hurt and he yelled, and Will wasn’t sure when he started crying, or when his dad stormed out. Jonathan and mom tried to comfort him, and tell him it was okay to feel those things. It was hard to believe what they said when the aftermath of Lonnie’s attack was proof of the impropriety of his sentiments.
He was a freak. A weirdo, a queer. The word his dad threw at him was said like it was appalling, that it shook Will’s entire being to the core. He never brought up the matter again, and like that, it was forgotten. As though the topic was never brought up.
The floorboards creak outside his door, and for a moment, he forgot where and what date it was. “Will?”
He shot up to his feet, swung the door open, and tackled his mom into a hug. Surprised etched itself into her features, but she accepted the hug graciously. And, if she let out a few stray tears, it was only for them to know. The question wondering if Will heard what happened was on the tip of her tongue, but Will just hugged her tighter and she knew the answer before asking. “It’s okay baby, I’m okay, it’s gonna be okay”
Lies. All of it was lies. A promise meant to be broken. But he never said anything, and the cycle continued on.
The event filtered to the back of his mind as he met up with Mike the next day. His stomach churned with giddiness, while he burned in shame of his emotions. This was abnormal. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this. But he is, so that can’t mean it’s impossible. Battles were fought in his mind, wars were won and others lost.
Maybe he was an illusion, created by the world to torment and ridicule.
—
November 20, 1983
It had been a week. A week since he was saved from the Upside Down, and a week since the person who saved him, Eleven, had disappeared. She sounded cool, someone Will wished he met. Mike seemed to idolize her, and maybe he would’ve too. Even without knowing her, he can’t help but look up to the image his friends describe her as.
She was a hero, and he was…useless.
Mike hovered over him constantly, along with Jonathan and his mom. Somewhere deep inside of him, in a place he must’ve buried to control the pain of being alone while inside the Upside down, Will liked the attention.
But his stomach swirled, an unsettling feeling washing over him. He excused himself from dinner, quickly rushing to the washroom. He retched painfully, almost going back in for seconds when he saw the black creature splashing around. It was the same occurrence for a week now, and somewhere in his gut, he knew this was something he should mention to someone.
However, the words clogged up in his throat, and all he can manage is a stuttered mess that leaves him embarrassed and red in the face.
“Speak properly, boy!” is what his dad would’ve spat in his face if he was still around. If Will was good enough to be worth his time.
So he stayed silent. Until it all came back up to stab him in the back. Until he murdered all those soldiers and everyone in the building. Until he broke his mom’s heart. When he killed Bob. The man who tried to save Will from his nightmares, and was more of a father than his real dad ever could be. Will killed him. Led him straight to his death. He could argue that the Mind Flayer made him do it, but it was still him. His choice, his voice, his actions. He hurt so many people.
He sobs into his pillow until tears dried into salt. He feels empty and so, so cold. Like the Mind Flayer was still possessing him, demanding the frigid temperature. Everything hurt, and he couldn’t even be bothered to try to convince anyone he was okay.
He doesn’t want to be Will Byers anymore. He wants to fade out of existence.
—
April 18th, 1985
Sometimes Will forgets what Mike’s face looks like. It’s not like he wants to be dramatic, but it’s simply the truth. In his mind, his face blurs, a strange and eerie mix of his younger and older self until it melts into nothing. Of course, when he sees Mike again, he feels silly for forgetting his face. Especially since he spent most of his childhood tracing and memorizing the boy’s every feature.
But he supposes that's what happens when your friends move on and find girlfriends. Somewhere deep down inside, he registers that he’s being left behind; forgotten. Soon, they won’t be able to remember Will’s face either, but he supposes he’s the most forgettable of the group.
Sometimes he can’t even remember what his own face looks like. That says a lot about him, doesn’t it? He just wanted to tap out of reality for a little. Maybe find the reason why he’s just so empty. The numb plagues him, ebbing into his limbs and dragging out his movements. He wants to disappear, or maybe he wants to be seen. To be loved and cared for, for someone to tell him that he matters.
Of course, the words are unsaid, because who would utter a lie so glaringly false, even the best of actors wouldn’t pull it off. Will is a freak. He’s useless, he’ll never be important. Not like Eleven, who Mike focuses all his attention on. Because Eleven is actually significant, she's nice, caring, and amazing, and Will can never compete with her.
He’ll never be more than a burden occupying an empty space where someone great could’ve been. Although his friends never seemed to care about his presence, at least they didn’t outright detest it. That has to count for something, right?
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
Will thinks he couldn’t feel any worse than he does right now. Shame mixes with anger and sadness, and it creates an awful feeling of searing pain. The hurt must’ve shown because Mike’s eyes widened in surprise at his own words. In some twisted way, Will found this comical. If only Mike knew, that he actually was the reason Will couldn’t muster any romance for girls. But any hope of Mike accepting him (not even reciprocating, he could never ask that of Mike) was shattered.
The rain pattered against his skin as he rode away, and distantly he could feel himself shake. Mike’s voice sifted into the background along with the sound of rain, and Will’s ears filled with static. His eyes burned with tears that mixed with the rain on his face.
He took refuge in Castle Byers, where everything Will deemed important enough resided in. He flipped through magazines, and comics, and looked at the collection of toys, yet nothing soothed the damage in his heart. It was a wounded buried so deep inside of him, that he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to bandage it properly. He recounted all the old memories displayed around, and something inside of him broke. Memories he would never relive, feeling he would never come in contact with.
His last shred of happiness. And he destroyed it. Ripped up the pictures and drawings, and brought a bat down on the wooden structure Jonathan and he took so long building. Sobs racked his entire body as he collapsed.
His entire body sank in fear, and the hairs on his neck raised. Mike and Lucas showed up yelling his name, but his attention was caught on the feeling he had a second ago.
The Mind Flayer.
—
March 27, 1986
The Welcome To Hawkins sign stood proud, Argyle’s pizza truck driving past it and into what Will can only describe as hell. Home sweet home, he thought bitterly as his head continued to pound with an overwhelming headache. He winced, the feeling of his eyes about to pop out of their sockets unbearable to withstand anymore.
“Will? What’s wrong.” Mike’s blurry face fitted into his view as Will gripped his head so hard he could’ve drawn blood.
Will sighed, “It’s nothing Mike, leave it alone.”
Maybe Mike wanted to say something more, or maybe he shrugged it off and went back to whatever conversation he and El were having. Will couldn’t even tell if they were talking or if it was just dead silence in the van, between the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears, it was hard to tell. A warm liquid traveled down his nose, dripping onto his pants. Will brought a hand up to his face, fingers coming back into view to reveal blood. Quickly, he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the excess blood.
He hid his sleeve, looking outside of the window to try and quell his headache. He didn’t detect Mike’s gaze locked onto his figure, concern carved into his features. If Mike had looked down, he would’ve seen the painting Will brought to the airport, sitting innocently between the other's legs.
“Will! Mike!” Dustin and Lucas ran up and enveloped them in a bone-crushing hug. “You would not believe the past few days.”
They met up in Hopper's cabin, a few days after the California gang made it back to Hawkins. Will’s headache had only worsened since then, nose dripping blood becoming a more common occurrence. Not to mention the nightmares, which Will isn’t surprised about because he is back in Hawkins, but these ones are… different. At one point, he hallucinated a clock, ticking menacingly. He doesn’t say this to anyone, of course, because even if he did, everyone is too busy talking over each other for him to be heard. And it’s not like these events are destructive, probably just a result of being back in Hawkins.
Everyone got together and spent a little time acting like teenagers, which they were, but Will certainly didn’t feel like one. It was short-lived, of course, because there was an interdimensional being who was also 001, and Henry Creel, haunting Hawkins. They all gathered around the living area of the small cabin, discussing what to do to stop Vecna.
Vecna. That's what they call him. A name from a DnD game from a DnD club that they joined. The idea left a sour taste in Will’s mouth, because they only want to play DnD with Eddie, but not with Will. Who would choose Will over anyone else? Maybe that's why he didn’t receive any letters, calls, or birthday wishes. Because they don’t care about him, they don’t even want him here. They don’t want to play DnD with him, but instead with an entirely new party.
“Vecna’s victims all receive unbearable headaches, nosebleeds, and nightmares, days before the curse takes an effect on them.” The words rang loud in his head, the moment they left Max’s mouth. “He shows them their worst fears and regrets. Their trauma .”
A clock chimed in the background, and Will turned around to face it. A grandfather clock he was sure wasn’t there before lay embedded into the wall. He turned to face everyone, and they slowly turned into black sludge in front of him. He startled upwards in shock.
“Guys…?” The room dissipates into the Upside Down, and Will’s breath is caught in his throat. The Demogorgon screeches in the background and he freezes in place. Not until the noises came closer, the presence of something cold pressing into his back, that he finally ran.
“Why do you run, William Byers? From the past, or yourself? Maybe because if they knew what you were, they’d leave you for good.”
Everything melted into Mike’s basement, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, El, and Max all in front of him. Their backs are turned to him, but each is muttering something. Will finally notices it, in Mike’s hands, the painting he had spent so long perfecting for him. The painting was ripped up, and Will stepped and reached forward, despair settling into his being. He absentmindedly felt the tears travel down his face.
“Don’t come closer,” Mike yelled, voice distorted and deep. “You’re a disgusting queer. I can’t believe you tricked me! You used me, you’ve been using me since the beginning. I wish I never met you, I never should’ve asked to be friends.”
“We hate you.”
Will tried to disagree, but the words choked him, and all he could manage was a sob. Somewhere he could hear one of his friends scoff, and laughing starting up. The laughs deepened and turned sinister, and he could only sob harder and cover his ears.
(Will shoved his hands to his ears as if it would be enough to block the sound of his parents fighting in the background, a shouting match that trailed on continuously. Glass shattering, the front door slamming, sobbing from the kitchen, nothing was drowned out by the seven-year-old’s petite hands over his ears, yet he pretended.)
The laughter turned into yelling, Lonnie’s voice distinct in Will’s ears. He was taken back all those years ago when his dad found out about the feeling he got around Mike. The bruises and cuts of the aftermath of his dad’s rage. The words were thrown at him like he wasn’t human but instead a disgusting creature. Lonnie’s words mixed in with Mike’s, and they continued to torment him. Will shut his eyes tight and continued to try and block out the words.
“Don’t you see, Will? They left you, they forgot about you. They joined a club without you. Did you receive any letters or any calls? What about birthday wishes?”
When Will opened his eyes again, he saw all of his friends, with a few other people, playing a game of DnD. The shirts they wore read “Hellfire”, and Will’s heart stung. They ignored him and pretended like he didn’t exist.
“I would never forget you. You’re suffering is almost at an end. Join me, William Byers.” A hand was put up towards his face, and Will just accepted it. This would be his end. At least it’s all going to be over.
Vaguely, a soft melody played somewhere. Voices muffled in his ear, as he slowly turned his head towards the hole opening up in the sky. He could see everyone surrounded around his floating body, eyes rolled back into his head, and his ankle twisted in an awkward position. Headphones lay over his head, a song blaring into his ears. He took the advantage of a distracted Vecna and ran for it. Debris fell above him, limbs aching so badly he just wants to sleep forever.
One moment, he’s in the Upside Down, the next he’s falling on the couch in Hopper’s Cabin. His friends cried in relief and his brother sobbed into Nancy’s shoulder. Will should feel happy, he’s alive, but he wonders if he made the right choice. Maybe all of this truly would’ve been better if he had just died. His ankle burned, and he almost retched at the sight of it. He sobbed, his entire body shaking and doing nothing to quell the pain in his ankle.
“It’s okay Will, you’re okay. You’re safe. ”
Will wants to believe them, but everything seemed to be implying to him the opposite.
When Eleven finally defeated Vecna, things somewhat went back to normal. Except for Will, because he’s starting to think he was never normal, to begin with. Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max, El, and Will were all having a sleepover at the Wheeler’s house. Their basement was a little different than what Will remembered, but he supposed that was just an outcome of everyone moving on.
In the dead of the night, with everyone situated in their sleeping spaces, but everyone still conscious, Will spoke. “Sometimes,” he started, gaining all of the attention. “I wish I died in the Upside Down.”
He felt eyes shoot towards him in utter shock, mouths dangling open, speechless. “What- wait, Will seriously this isn’t funny.”
Maybe it was Mike, or someone else, Will wasn’t sure. “I’m not joking. Don’t you realize, everything went wrong after I was taken to the Upside Down. Maybe- I don’t know, If I died, you guys could’ve moved on.”
The silence was deafening, and Will took the opportunity to continue. “I feel like a curse. Like the Upside Down follows me wherever I go, and you guys are getting caught up in my mess…When Vecna cursed me, you guys- or I guess it wasn’t you, but Vecna’s version of you guys were happy, without me. Why, why didn’t you want to play DnD with me? Why did you join a DnD club? Was I not good enough?”
“No- no, it’s nothing like that, we promise. It was just…the timing. We’re sorry, Will, really-”
Will laughed a little, “Why didn’t you send me any letters? Or call me? It was my birthday,” he breathed shakily. This was so exhausting, he just wants everything to stop forever. “You forgot my birthday. It hurt, I guess.”
Sometimes I forgot what you guys looked like, and your voices, which is stupid. Because- you’re my best friends, all of you, but- what even are we anymore? You didn’t reach out. Why..? I want to be kids again, but you guys keep moving on and I can barely keep up. I don’t know who I am. So, yeah, maybe I should’ve died in the Upside Down. Or should’ve let Vecna kill me. At least it would be over then.”
Nothing. And then, hands wrapped around his shaking figure, Will silently sobbed. It wasn’t much, but it soothed the numbness in his heart for a bit. The silence was deafening in the room, with the exception of Will’s sobs. And they all fell asleep like that, cuddled around him.
The morning after, when everyone left, with apologies made and promises to be kept, it was just Will and Mike, alone. The latter looks nervously over to the other, fingers fidgeting and words stuck in his throat.
“Will, listen-”
Will’s treacherous heart beats inside his ears. “It’s fine Mike, you don’t need to say anything.”
“Seriously, please hear me out. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend. I’m sorry I forgot it was your birthday and made you feel like a third wheel. I’m sorry for implying we’re no longer best friends. Fuck, I’m so sorry for shoving the fact you don’t like girls in your face like it’s something to be ashamed of. And…I’m sorry, that I’ve been so disconnected I didn’t even know your favorite song. I mean, what kind of shitty friend doesn’t know their best friend's favorite song? The only reason you’re still alive is because El remembered the song you played in your room all the time in California. Can we try again, Will? I don’t deserve to be forgiven, I know, but I don’t think I can live knowing that the rift between us continues to grow.”
Mike takes deep breaths after his scrambled apology. Will almost laughs at his friend’s rambling. “Yeah, we can try again.” Will starts, some of the pain dulling a bit. He remembers something, goes to his bag, and takes out the painting he took with him from California. He hands it to Mike, “Here, this is for you.”
Mike unfolded it with such care, and when the full painting was in view, a large smile grew on his face. Maybe Will could never have Mike romantically, but he was more than content with this.