Chapter Text
The outside of Hopper’s cabin is dark and still, pleasantly warm, considering it’s late autumn. Will never thought that he could feel safe in the woods again, especially after dark, but when he’s sitting on the porch with Eleven by his side, even the eerie shadows cast by the moonlight don’t seem that scary.
In moments like this one, when the night is peaceful and no monsters are lurking from the vastness of the forest, Will thinks that maybe this is it – that maybe they could all stay like this together, in Hawkins, happy, and maybe that everything could one day go back to how it used to be. Then he glances at El, sees the tiniest glimmer of fear in her eyes and gets reminded that after that one evening when he got dragged into the Upside Down, nothing has been the same.
There is no coming back from November 6, 1983.
Now, years later, it’s November again and tomorrow’s the first crawl.
“Do you think Hop’s gonna be okay?” Eleven looks at Will, her voice shaking softly at the edges.
He nods slowly, trying to smile.
“He’s been through worse,” Will says. “Trust me, he’s prepared. We’re prepared.”
And Will really wants to believe in his own words, but truth be told, when lives of their loved ones are at stake, they can never be too sure. It’s them against the rest of the world – the government, the military, and the supernatural.
“I’m strong enough,” she sighs, her words carried off by the feeble gust of the wind. “I could go there with him, I could protect him, everyone knows that. I have superpowers, for fuck’s sake!”
“El!” Will giggles at the word “fuck” coming out of her mouth. It’s so strange seeing her act all grown-up and confident – a million miles away from the quiet girl in Lenora.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, but she smiles regardless.
A comfortable silence falls between them. The night is calm and there is nothing that could potentially signal that danger is looming over Hawkins again. Well, maybe it isn’t. Or maybe they could forget about it for a second and pretend that everything was just a stupid nightmare.
“Don’t worry, El, everyone’s on Hop’s side. We won’t let anything happen to him,” Will places a hand on her shoulder. “Mom, Jonathan, everyone is going to watch over him.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she nods to herself, trying to brush off her worries. “I just don’t understand why Hopper won’t let me come with him. I’m useful, Will. I can throw stuff with my mind, literally no weapon can compare to this.”
“He cares about you,” Will says. “And he knows that you’d be of great help, but he doesn’t want to put you in danger. You know what the Upside Down is like, and with the military swarmed in there, it’s even more risky,” he pauses for a moment to look at her. “They’re looking for you, El, and we can’t let them capture you.”
Eleven smiles at him again. In the faint moonlight and the dim glow spilling from the window, her pale face feels like Will’s own reflection. It’s always been bewildering to him how similar they are despite not being siblings by blood. They share a bond that no one else is able do understand – their lives seem to have paralleled one another since that one star-crossed day. The day Eleven appeared, and Will disappeared.
It’s always been about November 6.
“Let’s go inside, I think our cookies are ready,” Eleven gets up and reaches out towards Will to help him stand up.
When they get back inside, the cabin is filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate that brings back memories from the good old days – it’s Joyce’s recipe, the one that Will has used many times before, whether it was when he helped his mom or when he baked together with Mike at his place.
It’s just cookies, Will tells himself, but he can’t ignore the fact that even the thought of the memories makes his stomach flutter.
“Are you okay?” Eleven asks, opening the oven and taking out the tray.
“Yeah,” he admits, sitting up on the kitchen counter. It’s so domestic like this. “It’s the cookies… They just remind me of-” he cuts off.
“Of?”
Will wants to say “Mike” and “childhood”, but somehow it feels like a secret that he can’t let himself spill. He doesn’t want Eleven to get the wrong idea. He can’t let Eleven get the wrong idea – after all it’s her boyfriend, and sure, there is nothing wrong with baking cookies together, but in Will’s head anything connected to Mike seems intimate. Forbidden.
Too bad El can read Will like an open book.
“Of?” she repeats herself, frowning.
“I dunno,” he shrugs, trying not to look her in the eyes. “Me and Mike used to bake them together, you know, when we were younger,” he tries to sound as nonchalantly as possible, but he fails miserably. His cheeks suddenly feel hot.
“Ugh, don’t even mention him,” Eleven sighs, not looking up at him from the cookies she’s been putting on two separate plates. One for herself, and one for Will.
Will’s stomach drops at her words, but before he gets the chance to ask further questions, she leaves the kitchen and heads for the living room where Hopper and Joyce are watching TV.
“We’re gonna head out to my room,” she says with a plate of cookies in her hand. “Want one?”
“Oh, honey, they smell delicious,” Joyce grabs one without hesitation. “Thank you.”
Hopper looks at her suspiciously at first, but takes one himself.
“It’s good,” he says, chewing loudly. “But it could have more chocolate.”
“Oh, shut up,” Joyce nudges him gently before turning back to El again. “They’re perfect, sweetie. Hop just has no taste.”
“Says the woman I chose to date,” he chuckles quietly.
“Oh my god, stop it!” Eleven groans and she signals with her head for Will to follow her. “We’re going. Night, guys,” she smiles, about to step out of the living room.
“Hey!” Hopper stops her. “Three inches, remember,” he says admonishingly.
Joyce rolls her eyes.
“What?! C’mon, Hop, don’t be ridiculous, it’s Will,” she highlights his name. “It’s just a sleepover, and besides – he’s her brother now.”
Hopper mumbles something under his nose, eyeing both of them. Why on earth would Hopper possibly consider Will having any sort of inappropriate relationship going on with Eleven? Gross.
Then, thankfully, he admits: “Okay, sorry, you’re right,” and with a nod, he lets them go. “And don’t stay up past midnight, tomorrow’s a big day.”
Eleven’s room is cosy as always, but Will can’t shake off the feeling that something has changed since the last time he was in there. It seems bigger somehow, perhaps less cluttered than it used to be. There are no posters and no pictures on the walls besides one painting from Will. Her desk, once crammed with handmade figurines and other trinkets, is mostly empty now. There is only one frame with a photo of her and Max quietly sitting in the corner on her nightstand.
When she notices Will looking around, she begins to explain.
“Just been redecorating. My old room didn’t feel like me anymore, so I decided to change a couple of things,” she says, sitting down on the bed. “It’s not finished, of course. I’m not that boring,” she giggles. “I asked Robin to pick up some prints for me, but they aren’t ready yet.”
There is one question bubbling up in Will’s mind that, if left ignored, would feel like an elephant in the room.
“What happened to all the stuff from Mike?”
Eleven looks up at him, her face twisted in a crooked smile.
“Will, we-” she starts carefully. “I broke up with him.”
I broke up with him.
The sentence hits Will like a truck. It echoes in his mind, making him feel dizzy to the point that he has to sit down to steady himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.
“We’re on good terms now, I think,” Eleven admits, playing with a loose strand of her hair. “I just- I loved him, so much, I still do, but-”
I loved him, so much, I still do.
“I thought about it. A lot. And I realised that this love, my love for… for Mike, isn’t any different than the love I have for you, for Max, for Hopper, or anyone else in the party. What I mean is – it wasn’t exactly, you know… romantic.”
It wasn’t exactly, you know… romantic.
“I just think,” she pauses for a second and it seems like she’s trying to study Will’s face, “That there is someone else, somewhere out there, who he needs more, in- in that way,” she offers him a small smile with something inexplicable hidden underneath it, “and I’m not that person.”
There is someone else, somewhere out there, who he needs more, in- in that way, and I’m not that person.
The room falls silent and suddenly it’s suffocating, because Will should say something, anything. He should comfort her, hug her, but his ears are ringing and there’s a static buzz clouding his mind.
“El, stop,” Will breathes out finally, shaking his head. “You don't know what you're talking about. You’re- you’re like everything Mike has ever wanted. You’re pretty, and cool, incredibly cool.”
“Oh, I completely agree,” she chuckles. “I’m the coolest. But I’m not his dream-come-true or anything like that.”
“El, I-” Will begins, trying so hard to keep his voice steady. “I’m- I’m sorry. I just don’t really know what to say.”
Eleven smiles.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Really, I’m not even that bothered.”
Will raises an eyebrow.
“It was mutual, you know. Mike, he- he agreed with me. I mean, we didn’t really work anyway, it was better for both of us to- to just stay friends. Actually-” she pauses. “I’m shocked he hasn’t said anything to you about it yet. It’s been like what- a month now? I think so.”
“A month?!” Will’s jaw drops to the floor. He nearly knocks the plate of cookies off the mattress with his hand. “And you didn’t say anything?!”
Eleven giggles again, leaning back against the wall. There is something genuine in her laugh that tells Will she’s actually being honest with him.
“Yeah, it just didn’t seem that important,” she admits.
“It didn’t seem that important? El! It’s about your boyfriend!”
“Uh huh, my ex-boyfriend,” she snorts. “Will, seriously, I’m okay. More than okay, actually. I feel… I feel so free now. I don’t have to fit within Mike’s expectations anymore, and, don’t get me wrong, but they were, uh…” she trails off, trying to find the right words. “I think I would never be able to be who he wanted me to be.”
Will looks at her and there are so many things that he wants to say, to ask, to admit. But he remains silent again, unable to come up with anything that would even remotely make sense in this situation. It doesn’t really matter though, because Eleven smiles and for a moment it’s like they understand each other without words, it’s as if her gaze speaks “I know, Will” and “I’m not mad” at the same time, but she doesn’t dare to say it out loud either.
The panic thumps against Will’s ribs, but he pushes it down. He has to be her brother first. “You shouldn’t have to change yourself for somebody else,” he says softly. “You’re enough, just the way you are. And if Mike doesn’t see it, then fuck him.”
“That’s bold of you,” she says, grabbing Will’s hand. “But seriously, whatever. Enough about Mike, he’s so last season already. Come on, I’ll show you something.”
And she drags Will through her room, stopping in front of the wardrobe.
“Do you remember that one flea market where I went with Joyce and Robin when they promised to take me shopping?” she starts looking through her clothes.
Will nods slowly.
“There was this absolutely beautiful set, and honestly, it wasn’t even that much of my style, but-!” she takes out one particular hanger. “It reminded me so much of the pink dress we stole from Nancy years ago. Look, isn’t it just perfect?”
It is, Will wants to say, but stops himself, because for an unknown reason, the baby pink colour and the delicate frills make him blush. What is happening?
“Wow, El,” he manages to gasp out. ‘It’s… pretty.”
Eleven frowns, but her expression softens upon noticing Will’s pink cheeks.
“So pretty,” he says quietly before he can bite his tongue.
Eleven giggles.
“It comes with…” she starts rummaging through her wardrobe again, “this beautiful…,” she throws some random pieces of clothing on the floor, “beautiful-” she stops in her tracks. “There it is!”
It’s a beautiful pink bow. It’s not anything too specific, but the tails are neither too short nor too long, and the material looks soft, so soft. It looks like the perfect hair piece.
For a girl, of course.
And Will tries not to stare at the bow. He really does. But it’s just… so pretty.
“Here,” El says, shoving it into his hands.
Will flinches like she’s handed him a live grenade. “What? No, El, I can’t-”
“Just hold it,” she orders, turning back to the wardrobe. “I need to find the shoes.”
Will stands frozen, looking at the pink silk resting now in his sweating palms. It’s terrifying. It’s ridiculous. His thumb brushes against the trim of the bow, tracing the soft curve of the loop, and a shiver traces down his spine. It’s not just the colour, it’s the texture. It feels… delicate. Like something that belongs in the hair of a cute girl, not in the hands of a boy.
He should put it down. He should throw it on the bed and step away. But he doesn’t. Something inside him feels drawn to the bow. He lifts it slightly, just enough to see how the light of the lamp reflects in the silky fabric.
“Do you like it?”
Will jumps. El is watching him cautiously with a pair of white Mary Janes dangling from her fingers. Will panics, but then he realises that she isn’t judging him. Her head is tilted, eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.
“I-” Will stammers, his face heating up again. Oh god, this is so stupid. “It’s… The stitching. It’s very precise.”
El snorts. “You sound just like Hopper.”
“It’s true!” Will defends himself. He looks at the bow again, and then his gaze drifts towards the dress hanging on the door of the wardrobe. “It’s a nice dress. For you. You’ll look great in it.”
“I know,” she says simply, cracking a smile. She drops the shoes on the floor and steps closer, reaching out to touch the bow that Will is still clutching. “But I think this would look good on you.”
Will’s breath hitches. “El.”
“What?” She takes the bow from his hand. Before he can stop her, she holds it up against his collar, right where a bowtie would normally sit. She hums, her eyes narrowing as if she is analysing him. “It matches your skin. And your eyes. It makes you look… soft.”
Soft. The word hangs in the air. For most boys in Hawkins, being called “soft” is an insult. It means weak. Fragile.
But the way El says it, it sounds like a… compliment.
“Boys don’t wear bows, El,” Will whispers, the protest weak even to his own ears.
“Why?”
“Because,” he gestures vaguely at himself. “It’s just… rules. You can’t just put a pink bow on a boy.”
El frowns, looking at the bow, then at Will again. She looks genuinely confused, like he’s trying to explain complex maths to her.
“Fuck the rules,” she decides.
She turns him around, physically spinning him by the shoulders until he’s facing the small mirror above her dresser. Will stares at his reflection. He looks tired and strangely pale, even though he could swear that he was blushing just a moment ago. El’s standing behind him, grinning and holding the pink ribbon against his hair.
It shouldn’t work. It’s absurd.
But for a split second, Will stops looking at the boy in the mirror and just looks at the colours – at the hazel of his eyes, the sudden strawberry flush on his cheeks, the baby pink complimenting the shade of his brown curls.
It is pretty.
“See?” El whispers, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Pretty.”
Will swallows the lump in his throat.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, terrifyingly honest. “It is.”
El grins, satisfied. She pins the bow in his hair.
“You can borrow it,” she says, casual as anything, as if she hasn’t just dismantled Will’s entire worldview in thirty seconds. “If you want.”
Will looks at himself in the mirror again, then he touches the bow that’s now resting in his hair peacefully. It looks so harmless.
“I-” Will says, and he still doesn’t know what to say. The panic is clawing at his throat again, screaming that boys don’t do this, boys don’t look pretty. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “El, if someone sees-”
He reaches up, his fingers trembling as they hover over the clip.
“Door is locked,” she says softly. She catches his wrist before he can undo her work. “It’s okay, Will. It’s just us.”
Will freezes. His eyes meet hers in the reflection.
Just us.
Here, in this room, with the blackout curtains drawn and the world shut out, the rules of Hawkins don’t apply. There is no Mike here to look confused. No Hopper to clear his throat. No Lonnie to call him a-
Slowly, Will lowers his hand.
He tilts his head to the side. The pink ribbon catches the lamp light again, bringing out the warmth in his face. He looks… pretty. A pretty boy.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Just for a minute.”
El smiles. She pulls away and flops onto her bed, patting the duvet beside her.
“Come on. You have to help me choose the shoes. Mary Janes or sneakers?”
Will turns away from the mirror, but he doesn’t take the bow out. He walks over to the bed and sits down, the clip feeling light against his head, almost as if it weren’t there at all.
“Mary what?” he asks, his voice a little steadier now.
“Mary Janes. The white ones,” she explains.
“Oh, then absolutely. They match the embroidery on the hem,” Will smiles.
“See?” El grins, kicking her legs. “You have better taste than Hopper. He told me to wear sneakers.”
Will laughs, a genuine, bubbling sound that surprises even him. He reaches up, his fingers grazing the bow one last time, just to make sure it’s real.
And for tonight, in the safety of this room, it is.
The morning comes eventually.
The sun spilling through the gap in El’s curtains pries Will’s eyes open. He groans, burying his face in the pillow to escape the brightness, but he stops in his tracks when he realises that he feels like he’s being watched.
Will blinks, trying to unglue his eyelids. The room is hazy with dust motes dancing in the light.
He feels heavy. His limbs are tangled in the duvet and his neck is stiff from falling asleep halfway off the mattress. Beside him, El is still out cold, snoring softly with a random fashion magazine tented over her chest.
Will rubs the sleep from his eyes and squints towards the door.
Mike is there.
At first it feels like a figment of his imagination, like a part of his dream partially materialised in the real world. Will blinks. Once, and twice. But Mike doesn’t disappear.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his denim jacket. His expression is uncharacteristically soft, his lips parted slightly, eyes tracing the scene. He looks like he’s been there for a while. Maybe a minute. Maybe ten.
Will shifts, making the mattress springs creak.
Mike jumps like he’s been shot. His arms drop to his sides and he straightens up immediately, the soft look turning into panic.
“I-” Mike stammers, his voice cracking. “Joyce said to come in and wake you guys up.”
Will pushes himself up on his elbows, heart hammering. “How long have you been standing there?” He still tries to keep his voice quiet – he doesn’t want to wake up El.
“Like… a second,” Mike lies. He is, after all, a terrible liar. “I just got here. Literally just now.”
Will rubs his face, trying to wake up his brain. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Mike takes a hesitant step into the room, just as if he is driven in by an invisible force. His eyes drift away from Will’s face, moving up, up, until they lock onto something on top of Will’s head.
Mike stops. He blinks slowly.
“What?” Will self-consciously pats his hair. It must be a disaster. “Is it bad? Bed hair?”
“Is- Is that…” Mike breathes out, his voice turning impossibly gentle. “Is that a bow?”
The bow.
The memory crashes into Will like a train. He must’ve fallen asleep with the stupid bow in his hair and now he’s sitting in front of Mike Wheeler, who has been staring at him wearing a baby pink bow.
His cheeks burn.
“Oh my god,” Will gasps.
His hand flies up to rip the bow out. He wants to die. He wants to dissolve into the mattress and disappear from the surface of the Earth.
“I didn’t- El was just messing around- I forgot it was-” he starts explaining, frantically messing with the hair piece.
“No, wait.”
Mike moves fast. He crosses the room in two strides, tripping over a pile of clothes, but catching himself just in time to reach the bed.
He grabs Will’s wrist. His fingers are warm, wrapping loosely around Will’s hand and guiding it away from his hair.
Will freezes. Mike is right there.
“Mike, let go,” Will whines, his voice shaking with humiliation. “It’s ridiculous. It’s pink.”
“I know,” Mike says softly. He lets go of Will’s wrist, but his hand doesn’t retreat. “It’s really pink.”
Will breathes out. “Please, stop looking at it.”
“I’ve never seen you look like this,” Mike’s voice drops to a whisper and in Will’s head it sounds oh so intimate.
Will’s heart is beating so hard he’s sure Mike can hear it. “Like what? An idiot?”
“No,” Mike tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over the pink bow and the way it softens Will’s messy morning hair. He looks completely overwhelmed like he’s staring at the sun. “You look… soft.”
Soft.
There it is, that word again.
Will stops breathing.
“Soft?” Will squeaks.
“Yeah. And…” Mike bites his lip, his eyes dancing around Will’s face, darting between his eyes and his mouth. He looks like he’s in physical pain, trying to hold the words back. “And really pretty. Like… pretty pretty.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Will feels dizzy.
Mike called him pretty.
Mike seems to realise what he just said, because he steps back, looking horrified and confused at the same time.
“I mean- cool. Pretty cool. That’s what I meant,” Mike stammers, his voice pitching up. “Not- I mean, it is pretty, obviously, objectively, but I just-”
Before Mike can dig his grave any deeper, a loud, unladylike snort erupts from the bed beside them.
They both jump like they’ve been electrocuted.
El is awake. She’s propped up on her elbows, hair a complete mess. She looks up at Mike slowly, then she turns to look at Will, and in the end her eyes land on the bow. A smug grin spreads across her face.
“Told you,” she declares, her voice thick with sleep. “Pretty.”
“El, shut up,” Will groans, burying his face in his hands, though he’s smiling so hard it hurts.
El looks at Mike, who is now standing awkwardly by the bed.
“You were staring,” El points out bluntly. “For a long time.”
“I was not! I was just- I was-” he can’t seem to find the right words. “Joyce told me to wake you up, okay?!”
“Liar,” she singsongs. She stretches her arms over her head, cracking her back, and shoots Mike an unimpressed glare. “Good morning to you too, asshole.”
Mike’s jaw drops, though he looks incredibly relieved for the distraction. “Hey!”
“Asssssholeeeee,” she repeats affectionately, stretching every syllable and giggling as she grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at his face.
Mike catches the pillow with a huff, tossing it back at her. He glances at Will one last time and his eyes dart back to the bow once, and twice, then away, like it burns him to look at it.
“Be ready in ten, both of you.”
“Sure, mom,” El groans.
“Hey! It’s not funny! You know what day it is today.”
And he’s right. Today’s the crawl and they have to get out of bed and face the danger again, but for that short moment when the sound of their mixed laughter fills the room, everything is okay.
Will sits there for a second, listening to Mike’s retreating footsteps. His heart is still racing, but the shame is gone. He reaches up and touches the silk bow. It’s so silly.
He isn’t ready to show it to the rest of the world yet, but he doesn’t protest anymore when Eleven says “Take it. It’s yours now.”