Chapter Text
The leaves crunched under his feet.
He had been wandering for over two hours now, over the field by Hawkin’s High, around the long road and nearby the trail along the quarry.
His hands stung vaguely from the cold and his feet were beginning to ache.
It was a quiet sort of melancholy, to walk past roads and benches that he had once called his own, to return to places where he biked past more times he could remember to the remains of the wooden castle that was once more of a haven than his own bedroom. The jarring feeling of something new, the silver of a thought of ‘that doesn't belong there,’ and the eventual conclusion. Right. He hasn’t been here for years, really, what would he know?
He had always loved fall in Hawkins: scary movies, leaves to stomp on and Halloween. Mouth smeared with chocolate, and the sickly smell of sugar, (the sweaters he always wore that Will had longed to steal, curl up inside and let the soft knit and his smell surround him). He could almost forget the other memories. The heat, and the shuddering fear. The grotesque mammoth, and everything that came with it. His hands clasped around his, and his eyes an anchor (“Do you remember? Will?”).
Fall in California was a weak excuse for the season, and while he adored the warm weather a part of him longed for this. El had always missed the fall too, back in Lenora, she had missed the flannels and the mugs of coffee, the rickety cabin.
Will was looking over the cliff now, aching. The ground was frozen over. He wasn’t there when it happened. But, he could remember, the story told over, and over again, Lucas and Dustin yelling over one another, creased in his memory like paper, the fear had tipped over into incredulity, amazement, and then, finally humour.
It was barely fall now, slipping into the frost of winter easily, but the snow seemed to be late this year and winter without the white glaze just felt like an extension of October. Will’s eyes wandered over the long branches that intertwined within each other and the sort of empty beauty Hawkins had always held, uniquely own.
It felt like something was tugging up his chest, irrational in the ways only nostalgia could be, blurring all his memories into something like a deep wistfulness settling over him.
He didn’t want to fear this place. Hawkins, whatever it was, was always going to be the place he spent his childhood. The horrible memories laid right above everything else that he longed for: his childhood, and his friendships. First, in all sorts of ways.
(His dark eyes pinned Will from across the room, his mouth wet. He tracked him across the room and Will could feel his body tingle with anticipation.)
Will exhaled quickly and a soft stream of vapour filled the air, covering his eyes, briefly, before dissipating just as quickly.
He had decided to come earlier, carve out that little bit of more time, especially since it had been so long since he had been back. Everyone else wasn’t returning until later this week, but it was a miracle at all that they had managed to align a handful of days together, here of all places.
Steve had finally bought that house of his, and had been insisting for several years that everyone had to spend the holidays. Will had dismissed it for a long time, and he wasn’t the only one (school and classes, and then work — “Soon! Next time,” well-intentioned, but mostly empty promises smothering on until their lives had grown and morphed, slowly but surely leaving out the spaces where the others used to settle).
But then, June was born.
Will scuffed his foot against the frozen ground, a bird swirling through the sky, smiling to himself.
He had landed yesterday, and Steve had rolled up outside the airport, his hair frazzled and exhaustion lingering under his eyes, but he was beaming. “Byers! You actually made it!” He cheered.
Will grinned, swinging his luggage in the open trunk. “And look who it is.” He walked around towards him. “Father Steve.”
Steve beamed even wider, and hopped out of his car, wrapping Will in a hug, before ushering him into the car.
Will had planned on getting a hotel, one in town, but Steve had scoffed (—“Will, why would you pay for a hotel and a car, to live thirty minutes away from all of us? Do you really want to live in Hawkins downtown? The four radio stores are only interesting for like one day.” He chided, tinny over the phone, “You’re here for us! Plus, this is why we got this place. Really, I will drag you myself to—huh?” His voice got quieter, a softer voice speaking on the other side, “alright sweetheart, just one second. Sorry Will, I gotta run, but this is not a discussion. I’ll pick you up at noon next week.” The phone beeped in Will’s hand as he stared, unsure of what he had been convinced of.)
He had chatted down the drive, about the garden and the kids on the baseball team, how Erin had been working on circuit boards down at the NCR facility and how he swore June was saying ‘Pa’ (—”Steve, she's like six months old.” Will said dryly. “Let me tell you. A six-month and 24-day genius.” Steve said proudly).
They rolled up the long curved driveway, cracked from winter frost. Steve insisted on carrying WIll’s luggage inside, through the wide faded brick facades, and up the tall pillars of the porch, the overhang lined with daisies.
Will had stepped inside, his feet sinking into the thick beige carpeting.
Frames littered the walls, a sleek NYU film department movie poster, ceramic bowls with clams and Fenway Park, a little lighthouse figurine and his Patriots keychain clinking as it was thrown onto the entryway desk.
The sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains of the large bay windows, into the hallways and tall doorways, arching wooden details by hand.
Steve was pleased, and Will felt warmth spread through him. It was the first time he had felt at home in the town he once spent his entire life in.
Erin appeared in the doorway, her chestnut brown hair falling in uneven waves from her loosely tied hair, clutching a mug in her hands. The light caught the shadows under her eyes and she blinked slowly, tired. Still, she managed a smile, pulling Will into a tight hug.
“Hey bud.” She squeezed him. “Have you gotten taller?” Erin frowned. She had stains on her loose grey t-shirt and a smudge of food on her cheek.
Yet, Will stepped back, grinning. “You’re glowing.”
She rolled her eyes, hiding her smile. Her cheeks were a gentle flush, freckles lining her nose.
Steve wrapped his arms around her from behind, tenderly kissing the top of her head. “She gets more beautiful everyday. It’s disgusting. I am in constant competition. I thought June might set her behind so I could get a kickstart.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “No dice.”
Erin scoffed. “As if you don’t pompadour your hair every morning.”
“Hey!” Steve complained. “I haven’t done that in months now.” He collapsed on the couch.
Will looked over at the mound of hair on Steve’s head, and raised his eyebrows.
“Well—“ He acquiesced, “months, before today.”
“He wanted to impress his little youths.” Erin said, amused. “As in, you. Will.” She leaned against the doorframe.
Will laughed. “It was a pretty significant part of our childhood. I appreciate Steve trying to maintain the magic of Hawkins. The magic of Steve’s hair.”
Steve nodded proudly, leaning back into the sofa. “See Erin. I am magic.”
She shook her head, her mouth upturned. “You are seriously an idiot.”
Steve had folded Will into their home quickly. Will spent the day, June clasped to his chest, fine wisps of hair and her eyes shut tightly, her impossibly long lashes brushing against the apple of her rosy cheeks. She was an angel, Will had decided, and maybe he was playing favourites since he didn’t personally know any other children, yet, he was positive she was the sweetest baby he had ever encountered.
Dinner was take-out, ordered beforehand and heated up and Will had felt a gentle warmth spread through him as June sputtered softly in his arms, the sun drifting down trickling light through the curtains, Erin and Steve bickering about which local team was certain to win the next game.
The morning was similarly sleepy, and soft, brewing coffee and bagels smothered with layers of butter. The sun was high in the sky once Steve and Erin had to go meet friends, local couples that lived in the area for lunch. Steve tried to convince Will to come along, but he knew he would rather spend his first few quiet moments back, with Hawkins, rather than strangers. So, he had ended up here instead.
The wind whistled sharply in his ear, and Will shivered. He had been standing over the cliff for a while now, and his foot was nearly numb. Will shook it off and continued, kicking a rock along the road.
He never regretted leaving.
The glassy stare of the man who called himself his father, bottle clutched in his hand to the biting snarls from the halls of the schools, or cursed words thrown back and forth as the rain shattered down and a resounding culmination to something far, far worse.
But nostalgia worked in funny ways.
From watching the sun rise over the town that had survived so much, when the grass began to grow back, deep emerald and growing over the metal and a collection of firsts, drinking out of stolen bottles in backyards, giggling as they sprawled all over each other to blushing in dim rooms and a boy with horribly messy dark hair, and his crooked grin across from him.
Will stumbled slightly as the ground dipped. He huffed a breath.
It had been years, and yet.
Yet.
It must be from being back in Hawkins, Will thought to himself, that overwhelming feeling that threatened to suffocate him and these ridiculous memories he couldn’t shake.
He took a deep breath. Crisp air and traces of undergrowth and pumpkins trailed into his nose.
Cigarette smoke.
Will’s eyes darted open.
It was a long road, twirling deep into the distance with few cars and even fewer pedestrians. As in, Will had been the only pedestrian for the past 20 minutes.
Except there was now a figure, blurry in the distance and fog with smoke circling towards Will.
Will steadied himself. It couldn’t be. What would be the chances of being back in Hawkins and seeing him, on some random side road. Steve had cemented that no one was coming until the end of the week, and he wasn’t even sure if he was coming, had never confirmed.
It was a small town maybe, but not that small — also he didn’t smoke. In fact, he had always lectured Will all throughout high school.
Will shook his head.
Regardless, as the figure rolled closer, Will busied himself searching his pockets as he walked to the other side of the road. He was definitely looking for something in his pockets. Because there is something very important in his pockets, Will decided. He fingered wrinkled chewing gum wrappers, a receipt and a faded lighter in his pockets.
Will’s speed quickened. He was feeling nervous.
Really, for all he knew was this stranger could be someone dangerous, like a kidnapper or some crazy person. Or, you know, be him which, Will considered, would probably be worse.
Will kept his gaze firmly on the forest next to him, now extremely interested in the brown dead trees that all looked exactly the same. Fascinating. Trees.
The figure walked by and Will couldn’t resist stealing a look at his face, because what if—
Will let out a breath of relief. A forgettable face, none of the sharp angles, a cigarette in hand, and dark brown tousled hair. He looks much better than him, Will thought traitorously. Looked. Will didn’t know him anymore.
He wasn’t sure what he had even been expecting. If he was cursed to spend the rest of his days here in Hawkins seeking Mike Wheeler in the shadows, and in the trees like a ghost that wouldn’t, couldn't, leave him alone.
He needed to head back because clearly, he was going crazy from all the cold or whatever was in the air.
___________________________
Will stared at his childhood home.
On his way back he couldn’t help it, felt the itch, and he knew he could not leave without seeing it at least once.
It, shockingly, looked the exact same. Will didn’t know if he was grateful for that, his childhood captured in this frame, or if he would prefer some other family moved in and plowed down the bones that held everything.
He wasn’t that much bigger since he had left, he didn’t feel like it, yet he felt oversized staring at the small bungalow, as if he had long outgrown who he had been. His apartment in California wasn’t particularly special, messy and never felt big enough for his life. But he squeezed, and let it in, his thoughts, his nightmares that always seemed so encompassing and everything he held inside himself. It wasn’t much, but it was his, now.
If he squinted, he could almost make out the shape of his bedroom.
Will sighed. What had that bedroom not seen? Huddled sleepovers and awful out-of-body experiences, screaming into his pillow and lying side-by-side to the love of his life, heart in his throat and wondering if he could take the life-shattering step of brushing fingers, and clutching his hand—the stark contrasts of the many moments he had experienced.
The other moments had never happened in this home, after Lenora, but before the rest of his life. Yet, for some reason, Will pictured this bedroom when he thought back to those memories.
(—The moonlight glimmered against his eyes, pained as he pulled Will’s mouth closer in desperation. A part of him had known then, that it would not last. Mike grasped Will’s shirt hungrily, and his mouth trailed wet heat down his neck. Will had gasped, his hands tangled in his hair. Will had felt it then, the tears that fell from Mike’s eyes against his collarbone. He nearly asked, should’ve pulled him up and refused to let him use him, as a reminder, or worse, a replacement, but Mike had trailed down further and Will’s words left, instead something like gasp caught in his throat—)
God.
And now, what would it think if it could see him now? Dark green jacket tighter over his shoulders, longer hair and a dangling earring. A pin tucked on the sleeve, from before he had broken up with Chance the previous year.
Perhaps there was a strange comfort, to imagine something like his bedroom or his home watching over him, reliable and safe.
The chilly evening air sunk deeper in his bones as he pursed his lips. There was no light on inside the house, but he remembered Mom had mentioned way back in Lenora a young couple had moved in. It had still been years since then, where the earth had opened up beneath their feet, so who knew if they had stuck around.
Or, Will realized they could be asleep and would eventually notice this strange guy staring intensely through their window.
He winced, and slowly tore his gaze away from it.
Will shivered. He wondered if he had gotten used to California’s warmth because he swore Hawkin’s cold never bothered him this much. It felt as if it was sinking far deeper into his skin, settling under his muscles.
It was time to return back, he had walked further than he had meant.
Later that night, when he finally returned, quietly sneaking in through the door, instinctively peeking his head into June’s nursery, comfort from her bundled in butter yellow and then curled into the guest bedroom. He dreamt of walking to school, surrounded by his friends, cheeks flushed from the cold and a laugh stuck in his throat.
___________________________
A cry broke through the air, and Will’s eyes snapped open.
A light gleamed through the crack in the door, a shadow pacing. Will opened the door and found Steve tracking lines on the floor, his feet soft against the carpet. His hair hung in his eyes, and he blinked blearily at Will.
“How long have you been up?” Will whispered futilely, because June was getting louder.
“What time is it?” Steve muttered, rocking June.
Will glanced down at his watch, “5:00 am.”
Steve pressed his lips together, resigned. “So, the whole time, then.”
Will nodded, and pulled June out of his arms carefully. Her cheeks were red and her small fists clenched as she cried. “Okay, that’s enough. You go to bed. I’ll take over.”
Steve stared. “Seriously? You don’t have to man. I have been doing this all the time.”
Will shook his head, rocking her against him as her cries began to quieten. “Well then, let me lend a hand. I am being selfish anyway. I just want more time with her.” He held her against his chest.
Steve exhaled in relief. “Thank god.” He kissed her forehead softly. “Love you babygirl. You will be a strong singer one day, truly.”
After Steve had gone to his room, Will carefully went downstairs and walked around the living room, rocking her as her cries slowly began to quieten. He stood in the arched windows, overlooking the frosty lake outside. He felt the urge to go outside, walk the path around the lake, wrap towards the forest and walk the roads.
Being in Hawkin’s had ignited an itch inside him, something that longed for him to see everything, to search for something that was perhaps akin to closure, but he didn’t quite know what he was really looking for, what he wanted to find and what he would.
He turned towards the hearth, still glimmering stray embers from the night. Frames lined the shelves, and Will studied them, continuing to gently rock June. She had quieted and was letting out soft breaths now.
His eyes caught on the frame from the summer of 85’, Dustin screeching joyfully from Steve’s back, Lucas beaming from between Mike and Will, fresh-eyed and innocent in their smiles.
Will always hated how it was some known truth that people told you, sympathetic faces and the patronizing tone that ‘childhood friends never really stayed’, sure, you’d always love them but eventually grow out of them, it was set in stone, just the way things were.
When Will had gone away, he hadn’t looked back.
He had still called though.
Time, of course, grew between each call, when holidays lengthened and no one remained in Hawkins that he called home any more. Yet, months could pass, and regardless, when he would pick up the phone it would be the same: 13 years old again, fumbling with their radios, catching each other up with their lives, over and out.
It had never managed to be all of them at once still, but Will had seen them all separately, Dustin had come to stay with Will for a week in California, and Will had driven down several times to spend weekends with Max and Lucas.
Will liked to think it was something inherently about them that bound them together. That they would find their ways to spend time with each other. That if they didn’t, it would be a disservice to someone far more important.
But, they all couldn’t last, Will had told himself.
(‘ All’ — when it was really just one singular person, the one he had privately considered the most important, the one he vowed to never lose even if he had to hold the silence inside his heart for the rest of his life, he would’ve taken that anyway, as long he was there, with them, and yet, all the spoken words that were said didn’t end up meaning anything, the collections of maybes, almosts, nearly and the one final if.)
It had been far too long anyway, he wasn’t even sure how he would broach a reconnection, where could he begin now, because their lives had to have been so violently different from each other by now and he hardly would even know how to talk to him.
The others spoke to him, of course.
He didn’t expect otherwise obviously, because it was in-between them, what had happened and wouldn’t make sense for them to choose.
Some people just weren’t meant to last, regardless of how much it hurt.
June was breathing soft puffs of breath into his shirt, her eyes shut. Will stared at the dying embers. Being in Hawkins might have been the most contemplative he had been in a long time. There wasn’t much else to do, he supposed.
He walked towards the nursery upstairs, and gently placed June in her crib. Her breath fluttered. Will gently pressed his lips against her temple.
___________________________
Steve hadn’t said anything else when he announced his daughter’s name would be June in the beginning of the year. Will had already heard it from Mom, and Jonathan before Steve had called him a couple hours later.
Everyone knew anyway, what it meant. The first girl born, eyes and hair dark, never to hold the intensity of her, June Ivy Harrington. Will had been in Montauk with the rest of them when Steve had mailed everybody her picture, sometime in July when it arrived, demanding Christmas was going to be at his house that year (—kind eyes, nothing like he had before, searched his eyes, gently grasping his hand as Will’s hands shook. That was the beginning of the realization, that the sympathy would never be enough, that they would never truly know, and how could he explain).
Hopper had tears in his eyes before he had finished reading the card.
Will had stolen into the bathroom, and put his head in between his legs and shook. The flannels were still hung in the back of Hopper’s closet, impossible to wear now. Will had tore into them her first birthday after, pressing them to his face, and even by then they had stopped smelling like her.
Will had missed Jonathan extra that night, who had been filming in Peru for the past couple of months.
He was thankful, for his years in San Francisco, for the life he had built there and the wonderful people he had met, the sun and the starkness from Hawkins. But, he wasn’t sure if he could ever fully let go for what Hawkins was, despite everything it did to them. To her.
Will had wondered that night, what he had thought when he got the letter from Steve. If it touched him, or if he was still furious, anger continuing to whittle him away. If he sought comfort in another, or worse, if there was someone else already there, long hair and soft curves to wrap around his waist. Will clenched his jaw, that traitorously that still bugged him.
“Are you okay?” Chance whispered, brushing Will’s hair out of his eyes.
Will blinked. “Yeah.” He turned and pressed his face against Chance's worn shirt, eyes shut tightly and inhaled. “Just thoughts.”
“Of course.” Chance nodded, understanding.
Will pressed himself tighter against the hard line of his body, and wondered if he shut his eyes tightly enough he could picture him.
___________________________
Will, unsurprisingly, stuck his cap over his hair and wrapped the deep green scarf around his neck, and stepped outside. Erin and Steve were likely going to sleep in.
It was a nice reminder that Hawkin’s was bigger than he remembered. When he had always thought back to it, he thought of the places he lingered and he forgot the miles in between them of town that there really was.
Remembering was a nice feeling.
He found himself in the old schoolyard a while later, had realized that the road that travelled adjacent to Dustin’s street had twisted and turned to it eventually. School was off for the holidays and the fenced grounds were empty.
He felt strange, wandering through an elementary as a grown adult, but it was his school first, he thought somewhat defensively as his eyes wandered over the rusted slides and the crusty sandbox, the chipping brick of the wall, and the window that was cracked along the back of the building, had been there back then too.
Will wondered if he was crazy to feel a little emotional.
There was a blue-painted hand on the wooden ledge that went around the sandbox. A tiny thing, perhaps its first impact on the world.
Will knelt down and pressed his hand on top as it engulfed the hand and he swallowed, a little tightly.
Time really was a funny little thing, how quickly it turns over itself and shifts and in the same way the memories were a little blurry around the edges there were a few, starkly clear as if it was yesterday.
His eyes dragged over to the old faded structures and the swings, hanging solemnly.
Will heard a branch crack near him, and he jumped, head darting towards the sound.
He blinked.
Will wondered if he was going to be sick. He felt a sensation of dizziness sweep through him, and if he was anywhere else, in front of anyone else, maybe he would collapse to the ground.
Standing across the playground, in the flesh, was Mike Wheeler, an equally stunned look on his face.