Chapter Text
Lenora, California was a small town with hot, dry air and a tendency to kick up a chokehold of dust during a windy afternoon. It was nice, in a way. Nice in that it wasn’t Hawkins. There was no constant overhang of thick, grey clouds threatening to burst with frozen droplets of rain. There was no quarry with its jagged cliffs and the reminders it held and the deep, deep blue waters rippling below. There was no smoldering remains of the Starcourt. No Hawkins lab with its electric fence buzzing warningly. And with that, most of all, there was no cold, lurking weight of the Upside Down prickling at Will’s neck.
Instead, the only reminders of the other dimension were the nightmares that plagued Will on a weekly basis. They used to be nightly. He would wrench back to reality soaked in sweat, a scream clawing its way out of his throat. He’d stuff his fist into his mouth to stifle the sound, often biting down. The taste of blood coating his tongue grounded him. Tears clung to the corners of his eyes, and Will Byers shoved his face into the pillow and allowed the sobs to wrack his body until he was trembling, exhausted, and numb.
At first, he didn’t think anything would change. Even without the creeping sensation at the nape of his neck, Will was sure he would never escape the weight of the Upside Down. He was sure he would never shake the urge to vomit when he was reminded of the Mind Flayer’s violation. Everywhere…everywhere. And most of all, Will Byers was sure that there was no salvation from drowning in his own mind without Mike. Mike, who always knew what to say, what to do. Mike, with his soft voice and gentle touch. Mike, his smell and his warmth. Mike, Will’s best friend. Will’s…
There was nothing for it. So, Will accepted his fate. He would drown.
The first month in Lenora, he barely slept. Jonathan tried to help. He sat with him in the morning, brow creased with worry while he watched Will pick at his cereal. He knew Jonathan wanted him to speak, to say something. But, Will couldn’t bring himself to speak, let alone meet Jonathan’s eye. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and chewed the inside of his cheeks between his teeth until they bled too.
The problem was he wanted to move on. Will wanted to be normal. He wanted to sleep through the night without the demogorgan finding him and dragging him into the shadows. He wanted to walk into an air conditioned space without feeling his blood pressure clatter and leap to a racing panic, sweat pooling, lungs arching with the effort to hold back the panic. He wanted to draw, to paint, to sculpt without the creation twisting into a horror that only seemed to intensify his nightmares. No matter how much he wanted to move on, to forget, to breathe easily and to fall back into his art without being afraid, the darkness weighed too heavily. It compressed his spine and threatened to break him every night.
El, who had stayed curled in her own bedroom with the door cracked three inches for the first week, emerged and bloomed under the soft, (if not slightly suffocating), love from Joyce. She found her place in the Byers’ home well. Joyce taught her how to make waffles from scratch, and she spent the third week making waffles every morning. The fourth week, she cried with Joyce on the porch and talked about Hopper. Hopper in high school, sneaking cigarettes with a teenage Joyce. Hopper, brave and steadfast, enlisting in the army and disappearing overseas. Hopper, somehow the same kind, wholehearted man, returned from war and in love with his wife. Hopper, broken and devastated by the loss of Sara. Hopper, the skeptical, ornery man who stood by Joyce’s side to save Will, to save Eleven, to save them all. Hopper, who loved Eleven dearly.
Will sat in his bedroom, the window cracked slightly, and listened to Joyce talk about Hopper. About the time Eleven had with him, how much Eleven cried when she told Joyce how she screamed and raged at him, how Joyce held Eleven and comforted her. Explained to her that a fight like that was nothing between a father and a daughter; the love never changed. Will listened; his back pressed painfully against the window frame, silent tears rolled down his cheeks, and he turned the events of Starcourt over and over again in his mind. He always came back to the same truth: if he had never been taken in Mirkwood, if the demogorgan had never gotten him, Hopper would still be here. By the end of the first month, El started every day with a soft smile and received her first letter from Mike. Will bit back jealously that bubbled in his chest and eyed the phone cradled on Joyce’s shoulder while she made another call.
The second month in Lenora, Will thought he would give in to the water lapping at his throat. His hand bled again when he bit down against a scream that shot out of his mouth when he gasped awake from another nightmare. The Mind Flayer took him, and he tore and ripped into Bob’s flesh. The blood on his tongue was his own and Bob’s, and then there was ash in the blood as Hopper burned. It was all his doing. His fault.
Will left the house by himself for the first time and wandered through the bright, dust-ridden town they were now calling home. Jonathan told him about an old, dried dam around the edge of town. He’d told Will to check out the graffiti and art plastered to the cracked and worn concrete. He hadn’t told Will to seek out the vertigo-inducing edge of the dam. It’s wall curved away from his feet and plummeted into the cracked and desolate lake bed fifty feet below. He swallowed and hugged his arms tightly across his chest.
The sun beat down on the back of his neck. The skin prickled and seared, but instead of a cold, terrifying sensation of being watched, the sun burned and blistered. His breath caught, and the knot of scarring on his side drew his attention. Lenora, he thought with stark wonder, is warm. His mouth dried, and he ran his papery tongue over his chapped lips. Eyes watered the longer he stared at the ground past the edge of the dam. He swayed, dizzy, terrified, confused.
Numbly, Will thought he heard someone shout. Shaking his head, he tilted forward, the edge of his shoe crossed the dam, and then with a sudden, gagging gasp, Will jerked backwards. He heard another shout—Jonathan?—and someone’s hand wrapped tightly around his elbow and tugged him roughly backwards. He fell to the ground; tailbone stinging, and the palms of his hands scraped raw against the concrete.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The stranger’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting through Will’s heaving sobs (when had he started crying?) Awareness and sense flooded through his brain sharply. He wanted to vomit. “Hey, hey!” Fingers snapped in front of his face. Will flinched backwards. Her voice softened. “I’m sorry,” the stranger said quietly. “You scared me. I tried to get your attention, but you just kept drifting forward.” He nodded numbly, eyes blurred and burning, lungs on fire as he gasped and sobbed and blubbered.
Will rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes and pressed hard. Slowly, his breathing evened out and he muttered, “M’sorry. Thanks.”
She hummed, and from his narrowed, tear-filled eyes, he saw the stranger cross her legs in front of him and sit directly between Will and the dam. “Don’t. It’s—" she released a harsh breath and turned her face down to inspect her hands. Will wiped his eyes again and took a deep, shuddering breath. The stranger shrugged and twisted her hands together. Then, she picked her head up and jerked her chin towards his bloodied hands. “I didn’t mean to pull you back that hard. But then again,” she cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, “you’d be in a lot worse shape if I hadn’t.”
Will swallowed, his throat uncomfortably dry, and nodded. Pressing his lips together, he took in the stranger for the first time. She was slightly gaunt in her thinness. Tanned skin stretched across her face, and long, straight black hair fell down the middle of her back in a loose braid. Her eyes, still narrowed fiercely, were flecks of pale, blue ice. A shiver ran down his spine despite the sweltering head. “Yeah,” Will said hoarsely. He coughed. “Thanks.”
The girl nodded, lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line. She wore a long-sleeved, slightly puffy tan and white Coca-Cola polo and wide, starchy shorts. She stuck out a hand. “Alice.”
“Will.” Her hand was calloused and her fingers wrapped around Will’s hand like bands of iron.
“Great,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to walk away first.”
He blinked. “That’s it?”
Alice shrugged. “Do you want to talk?” His jaw clenched together so hard a dull ache shot through his head. A sad smile flashed across Alice’s face. “Thought so.”
Slightly disorientated, Will clambered to his feet. He could feel the intensity of her gaze against his back as he retreated and left the dam behind. His feet carried him away from the dam, but not back to the house. He didn’t want to return to his room, to the stuttering AC unit blowing half-cold, half-lukewarm air into the pale living room. He didn’t want to avoid Jonathan’s eyes at the dinner table, to press his lips together and try to return El’s tentative smiles. Instead, he wandered the dry, dusty town until the sun slipped beneath the horizon. The girl—Alice—was right. He didn’t want to talk…but…another shiver crawled down his spine. He couldn’t keep it all in any more.
Will Byers did not want to live, but he did not want to die.
That night, he walked through Mirkwood in his dreams, but Castle Byers was gone, and the Lenora dam brought him the a halt. The concrete wall lined the perimeter of the woods, and Will walked steadily to the dam’s edge. This time, the wall fell away into a world of hazy, deep blues, black, slithering vines, and softly floating spores. The Upside Down rumbled against the dam. Waves crashed against the concrete. Chunks of worn, sun-bleached rock fell, tumbling, into the abyss. The dam shuddered under his feet, and Will turned to talk to Bob.
Think it’ll hold? he asked.
Bob chuckled and peered over the edge. What? This ol’ thing? No chance.
Will hummed. Bob’s cape flapped in the wind. Good thing you can fly. Got room for a passenger?
He shook his head and sighed. Not this time. You want to get me started?
His hands were steady as he pushed Bob off the dam wall and Bob Newby, superhero, took flight. Then Will’s hands tightened viciously on the cape. Not this time, a cold, snarling, disdainful voice mocked from Will’s mouth, and he ripped the cape from Bob’s shoulders. He fell, screaming, in the Upside Down churning at the bottom of the dam. Blood spurting from his chest, his mouth, everywhere as he fell and the vines shot through him.
Mike screamed at Will from Mirkwood, the ruins of Castle Byers at his feet. His black hair flew wildly around his face, and Will’s eyes strayed frustratingly to his slightly reddened lips. Lips that spat at him, eyes dark and cold and unseeing. You’re a monster. You’re a spy! This is your fault!
The Mind Flayer wrapped around Will and hissed in his ear, the words a gentle caress: Well done. Will wanted to scream, but nothing came out. The dam cracked, cleaved in two, and he fell into the ice-cold abyss.
Will woke with his hand reflexively muffling the scream that tore its way up his throat. Warm blood swept over his lips as the scabs re-opened, and he bit down harder against his palm. Tears trickled off his cheeks to wet his neck. The sheets were twisted uncomfortably around his legs, and slowly, slowly, Will Byers returned to himself. After counting backwards from one thousand, Will sat up and kicked the bedding off his legs, freeing himself. His hand ached, and the muscles in his back screamed in protest when he reached for the glowing alarm clock on his bedside table. A quarter to midnight.
The house was quiet beneath him. Though his eyes burned, Will didn’t want to go back to sleep. Bob’s screams and Mike’s betrayed face were seared in his mind. (This is your fault!) He hiccuped slightly, and choked back the sob that wormed through his chest. He pressed his non-injured hand into his sternum and tried to breathe through the swelling panic of emotion. Each time he tried to lay back down, however, the cracking, stuttering dam rumbled through his mattress until he finally threw himself to his feet and stumbled to his closet.
He probably made a racket yanking on jeans, a sweatshirt, and grabbing a pair of Jonathan’s old shoes before practically running out the front door, but he couldn’t hear. His senses had abandoned him in his wanton rush to get out, out, out. The Upside Down swam in and out of his vision. It blended with the shadows cast by Lenora’s street lamps as he again walked mindlessly through the town. Finally, a dimly lit storefront caught his attention, and his senses seemed to snap back to him in sharp focus. Instead of the mildew and mold clinging to the vines in the Upside Down, Will breathed the scent of rich coffee and cigarettes deeply. The cafe appeared empty, but when Will opened the door to Lenora Hills Coffee and Chills he saw there were a few patrons tucked in the booths inside and around the bar.
Glancing over his shoulder at the window front again, Will realized how clouded the glass was. Years of cigarette smoke obscured the outside, and the door clattered shut behind him, blocking out the night air.
At first, nothing happened. Will Byers stood like a deer in headlights just inside the cafe, suddenly hyper aware that he didn’t have his wallet and he didn’t even like coffee that much anyways.
“Hey. Hey, it’s Will, right?”
There’s no fucking way, he told himself and snapped his head around. Alice untangled herself from one of the back tables. She’d been almost hidden out of sight from the door while bent over a growing pile of napkin-wrapped utensils. The diner uniform hung loosely on her bony frame, the drab long-sleeves hanging just passed her wrists. Will frowned, confusion returning to the forefront of his mind. He shook his head, words failing him.
She shrugged and wiped her hands on a dish towel hanging off one of her apron pockets. “You hungry? Thirsty?”
He didn’t answer right away. His brain felt sluggish and disoriented. Dissociated, his mind whispered. Alice’s brow furrowed, and her eyes widened out of what appeared to be a regular glare. Briskly, she closed the distance between them and grasped Will’s elbow. Unlike her grip earlier, her hold was lighter, almost gentle. Will could pull free if he wanted.
Instead, he let her lead him to a table in the corner. It was small, barely a two-top, but it was tucked behind a mauve half-wall and gave him a nice view out of a window. Alice gestured for him to sit, then she vanished. Numbly, Will plopped into one of the seats and stared blankly out the window. It was less clouded compared to the front, as if the staff made an actual effort to keep this one clean. He watched a streetlight flicker and twisted his hands together until his fingers ached. Time slid by without comprehension, and then Alice appeared again.
“Here,” she said and set a steaming mug of coffee in front of him alongside a plate with a slice of pudding pie. Then she disappeared again.
Slowly, Will leaned forward and inhaled. The coffee filled his lungs and his eyes fluttered shut. The pie didn’t have a smell, per se, but the sensation of warm sugar hung in the air. His stomach grumbled ever so, and in the same moment he remembered he had no money on him.
Before he could decide if he wanted to offer to wash dishes or run out of there, Alice took the seat across from him. She held a dish tub with piles of utensils, napkins, and empty salt and pepper shakers in it. Without a word, she began to pluck fork, knife, and spoon out of the tub and methodically roll them in the fabric. Without looking at Will, she whispered, “It’s on the house. You want sugar and cream?”
Will shook his head even though she seemed focused on her work. She appeared to take his silence as an answer and didn’t speak again. Slowly, hesitantly as though it was a trap, Will carefully picked up the hot coffee and brought the mug to his lips. The hot, bitter liquid burned his tongue, and he felt a momentary pang of panic, of memory, of screaming and roaring and cold and lying, lying, lying, but then the coffee hit his stomach, it’s comfortably warm and the bitter taste muted in the back of his throat, and Will thought coffee may not be that bad.
Alice passed him a freshly rolled napkin, and Will dug into the pie. They sit in silence for however long it took for Will to finish the pie and take a refill of coffee. The dream (Bob falling, bleeding, screaming, Mike’s rage, betrayal, accusations, the surging, wild, storming Upside Down) faded with the caffeine. On his second cup, the black coffee flowed easier, and the bitter taste became comforting.
Without looking up from her side work (now carefully refilling several salt shakers), Alice broke the silence, her voice very, very quiet. “My brother jumped.” Will froze, the coffee burned against his lips. “I—uh I wasn’t there,” she shrugged and added a muttered, “obviously.” The coffee felt scorching against his throat, and Will watched Alice with wide, unblinking eyes. Her hands shook when she unscrewed the next salt shaker. “But, anyway, we’re twins. Well, we were twins. Had some stuff going on—obviously, again— but he kept it all real bottled up, but…you know, the people who loved him knew something was wrong.” She swallowed, Will couldn’t move. “We just…I just…I didn’t think,” her voice caught and she cleared her throat, “I didn’t think.”
She reminds me of Mike, Will thought suddenly without warning. The thought alarmed him, but it was true. True in the halting, mumbled, round-about way that Alice stuttered out her explanation. Because, Will realized, this is her explaining—reaching out. Why she knew what I was doing—thinking. A shiver ran through him for the hundredth time. What I almost did.
Alice swallowed again, and this time she pressed her trembling hands against the counter top without grabbing a new shaker to refill. “I miss him. Desperately. Like I would do anything, anything, to change it, y’know?” Will nodded without thinking. He did know. “But, I can’t. That’s the thing. People are here, and then they’re not.” She sucked her chapped bottom lip into her mouth and chewed on it for several seconds. Will could see blood when she finally spoke again. “My p-point is…my point. I don’t know you, but I do know what you’re going through—or at least, what you’re brain is telling you will help. But,” she sighed quietly, and Will thought he saw a new, watery shine in her icy eyes, “Will, it won’t help,” she whispered, “and you can’t keep it bottled. You have people, and if you don’t—or you don’t want—well…I can be your people, your glass. Empty your bottle, if you need it.”
She met his gaze steadily. Will could feel a tear running down his own cheek. He was so tired. The coffee buzzed in his stomach, and his hands gripped the unfinished mug fiercely. Several moments passed, then Alice nodded, gathered her side work, and left the table. It took another five minutes for Will’s jaw to unclench and finish his coffee. He didn’t see Alice when he made his way to the counter. Another patron sat in a booth, a grizzly beard obscured most of his face, and he had several papers spread out across the table. Will hovered at the register. Alice had said it was on the house, but he felt strange, uneasy, just walking out. He plucked a pen out of one of the cups by the register and twirled it in his long fingers. A small, ridiculous smile spread across his face, and he bent swiftly to drag the pen methodically across a spare receipt.
Thank you for the coffee and pie and for listening
for sharing
for being
and everything else
[accompanied with the note he added a rough sketch of a mug of coffee and a human slumped over with their head stuffed under the coffee’s black surface.]
— Will
When Will returned home after walking Lenora’s streets until 3:00am, he felt an urgent restlessness. The coffee had long burned off. He eyed the phone on Joyce’s desk. Surrounded by haphazard piles of paper and stacks of Encyclopedias. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
Alice’s words ran through his brain. Don’t keep it bottled. Stumbling, Will crossed the room, yanked the phone off the receiver, and dialed the Wheeler’s number by heart.
It rang…and rang…and rang. It’s early, Will told himself. No ones awake. Of course no one’s awake. He clenched his jaw and considered hanging up but then, “Hello, you’ve reached the Wheelers! Sorry we missed you. Leave a message, and we’ll get back to you!” Holly shrieked in the background just as the automated message cut off.
Will smiled despite himself, then the long, high-pitched prompt caught him off guard. “Oh—uh hi. Hi, this is Will. Byers. S-sorry, it’s early,” he huffed and rubbed his forehead hard. “Anyway, it’s Will, calling for…for Mike. Just wanted to talk. Give me a call when you can, Mike. Uh—this is Will, again. Ok, bye.”
His heart thundered as he hung up the phone. It rose in his throat and he swallowed thickly, then took several steps away from the table and collapsed on the couch. Despite the coffee, the racing of his heart, the events of the last 24 hours, Will Byers slept without dreaming. He woke up for the first time in two months without the immediate, crushing weight of the Upside Down. He woke to Joyce on the phone, a cigarette waving wildly over her head as she talked about Encyclopedias. El hovered over him with a finger to her lips and a plate of waffles. Will sat up, stretched, and took the waffles, his stomach rumbling. “Thanks, El,” he said quietly, and he met her eyes—returned her smile. For the first time in two months, the ice in his veins did not anchor into his bones, but instead drifted, free, and without attention. For the first time in two months, Will met Jonathan’s eye, too, held his gaze, and smiled.