[before this chapter begins, i want to say thank you.
this particular chapter was incredibly difficult to write, from the perspective of a young adult who has gone through the same trials will has in this chapter. it isn't easy growing up and trying to figure out who you are, but i think having a supportive mom like joyce probably makes that easier.
thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as it meant to me to write it. i would like to let everyone know that i am going to be transferring this fic to archive of our own, as i received my invite as of late and find it to be a better platform.
i will still continue to update this fic here until it is finished. but would really appreciate, if you use ao3 or read fics there, to check it out over there. i will be posting my fics after this there from now on. thank you, and enjoy.]
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It was nearly full dark before Will heard the gentle blips of a police cruiser coasting down the road behind him.
He was amazed, and horrified just as much, at the way the tiny little stretch of land had practically drawn him in like a magnet. He hadn't even intended to go out looking for such a spot, and he certainly hadn't wanted to visit at any point during his return home. Yet, it was almost like his body carried him on this way even if he wasn't sure it was the right way home. It was, indeed, the right way. He'd come this way on the night of November 6th, the night that fell into his brain like a painted over puzzle piece, still fitting but never quite looking right. He understood that this was the place.
Yes, of course it was, he thought to himself. This was the route he had attempted to take the night that he had fallen and knocked himself into that short, bitter unconsciousness that lasted several days. Beneath his feet were the rocks that wiped him clean. This is it, isn't it? This was where Will Byers died, Will thought to himself as he had approached the twisted metal form that was (had been) his bicycle, and as his fingertips grazed the smashed in remnants of the light that had been installed between his handlebars, he began to cry.
He had sat like that for a while, sitting with his backpack underneath his feet and his tailbone resting poorly on the incline of the gravel ditch behind him. He had the jagged shards of plastic that had been shattered out of the bike's light fixture cupped inside his palms, tears dotting his cheeks for god knows how long until he realized that he could barely see the pieces he had clutched so tightly in his hands. It had grown dark quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just sat there until his cheeks grew dry and he couldn't cry any longer. His posture grew slightly more limp as the moments went by, and he could feel exhaustion working it's way into his bones. A lot of crying in one day for just a young man, he had thought to himself. A lot of crying for someone who had done a lot of crying as it was.
He sat there until it was too dark to try and maneuver his way blindly through the path in front of him, and he sat there until it was dark enough that, when he craned his neck back a bit, he could look upwards into the pitch black sky and see stars speckled across it. It hurt his neck, straining like this, but he could have sat there the entire night just watching the stars like that. The stars had nothing to do but be beautiful, nothing to do but guide on occasion. He wished he had nothing to do but be beautiful, sometimes. Life wasn't that easy, though. He knew that. He wished he had nothing else required of him than that, though. To look nice. He wished he didn't have to see his friends after this, briefly, and that thought made his stomach ache with guilt. He tipped his head back again, however, and observed the stars, and for a brief moment, he didn't feel so awful about the fact that his family, that his friends, Blue, Jonathan; out of all of them, nobody really knew where he was.
Except the cruiser that had turned the corner in that moment, lights flashing brightly atop it's roof.
Will hadn't even noticed it at first, until the officer inside had flicked the lights into their on position and the dim stretch of road that had barely been visible under the scarce amount of streetlights lining it lit up with circling hues of blue and red. Will hadn't even noticed it at first, eyes pinned on the constellations above him until he had heard the gentle yelps of the siren that he assumed had been played to get his attention. As he had dropped his head from it's stargazing position and peered down the road, Will was sure then that he had made a mistake.
Yet in some way, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't nervous, or scared. He didn't even feel little against the police as they approached. He didn't feel anything. For a moment, he'd thought that maybe he had cried all of his emotions out onto the gravel below him. In his aching tiredness, he wondered if kids could get arrested. He didn't know, and in a stupid, saddened laugh, he wondered if that was something he had known before.
By the time Will had drawn himself out of his thoughts, the cruiser had parked behind him and the lights, which had been sending rays of coloured light through the trees like sun through stained glass windows, had been shut off.
Only the headlights remained, just enough light slipping away from the street and into the pathway, even if they were faced away, to hardly illuminate the form of the bike in front of Will. He half expected the police officer to get tired of waiting for him to do something and leave, but as he ran a thumb over one of the tiny shards of red plastic in his palm, a voice from behind Will nearly made him jump out of his skin, accompanied by the soft hiss of a car window being rolled down.
"Will Byers?" a gruff, patient voice spoke up from up on the road. The voice was kind, but Will imagined it held the air of someone who could be just as temperamental. He sounded older, as old as Will imagined a dad would be, and he almost held a patience that a dad's voice would, Will thought. Though his back was turned to the car, Will could imagine that the man was craning out of his window, trying to get a solid look at him. To make his observation a bit easier, Will thought, he turned his head towards the car, squinting slightly from the sudden brightness reflected on the road.
"What?" Will spoke slowly, unsure of whether sir was something he needed to say.
From inside the car, Will could see a faint red glow, fluctuating in the chilly night air like a light controlled by a dimmer. It took Will only a moment to realize that this was the hot end of a cigarette, and as the smoldering dot grew bright briefly, a plume of smoke could be seen escaping the open car window.
"Are you gonna let me take you home to your mom, or are you gonna make me wait?" the man asked once more, shrouded in the darkness of the car. Though the voice held a slight impatience, it wasn't hostile, and as Will strained to make out some sort of face beneath the blackness inside the car, it was like the officer had read his mind. Suddenly, the inside of the car was illuminated by a faint overhead light, and Will could finally get a somewhat good look at the officer inside of it.
Though the light highlighted most of the front seats quite well, the man's face was still slightly shaded on account of the large brimmed Sherriff's hat that sat atop his head. From the features that Will could make out, the man was likely just as old as Will imagined his dad was, if not slightly older. His face was strong and his jaw was squared, faint stubble crisscrossing along his jawline like he hadn't shaved for several days. He was adorned in what seemed to be a typical work uniform exempt the hat; a beige button up work shirt and pants, and atop his shirt pocket, though Will couldn't make out the letters printed on it, there was a name badge.
"Well?" the man repeated, and though Will wanted to obey the officer in front of him, he found that he couldn't make himself budge.
"... What if I don't want to?" Will spoke up slowly, hesitance staining his words as he looked up into the open window of the cruiser. The cigarette situated between the cop's lips twitched slightly, as if he was squaring his jaw in frustration. He sat like that for a moment however, before he gave Will a tiny nod. With the subtle ker-chink sound of a door handle being opened, Will realized with sudden worry that the man was getting out of the car.
As Will watched him climb out of the car at a leisurely pace, he realized that the officer was much taller than he had expected him to be. He had left the car on, oddly enough, and as Will watched the man begin a slow walk down the gentle incline towards him, Will realized that he was probably coming down to usher him into the car. His stomach panged with a sense of anxiety that he couldn't quite place. As the cop closed in just a couple steps away from Will, the boy tensed.
"Don't make me go yet" Will urged suddenly, the words escaping his lips before he could really think about it. The cop didn't have to listen to him and he understood that, but some part of him felt like he needed to beg. He wasn't afraid of going back to see his mother, and he wasn't afraid of going back and having to see his friends. At least, not as much as he was afraid that he had to go back home and see more evidence of the person that he was. He was tired. Too tired to try and forget about what Blue had said to him when he knew he wouldn't be able to.
The cop had stopped walking, however, and was peering down at Will. He was silent only for a moment, before a quiet scoff escaped his mouth.
"I'm not going to make you do anythin', kid" he said in an unimpressed tone, stepping closer once more and crouching down a bit. Though Will instinctively shied away, he understood what the officer was doing once he let out a troubled grunt, sitting himself down a couple feet away from Will on the gravel beneath them. He let out a small huff, and as Will watched him, perplexed, he raised his head and surveyed Will in the half dark, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You're not?" Will said slowly, surprise seeping into his tone.
"No, I'm not" the cop said simply, and from beside Will, as he shifted to get a bit more comfortable, the small tag on his shirt glinted against the light, which ran across the letters briskly, but not too quick that Will couldn't make out the name on it. Hopper.
Familiar, Will thought, the word bitter in his mind. Familiar was everything, and everything was familiar.
Familiar wasn't good enough.
"Hopper" Will said aloud, receiving a diluted response from the officer as he tipped his head upwards. He peered over at the man, watching through the dark for some sort of reaction. He didn't get anything for several moments but the quiet action of the cop reaching down and putting out his cigarette in the dirt.
"Yeah?" The officer, Hopper, replied slowly, unmoving as he observed Will.
"That's you, right? Your name. It sounds familiar" Will explained suddenly, feeling a bit embarrassed by his sudden exclamation as he turned back towards the sight in front of him. His eyes needed to adjust to the dark once again.
"Your mom mighta' mentioned me before" Hopper said plainly, his voice less than unenthusiastic in an all business but not irritated way. Will pressed his tongue hard against the back of his teeth as he stared into the dark before him. She hadn't mentioned the man since he'd gotten home from the hospital, and before that? Well.
"I wouldn't know" Will said slowly, his voice laced with subtle hurt as he grew quiet. The air almost seemed to thicken between them, and Will was working himself up to say something else, something relevant before Hopper had chimed in, his voice slow and quiet.
"What're you doin' out here, kid?" Hopper murmured, his voice gentle, thick with an honest curiosity. Will paused, lips half parted before he let them fall shut, eyes desperately trying to focus on the bike once more after having stared into the light for so long. It was there, clamoring for something to see, spotting the gentle glimmer of the shattered front light on his bike, that Will really stopped to think.
Why was he out there?
"...I don't know."
"... You just like hanging out in the cold for fun?"
Will dropped his head as his gaze fell into his lap, staring into his open hand shrouded in darkness. It wasn't easy to think about why he felt like he needed to stay out there, to keep himself from going home. If he was going home, he was going to have to go home as somebody else. He couldn't go home and pretend like he knew himself and who he was. If he was going home, he had to be honest. About everything. Honest about the fact that while he was relearning the coding that made him who he was, he was learning other things about himself too. Things the old Will likely knew all too well.
"I just... I got upset and I ruined everything and I just... don't want to have to explain myself. I feel like I'm always apologizing because I can't explain what I want or who I am... I feel like..." Will swallowed hard, shaking his head as his words felt like they were welling up inside his throat. He hated feeling like he was speaking to a counsellor, to an adult or somebody that didn't want to hear his type of sob story. But Hopper had sat down next to him, hadn't he? He didn't have to stay, but Will had to say something.
"I feel like I'm upside down, and everybody is angry with me because I can't figure things out. About me, or about them... I don't know why I'm here but it feels like this is where I need to be right now, and that's enough for me. I doubt anybody wants to see me right now anyways" Will exhaled sharply, his voice capturing only a slight, damaged whine as he furrowed his brows, his vision finally adjusting enough that he could see the bike in front of him once more. He observed the crooked bend in the handlebars for the millionth time it seemed, watching anything but the cop next to him.
"You don't think your mom wants to see you right now?" Hopper questioned, his tone a bit dumbfounded as he leaned further forward on his knees, like he was trying to get a good look at Will. Will could feel his throat tightening.
"That's not what I meant."
"You said that you think nobody wants to see you."
"I don't think my friends want to see me" Will pressed shortly, his tone growing slightly more tense as he stuffed the remnants of the shattered bike light into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around his kneecaps.
"You're worried about your friends right now?" Hopper spoke in a rather unimpressed tone, and something about the way he had said it ate away at Will.
"Yes, I'm worried about my friends!" He had yelped, his fingertips pressing tightly into his kneecaps.
"Which is stupid, because they wouldn't be worried about me, would they? They're tired of me! They said so themselves! So maybe I should stop worrying about what they think. Maybe I should say 'screw them' and... and..." Will had rushed, his left hand driving down into the gravel underneath him as he explained himself breathlessly. Was he even allowed to talk to a police officer like that? Did he care that much? Only as he grew more and more frustrated did he realized he had beaten his own odds: through his anger, he could feel his vision blurring again. He wouldn't let them fall this time, though, and to prevent such an act Will tipped his head back yet again.
He wouldn't cry. Not if he could help it.
The air grew heavy for several moments, as the two of them soaked up the words that had just escaped his mouth. After a couple seconds, Hopper cleared his throat.
"Maybe you need new friends" Hopper suggested, his words strained as he tipped his head upwards as well, mirroring Will's movement. Will could tell Hopper was struggling to understand where he was coming from, but deep, deep down he appreciated the effort. From where he was angled, Will could look up and see the stars hovering above him. He didn't want new friends. Maybe he needed them, though. Maybe he needed new friends. A new friend. But he didn't want it.
"He told me that he was tired of wondering if I was going to remember him or not... like he was the only one who was upset about this..." Will whispered suddenly, the words dripping from his lips like a poison. They stung just as much coming from his own tongue as they had when he'd heard Blue say them. He had never wished pain upon anybody, but in that moment, Will wondered if those words had hurt Blue just as much.
"This friend of yours. He said that to you?"
Will nodded.
"Is that why you ran off?" Hopper asked, expecting an honest answer as he twisted towards Will slightly.
With hesitance, but understanding the need to be honest (was it illegal to lie to a cop?) to both Hopper and himself, Will nodded once more.
Hopper sat up slightly from beside Will, elbows leaving his kneecaps as he placed his palms face down on them. He seemed like he was thinking hard for a moment, inhaling and exhaling the cool winter air like he was waiting for some kind of epiphany. After several moments, Hopper let out a long sigh, the man's breath wafting upwards into the cold air in a smoke-like plume.
"Listen to me, because my ass is getting cold and you sound like you need it. Okay? Your friends are hurting. You're hurting too, I can see that. What he's saying, these things he's telling you: he's only saying them because he loves you, kid. I don't know 'em, and I very well may never know 'em. But I can tell you this; he wouldn't be stressing himself out so bad if he didn't care" Hopper spoke, seemingly sure of his words as he watched Will for any sort of a reaction. When he didn't respond, Hopper continued.
"There's a difference between hurting people because you feel like it, or because you can, and unintentionally projecting your pain onto people because you care about them" Hopper spoke slowly but confidently, placing his palms flat against each other and rubbing them gently together as though he was trying to conserve any amount of heat that he could hold.
"They're a hard set of twins to separate. But don't let his words haunt ya, kid. Besides; if I'm wrong and he tries this again, tell him you've got a cop waitin' to kick his butt. You copy?" Hopper finished gruffly, peering over at Will and watching at the small boy nodded, his eyes never leaving the stars as a weak, melancholic smile crossed his lips.
"I.... I copy."
He understood, of course. It didn't dull the sting but it gave the sting an understandable cause, and that felt better than nothing. He would carry on giving Blue the benefit of the doubt if he wanted to or not, but he wasn't going to call the boy. He'd wait by the phone, shamefully at that, but he wouldn't call. Yet, he still wasn't safe from his fears, and though the pain those words had drilled into him was numbed for a moment, his anxiety took another shape.
The only fear that was settling in his stomach now was in the shape of his home, chiselling harsh realities into his gut. Because he did have to go home honest. He didn't have anything more to lose in that moment than his mom and his brother, but maybe that made it all the scarier. It was time, Will thought to himself, knowing deep down in his chest that it needed to happen. He had to be out there for a reason, procrastinating, waiting.
Will had to go home and tell Joyce the truth, or not go home at all. If he wanted to be fair to himself. If he wanted to heal. That's how it had to go.
"Byers?"
Snapping out of his thought process, Will spoke up momentarily, as he noticed his fingers were trembling against his kneecaps.
"Yes?"
"You gonna let me take you home now?"
Through concentrated movements, Will nodded his head in agreement and stood up slowly from the gravel, the backs of his legs and his bottom sore from the sharp rocks he'd been resting on for hours at that point. He watched patiently as Hopper maneuvered himself into a standing position, letting out a sore-sounding grunt as he stretched his back and straightened. As he began up the hill, Will took his time climbing up the slope after him, gravel rustling beneath his sneakers as he stepped up next to the cruiser. Observing the tacky yellow paint that coated it's sides, Will rounded the car to the passenger's seat, only pulling open the door once Hopper had done so himself. His fingers were trembling still, wrapped around the door handle as he tugged it open carefully and climbed inside, the dull scent of cigarette smoke gracing his senses. No matter how much he seemed to press himself into the seat back, though, no matter how much Will tried to distract himself, a confused anger still bubbled inside of him.
Because Will wanted to hate Blue.
He wanted to hate him for treating Will like he wanted his life to fall into line like this; into a consistent path of forgetting and losing track of names and faces and places he had been. The scorned paladin and the cleric with a trackless mind; best friends at some point, Will had been told, but he was finding it hard to believe. Best friends didn't treat each other like this, but Will couldn't bring himself to hate Blue. He couldn't even find it in himself to dislike him, even temporarily. He found that even sitting there, pushing himself back into Hopper's passenger seat like he wanted to disappear into the fabric, Will was primarily angry because he wanted to see him, even after what he had said. Best friends didn't treat each other like that, but they didn't look at each other the way Will and Blue did either.
No, Will didn't hate him.
Will Byers liked Blue.
Out of all the colours under his rainbow, Will liked Blue the best.
For the entire car ride, Will's hands never stopped shaking. And to his fear as they had turned into the Byers' property, nerves already shot to shit, Joyce had been anxiously sitting out on the front porch waiting for the two of them to arrive. Will wondered, with a sinking heart, how long his mother might have sat out there waiting if he hadn't let Hopper take him home. For all she knew, Will thought sickly, he could have gotten hurt again. Or worse.
Will had climbed out of the car quickly, his heart hammering against his chest like it wanted to break right through his ribcage. He was expecting a good solid earful, a lot of questions about where he had been and who he had been with, what had happened, did someone hurt him? He expected it all, but to his sudden realization, he got none of that. Not then.
As Joyce had spotted her son stepping out of the passenger's side of the cruiser, Will could practically see her face change from a look of pure remorse to one of tearful relief. The cigarette she had propped against her knee was dropped as if it was nothing into the damp evening grass, and she had thrown herself up from a sitting position so quickly Will had wondered if she might fall over. Tears, like they had been in position for centuries, immediately pooled against his eyes and dripped down his cheeks, and he hadn't realized he'd broken into a run until he was rushing past the headlights of the car that had been illuminating the deck, toppling into his mother's arms like a landslide.
Joyce had held her ground, her relieved sobs slicing through the winter air like a razorblade as she wrapped her arms tightly around Will, encasing him against her chest as he began to weep. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her, how much he had really cared about getting home until he had gotten there. He had wrapped his arms around his mother in return, completely shutting out everything else that laid outside of them.
Hopper, the cruiser, the house and the trees surrounding the property all became destructible paper shapes inside of his brain, nonexistent to him as he pressed his forehead into his mother's shoulder. He hadn't been able to stop pouring himself out into her arms from the moment she had embraced him, and once he had opened the floodgates, there was nothing he could do to stop himself. He had spoken those two words in every single way that he could, throwing it out there into the night air in terrified whispers like he was pouring his secrets into a bottle.
Every way that the statement could be said, he had said it and apologized for it in return, and he gripped onto her arms so tightly he thought he might break, his breathing escaping his lips in choked sobs only. He was terrified, of what? Of himself? Of the so far, so distant memories of what the mere suggestion of his being had gotten him before? Will didn't know why he was scared of being gay, and he didn't understand why he felt like he should be. Why he felt like it had been engraved into his soul, and when such a thing could have happened. Yet as he laid cradled in his mothers' arms, the two of them clinging to each other like nobody else in the entire world existed, Will had told her what he was, and why he thought he should be sorry for it. He had given himself up, and in eight short words, Joyce Byers saved her son.
"I know, baby. It's okay. I love you."
For the first time since he had been released from the hospital, in that moment, standing in the dirt drive of their home with the police cruiser's lights still cutting through their silhouettes, Will Byers knew home.