Bound By Shadows 3 | Will Byers x Reader (Fem)

~ 44 ~

The road to the Byers' house smells like dry grass and summer rain that never fell. Hawkins slides past my window in sun-bleached strips: the gas station sign that's missing an "E," the field where we used to cut across to the quarry, the old telephone pole with the spray-painted heart that Will swore looked like ours.

Steve drives like he always does when he's trying not to make me nervous—steady, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming soft rhythms on his thigh. He talks for the first few minutes—about Family Video, about Robin's latest crusade to alphabetise everything—but his words dissolve into the hum of the engine. He knows I'm not really hearing him.

It's been a month since I stepped outside without flinching. The light feels too open, the sky too wide, like something could fall out of it any second. My pulse lives in my throat.

"You sure about this, firecracker?" he asks, eyes still on the road.

I nod, staring ahead. "No."

He huffs a laugh that's more breath than sound. "Good answer."

When the Byers' house appears, my lungs forget how to work. The moving truck crouches in the driveway, its back gaping open, swallowing the last pieces of a life. The lawn is worn into muddy paths from all the back-and-forth. Jonathan and Nancy are wrestling a mattress through the doorway, both of them sweating, both refusing to ask for help. There are no movers, no strangers. Just family doing it themselves, the only way the Byers ever do anything.

Steve slows, parks crooked on the curb, leaves the engine idling like he's giving me one more escape route. "Looks like they've got it handled," he says lightly, then glances over. "You okay?"

I'm gripping the sleeve of my jacket so hard my knuckles have gone white. "Define okay."

"Alive," he says.

I try for a smile and fail.

He reaches over, squeezes the back of my neck the way big brothers do when they don't know how else to say I'm proud of you. "You'll regret it if you don't go in. You know that."

"Yeah."

"Then go."

The air hits me like a slap—warm, earthy, full of dust. The house looks smaller than it used to, the paint sun-faded, the windows blank. My throat closes around a thousand memories: birthdays, sleepovers, late-night phone calls from Will when monsters were real and we didn't know what to do about them.

Jonathan looks up first. "Y/N?"

Nancy's head snaps around. The mattress thumps to the ground. "Oh my god," she breathes. "You came."

Jonathan smiles, that quiet half-grin that always made him look older than he is. "Hey, kiddo. Been too long."

I want to say something clever, something light, but the words stick. "Couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye."

He nods, the understanding in his eyes hitting harder than any hug. "Come on in. It's chaos, but... it's ours."

Nancy wipes her palms on her jeans, steps forward, and pulls me into her arms. She smells like soap and cardboard. "We missed you," she murmurs. It's simple, but it cuts through everything that's been frozen inside me.

I step past them into the house. The air tastes like dust and tape. The living room's stripped down to its bones; sunlight slides through bare windows and paints gold rectangles on the floor. The hum of voices drifts from deeper inside—boxes thudding, laughter, someone cursing at packing tape.

"Y/N?"

Max stands at the far end of the room, hair braided back, freckles bright against the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes widen, then she breaks into a grin so fast it looks like relief. "Holy shit."