𝔸𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕤

ʀᴇꜱᴛᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ⑮

Saturday, November 12, 1983, Hawkins Indiana

The second time Will Byers rose from unconsciousness, he turned his head to look up, where he was greeted with blinding white. Despite the discomfort to his weary eyes, a wave of relief washed over him; there was no light in the Upside Down. Awareness slowly spread throughout his body, as gradually as lapping waves, and he wiggled his fingers, feeling soft fabric brushing over them: a blanket covered his body.

His first cognizant breath left behind a strange realization: a plastic tube sitting just above his lip, a flow of air pumping into his nose. Where was he?

Will's eyes painstakingly adjusted to the piercing light, where two blurred shapes appeared next to him, solidifying into defined, comforting images: his mother and brother, eyes wide with relief and joy, staring down at him with big smiles.

"Hi, sweetheart," Mom said to him, her voice slightly muffled to his ears. Will blinked a few times, trying to lift his head and finding the persistent push of gravity keeping him down. He was lying on a bed, reclined in a sterile room with a window to his right, shades drawn over dimming sunlight. He felt safe, and comfortable, for the first time in a long, long while.

"Easy, buddy," came Jonathan's voice, as his mother's hand blocked the bright light from Will's eyes, resting her warm, alive palm on his forehead. "The doctors said to take it slow."

"You feeling okay?" Mom asked softly, absently brushing his bangs back from his eyes.

Will nodded just a beat too slowly, relishing in the all-encompassing warmth that filled the Right Side Up, even in this clinical room.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse and cracking like radio static. His throat hurt worse than any cold he'd ever had, and he coughed instinctually, feeling his chest seize. His mother tensed at the sound, sliding her hand up to rest comfortingly on the top of his head.

"The hospital," Jonathan replied. The older boy's eyes blurred with sudden tears, but he kept on smiling. "You're home, safe."

He sounded so tired, so relieved, uncanny to the image of the nerdy older brother Will had always pictured in his mind.

Lots of things are gonna be different now, Will suddenly thought, his gaze traveling down to study the faded blue blanket spread over his body. Jonathan's hand rested on his knee, bandaged and bruised fingers curled like he was trying to hold onto him.

A frown tugged at Will's face, blinking as the image of his brother blurred in and out between his aching eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, trying again to sit up and get a better look. It was an instinctive feeling, this concerned worry, unable to help it.

"What, this?"

His brother lifted his hand, literally waving aside his worry. Laughter punctuated his words, shaking his head quickly.

"It's just a cut, nothing serious. Why are you even worried about me?"

For a moment, Will wanted to ask who else he should be thinking about. Then the realization hit him, and a wave of embarrassment engulfed him. He shrugged, then immediately winced, a dull ache permeating his bones. A rising memory of tightly bound vines left a cold feeling in his stomach and he turned to face his mother's concerned gaze, watching her lean over to lift something from the floor.

"We brought you some stuff, so you wouldn't get bored here at the hospital."

A cardboard box landed on the bed next to his legs with a soft thump, filled with stuff Will recognized from his room; books, action figurines, drawings, even cassettes, echoes of the past that felt too innocent for the wounded boy staring down at them now. Studying his wistful expression, Jonathan plucked a cassette from the top of the pile and held it out to him with his good hand.