Chapter Text
There was a locked door in the Creel House.
Holly was frantic when she explained— “Okay, I lost count of the days I spent there since these people—” she shot a glare over her classmates who'd looked away, “—fought me and pushed me over the stairs, but way before that when Henry left me alone, there was this door. I asked him because he told me I'm free to ask about anything, but he just told me not to bother with it since it's his bedroom. I mean, it's strange if I go there, right? But I did try to open it and it's locked.”
They were in the WSQK Station with the kids, so it was crowded and nary a space to move comfortably. The couches were filled with the kids and the girls, so the boys and the men were left standing behind them, listening to Holly spinning the tale of what went on in Camazotz. Mike was nursing the cut on his temple, hissing softly.
El leaned forward, “Did you knock?”
“Um, no,” Holly said. “That is very stupid of me, actually! The other kids don't know about the door since Henry never left us again when he brought the others, but I do know about it. But I think, when I went there, I could hear sounds like someone moving.”
“Wait—” Robin began to pace, “Oh my god. What if he's keeping something there? Someone? Like, obviously, in horror movies there's these basements, right, where the serial killer keeps their victims! Obviously this Henry—”
Dustin groaned, “It's Vecna—”
“Vecna or whatever, he's obviously keeping someone!” Robin said, eyes wide. Everyone was looking at her strangely, and she began to falter. “Well, that's what I know, but I'm having strong feelings about this. Someone's behind that door. You did hear like someone's moving, did you?”
Holly looked offended. “Of course I know the sound of someone moving! I have a loud ass brother who moves a lot at night!”
“Hey!” Mike called, and he was nudged by El, smiling. “And why can you hear it, huh? What are you up to late at night?”
“None of your business—”
“We're getting sidetracked,” Nancy interrupted, and Mike and Holly gave each other looks. Nancy had always been the killjoy, the Nancy Drew she was. Even after she became cool with her guns and bombs, he knew she was still the same stuck-up as before. “Okay, what kind of look was that?”
Holly and Mike, together, “Nothing.”
El cleared her throat, and everyone silenced like usual whenever El had something to say. She rarely spoke so whatever she had to say, it was taken seriously. “I will get to this door and try to open it,” she said carefully, like she was testing the words in her mouth. Her way of speaking grew more natural compared to when she'd first escaped from the lab, though.
Mike frowned. “We’re not sure if it's a victim, though. What if the person there’s his accomplice instead? You might be getting into a 2v1.”
“He's right,” Hopper agreed, surprisingly. That old man rarely agreed with whatever Mike had to say, deeming all his words bullshit especially during ‘85. He mellowed a bit, but he'd still give Mike glares whenever he and El were hanging with each other like he wasn't the same with Joyce. Hypocrite. “Your sister's going with you.”
“Obviously,” Kali said. She stood up, “Let's go. We don't have time to waste.”
Nancy crossed her arms. “So we just wait here?”
“If you have powers on your own, you're free to go,” Mike said. Nancy frowned at him, but Jonathan held her hand, murmuring something to her. Mike watched as she calmed down, rolling his eyes, fake-gagging.
“What the hell's wrong with you man,” Lucas nudged his shoulder, following the rest filing out of the room. Apparently they were going to watch how El prepared, so Mike groaned and followed, wanting to tend to his injuries instead but there was no one else left aside for Derek, who snored loudly, and Robin, the babysitter, so he was left with no choice.
“They left,” Will murmured, looking out of the window. The kids had disappeared into the woods, and just thinking about the monsters they'd inevitably encounter made him sigh. He'd tried to escape once and he'd only gotten so far up to this cave until he met the monster, which was a huge flesh-like spider. “I would've wanted to meet them.”
“You wouldn't have been permitted otherwise,” Henry said beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “It’d be too dangerous if they saw you. You're better off here and besides, now that they're gone, you're free to leave your room.”
It made sense. Will smiled at Henry and kissed him on the lips. Ever since the kids arrived, he had to stay in his room with Henry bringing him his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They'd dine together, but Will would've liked walking inside their house. Henry comforted him though, telling him it wouldn't take long.
“But where did they go?”
Henry brushed the stray hair strands out of his eyes. “A worrier as always,” he murmured.
As if being a worrier was bad. Will stood up and said, “I'm going to clean, then. Those are children you brought here, surely they made a bit of a mess.”
Henry merely hummed in the midst of his kisses on his neck.
Will turned to the dresser to brush his hair. It was early in the morning when Henry had gone in and peppered his face with kisses even if he'd just woken up, and Will hadn't gotten the opportunity to brush his teeth or fix his hair yet. His hair had gotten past his shoulders so it was a bit troublesome, but Henry liked it that way so he'd let it that way.
Henry caressed the small of his back, “Stop ignoring me.”
Will smiled helplessly and reminded Henry of his supposed duties that was cleaning the house, before Henry let him go with a sigh. Will then went downstairs, sighed at the mess he had totally expected from the kids, before he went to the closet and fetched the cleaning supplies. He covered his hands with yellow cleaning gloves, put on an apron and a mask, before he began to mop.
“Well, now I'll go and retrieve the kids,” Henry said, putting on his Fedora hat. “I might be late, but you'll wait for me for dinner, will you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Will mumbled. “Now go. You're always going.”
Henry planted a kiss on his lip, “I always return, so you don't have to worry.” Then he was out of the door. The door shut close behind him, and there was silence. Will leaned on the broom he was holding, staring at the doorway longingly. These days, Henry had been so busy with a lot of things— those kids he brought, which Will would overhear some interesting stories from like school gossip about who’s crush was who, or just plain conversation between friends like if they wanted to share a room. He remembered having a friend once, though he'd forgotten his name. At the very least, he remembered his face. Their faces.
Henry left him some tapes to fill the house with melody. Will swept, dusted, mopped to the beat, humming under his breath. When he was finished he put back the supplies back in the closet and returned to his room, closing the door behind him. Henry had made it a point to lock it because the kids were natural curious beings, and they’d poke and prod even at your expense. They weren’t here now, but he’d remembered, a long time ago, that there were monsters that could shapeshift and could enter their home.
He went to the bathroom, towel on his arm. After he cleaned he’d always take a bath— it was always like that, wake up, eat, paint something and then clean up his room and then the floor below, and finally the bath. It was a routine he’d grown used to several months ago, and there were instances he’d get bored with it which was where Henry would come in with his kisses and his hands and his—
Will turned on the faucet of his bathtub and stared, watching it get filled. The moment he was satisfied with the amount of water, he stepped in, sighing at the warmth on his skin.
He wondered when Henry would return. Will had always felt something was missing without him.
He got up from the bathtub, dried himself, and changed into comfortable clothes. Dress shirt tucked into black slacks, hair on his shoulders.
Today, he planned to copy some references from the book he’d found in the library. It was a nice book, full of travel photos from across the globe. The people, different from each other yet the same, and how the way they dressed was connected to the climate— it was very nice, and he sat down in front of his table, plucking a pencil from the penholder.
When drawing, it was always important to begin with light sketches so they’d be easily erased. Light pencil strokes, loose hands— he was in no rush today, the rustle of the leaves quiet and peaceful outside, so he’d try to do a quick watercolor study. His watercolor had always been weaker compared to oil and acrylic, not liking its faded colors. He’d always preferred those that stood out, vivid and colorful, compared to the pale and opaque.
Anyway, light strokes. He should also play some ABBA to wake himself up, his eyes drooping in the slightest since his bathing. He reached for the player and inserted the tape, hearing the first notes of Angeleyes. Well, this was a sleepy song too, but he’d forgotten to retrieve Dancing Queen downstairs and he didn’t have the energy to rise and descend there, having already set up his workspace.
He fiddled with the edge of his sketchpad and leaned back on his chair, sighing. It was alright, it was a good song anyway. He increased the volume until he could hear nothing but the song and not even the scratch of his pencil on the paper. Looking good, but the edges of the mountains weren’t copied to a t from the book so he erased them and began again, lowering the volume slightly so he could focus, when he heard knocking.
Will stilled and turned. It came from his door, but Henry would never knock, having his own key.
“I know someone’s there,” a girl's voice. “We just want to talk.”
Will didn’t speak. They were aware of his presence here, but he didn’t know if they were visitors or just someone lost. Several days ago he’d seen a red-haired girl peeking from between the trees, squinting at the house which Will told Henry about. Henry had been grateful for his interference then, telling him about strays but Will didn’t know if this person— this girl— was a stray, too. Strays revelled in mischief, and they steal and they control and they manipulate you into thinking things you’d never consider before.
“Just remove the door, goddamn it,” a sharper girl’s voice rang out, a bite in it. The beating of his heart grew erratic.
“Maybe they’re scared,” the girl from earlier spoke, accompanied by two knocks. “We want to talk. Please.”
Will slowly stood up, tucking his hair behind his ear. The girl sounded nice, and she spoke a bit like Henry. Slow, mellow, and calming. He placed a hand on the doorknob and retrieved his key from the pocket, inserting it into the keyhole. They were conversing among themselves behind the door, he could hear, though it was quiet enough. He twisted the key with a click.
“See,” the girl with a slow voice said, and the door opened wider, revealing their faces. Her eyes raised, and they met Will’s. She dressed strange, like in the illustrations of the book he’d read about swimwears. He didn’t know what to think of her, and he looked at her warily, keeping his hand on the doorknob. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Will said.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. The girl was elbowed on her arm by the other girl, who had olive skin and shaved head. Her eyes were sharp and clear, like her voice. Finally, the swimwear girl cleared her throat. “My name is Eleven. Or El.”
“She’s Jane,” the other girl said. Jane— or Eleven, or El, too many names for Will— glanced at her from the corner of her eye, frowning mildly, but didn’t say anything. “I’m Kali.”
Will didn’t move from his spot, no plans of making them enter. He only knew their names, and nothing about them proved they were to be trusted, even if Jane told him hi which was a nice gesture. “Are you a stray?”
Neither of them answered his question, which wasn’t nice. Jane stepped forward, making Will back away slightly. “How about you? Your name?”
Names were important. That was how you refer to other people, how other people refer to you. Without a name, you were nothing. Henry was telling him a lot about it the moment those kids arrived, murmuring under his breath how each person— each of those children— had half of their identity enclosed within their names. It was also polite to give your own name when the other person had given theirs, a sign of mutual respect and the invitation to know each other better.
“Will,” Will said. He had forgotten his last name, but neither Jane or Kali had given theirs.
“Will,” Jane repeated. “Your name— it is familiar.” Then she turned to Kali, “Mike said it, once. Or twice. His best friend who died, the one I failed to save.” Her words were quiet but Will heard them anyway, blinking at the other name. Mike— he’d heard it somewhere, or he might’ve read it from his books. He’d read a lot, but he'd lost the memories of some of the previous books he’d read.
Will licked his lower lip. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re saving you,” Jane said. It made Will all the more confused. “We don’t know where your body is, we didn’t see it in the Abyss, but we can wake you up, at least.”
These people weren’t making any sense, no matter how hard he tried to. He saw Jane’s lip curl down. “I'm sorry,” he tried to assure her. “I just don't understand.”
“Come with us,” Kali said. “You'll see then. I don't think you're going to understand unless you see.”
“How about the monsters?”
“We’ll protect you,” Jane said, and there was something about her that made Will ease up a little.
“But my—” Will paused. “I need to write Henry a note. I could only go outside when he’s there.”
Jane and Kali looked at each other. Will left them to that and went to his desk, pulling out his pencil and sticky notepad. A hand stopped him, and he looked back.
It was Kali. “Don’t. Henry’s waiting for us, anyway. Look at this—” She rolled up her sleeves and held out her wrist, where a tattoo was placed. 008, which was similar to Henry’s, who had 001. “Jane has one, too. We’re his sisters.”
Will’s eyes widened— he’d thought their way of speaking was similar to Henry’s. So that was it, they were his sisters, but Henry had never talked about his family though— but Will hadn't either. It was only fair.
He pushed back the sticky notes back to where it belonged and sighed. “Where are we going?”
Will had been taken from his home, that much he knew. For the meantime before he was saved by Henry, he fought for his life against the rafflesia-faced flesh monsters in the alternate dimension with only a rifle as his weapon. He'd resorted to throwing branches at them, but they’d just get angrier and therefore, more dangerous. He had decapitated a bunch of them, too, and he remembered checking on their corpses before he ran, recalling the stores he’d get guns and bullets from.
Before Henry, he had to settle for canned goods with spores in them or those packed lunches with also spores in them. He couldn't afford to be picky, but it was a good thing since he couldn't afford to be picky in normal Hawkins too. They struggled with money and they had to settle with what they have so with everything so tight-knit, selfishness like being picky wasn't possible.
Hawkins in this alternate spore-dimension was extremely similar to the Hawkins he’d known, everything copied to a t. It was a small town and everyone knew everything about each other, the only interesting thing happening was talking about each other’s lives. His mom was a very cheerful participant, and he couldn’t even talk to his friends through the telephone since she was hogging it during day offs, barely home when she had a shift. Her favorite gossip partner was Mrs. Wheeler.
Will looked around him before he darted underneath the bushes, squinting at their home. This was where he’d go whenever the monsters encircled Castle Byers. Staying here was very risky because it was extremely small and if he’d been cornered against a wall, he’d be dead but today— there was nothing here, and he’d checked a lot of times during the day— or at least he assumed a day since there was no concept of time here, with the clocks not working.
He went inside with bated breath, finding the steps towards his room. Still there, but very untidy and full of spores and vines crawling on the walls. He kept his backpack on his back when he laid on his bed, and he just laid there on his side, staring at the wall, warmth beginning to flood the corner of his eyes.
He knew of hell, the opposite of heaven. It was where bad people go, their souls burning alive for the rest of eternity, a bad place with death and loss and mourning, or evil and monstrous beings. His mom didn't believe in hell, brushing it off as nonsense whenever someone with nice dresses and nice pressed shirts would knock on their door, carrying bibles under their arms. They'd tell her about heaven and hell, or Will, during that one time when neither his mom or Jonathan was present and he was alone. He had opened the door to their faces, and he'd been reluctant to refuse them, not seeing the harm in listening.
Hell— this was where sinners go. Those who'd killed, those who'd cheated, those who'd lied, those who'd—those who'd liked someone they weren't supposed to like, those who'd worn something they weren't supposed to wear.
Will squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his rifle tighter. His father had been right all along. He should've just stopped with his nonsense, stopped hiding behind his mom whenever he'd try something from her wardrobe, looked at Mike the way other boys shouldn't look. If he'd listened— if only he'd listened, then maybe he wouldn't be here, hugging a rifle instead of his pillow, staring at chipped and rotten walls and not lightly peeling ones.
What was happening to him— he only had himself to blame. This was his fault, for not having stopped the way he was.
He rubbed his eyes with his arm and got up, flinching at the small rustling sound he'd made. Staying at one place for a long time wasn't sensible, he'd learned quickly. He should go. Will stole a sad look at the bike he'd abandoned at their home— he'd used it once to travel between places quickly, but it was an old rusty thing and very noisy, and it had gotten him into trouble quite a lot. From them on he travelled on foot.
Hand on his rifle, he moved forward. Distant howls filled the place, spores floating around him and sticking to his skin. His whole body itched and his clothes stuck to his skin, sweat and grime mingling together. He'd went to Lovers’ Lake once to splash his face some water, knees deep to soothe the strain on his feet, but a clawed hand gripped into his ankles and dragged him down, his only saving grace being the boulder he'd quickly gripped on and latched on for his dear life. His feet were now full of deep scratches and scabs due to it, but thankfully he had his rifle with him during the time and relentlessly shot until the monster faltered, loosening its grip. He never went to any body of water since then.
The doorbell chimed when he entered the firearm store. His supplies were dwindling, and he'd lost count of the bullets he had. He was pretty sure he'd inserted almost all of them in his rifle, but he didn't know how many had been used. Will searched through the shelves for the bullets of Mossberg 144LS, keeping his footsteps and hands light.
He reached for a box into the shelf, not realizing the twisted metal of the shelf jutting out until it cut through his palm, drawing out blood. Will paled, hearing the distant screeching growing closer, loud footsteps invading the peace inside the storeroom. His hands shook and he pulled away, searching frantically for the bullets, sweat building in his palms as he gripped the rifle.
The glass door shattered with the monster barging in, and Will shot it once, twice, loud guttural screaming and screeching, a clawed hand digging into the shelf and throwing it to him. Will continued to shoot until he could no longer do so, index finger repeatedly pulling but with no shots ringing, the monster drawing in dangerously closer. He was between shelves so he ran out into the back, heart pounding in his ears, grabbing a pocket knife from the display and hurling it to the monster. It looked at it, tore it out of its chest, and threw it to the side. Will grappled for an axe but his arms shook when he held it, nearly falling on his knees. No, no, no—
The monster uprooted the shelf from the ground and hurled it at him, and Will avoided it, now on the side, but now he was blocked with a shelf beside him and another on his side, and the only way out is through the monster. Behind him was the display of the weapons— he grabbed a knife and hurled it, just knife after knife and the monster continued to let out screeches and guttural sounds, but doing nothing. Will held onto his rifle and squeezed his eyes, blinking rapidly, before he took a shaking step forward.
He slammed the butt of his rifle on its face continuously, another and another, not stopping until he could inflict some significant amount of damage, and he was probably so focused on his task that he didn't see the clawed hand coming for him in the corner of his eye, slashing on his hand and making him drop the rifle, a loud clatter on the porcelain floor. Blood flowed on the back of his hands and his eyes found the knife the monster tore out earlier and dropped down to reach for it, but the monster had already anticipated what he'd do, throwing him into the display, several weapons falling beside him.
The monster zeroed in on him, rafflesia-face wide open his head could easily fit into. Will grabbed the axe and stood up with shaking legs, but stopped, eyes wide.
The monster— it was suddenly raised from the ground, limbs stretching downwards and its head stretched up, and to Will’s surprise, its limbs began to snap on its own, twisting and cracking, its head twisting to the side before it dropped. Behind the monster was a man with white clothes, smiling at Will.
He stepped over the monster and kneeled in front of Will, cradling his face. “You've been so scared, haven't you?” He said, thumbing on the tears on his cheeks. “You don't need to worry about anything anymore, William. This new world I'm seeking— this new world I'm working on— there will be a place for you, and for the both of us. Will you come with me?”
Something twisted inside Will’s chest, and he sobbed, nodding. The man took him in his arms gently, carefully, like he was something to be taken care of, like he was someone special and worth keeping. Will buried his face on his chest, crying his heart out until he fell asleep.
The walk to these said caves was long. Longer than Will had anticipated, though there wasn't any monster yet. He should've gotten Henry to walk with him longer around these woods— the air was crisp, the leaves crunched nicely under his feet, and there were birds and butterflies perched on branches, looking on at them. Henry and him— the most they could walk in these parts were ten to fifteen minutes, Henry glancing at his pocket watch from time to time before they walked back to their house the moment their time was up.
“Will,” Jane called. He looked at her. She pointed to his neck with a frown, “You have bruises. Did Henry hurt you?”
Will’s cheeks heated up, hands covering said bruises. “They're—” he said, “They're nothing. Henry’s not hurting me. There's just… lots of bugs in the house.”
Kali glanced at them and said nothing. Jane squinted at Will but didn’t push on. Will was thankful— he didn’t know how to explain everything that was between him and Henry.
They continued to walk. It felt nice, just walking like this. It would've been nicer if he'd brought his watercolors with him, or just his sketchpad and some of his pencils, and they could stop on their way to the caves they were talking about. What they'd said earlier, about saving him— was there something in the house he didn't know, or about the kids? Henry was busy with the kids but Will didn't really know his plans for them but behind the door, they were happy, and they were playing board games according to what he'd heard, dressing up and then with boys, play-fighting.
The tall grass scratched the exposed skin on his ankles, and he stopped to palm at it.
It was all red and itchy. He looked around for a pond, or just some puddle, but didn't see anything. Guess he'd just suck it up, then.
Kali turned to Jane, “How far are we?”
Jane fiddled with her blue bracelet, “Half.”
“Do we have to hurry?” Will asked. He really wanted to explore more, like an adventure in those books. The last time he went out to explore these woods alone ended up being terrible but with Jane and Kali here, Henry’s sisters, maybe he could replace that memory.
“Henry's not so patient with us compared to you,” Kali said, which made Will frown. Henry was a very patient person to him, surely he'd extend that to his sisters? “And the monsters might not be here now, but they'll be if we continue to slouch.”
Will forgot about the monsters. He felt safe around Kali and Jane— he'd forgotten about the dangers. They were alright to be around, and they weren't overwhelmingly talkative too. He'd never talked to anyone except for Henry for a long time, but he'd hear those kids in the house and they talked so fast it exhausted Will. Henry talked slowly so it was a change. Not a bad one, though.
“Henry brought some kids,” Will brought up. “Do you know what happened to them?”
“We saved them too,” Jane said. They kept on saying that— save, yet he didn't know where they were saving him from. He didn't know a lot about anything nowadays and it made him feel— it was just, he could be trusted, but maybe Jane and Kali didn't trust him yet. He was a stranger to them, he understood that, and they were strangers to him but— he exhaled. “What’s wrong? We will take you to where they are.”
He knew some of their names. Holly, Derek, Mary, Josh— they were the loudest, and he'd even recognized their voices. Derek was a rude kid with a potty mouth, but sometimes it was so funny Will found himself laughing behind the door. Holly was this leader type— heroic— he remembered her calling herself once. Mary was Holly’s friend, only involved in conversations since Holly was always dragging her around according to her words— “stop dragging me around! Holly!” and then Josh, well— Holly liked him.
Will was familiar with crushes. This was prevalent in the tiny amount of romance novels in Henry’s library— which was a bit hypocritical of Henry since he was the most romantic person he'd ever met— but crushes, it was a concept most often explored. Fast beating hearts, physical contact emitting electricity within nerves, the locking of eyes, the averted gazes, the hidden smiles and the dreaming of the person you desired at night. Will was very familiar with crushes— he was literally living with him, but childhood crushes— now, that was something cute.
There was something tender about childhood and just childhood experiences in general. It was a shame he could barely remember any of it.
Will shook his head and cleared his thoughts. “Where are the kids?”
Jane glanced at Kali, and Kali nodded. “Okay. They are in Hawkins— the real world. Henry, the real Henry, he's also there.”
Will inhaled sharply. “The real world?”
Jane looked him in the eye. “You are dreaming right now, and you need to wake up.”
The man’s name was Henry.
“This is my home,” Henry said, gesturing to the gorgeous house in front of them. Will held onto his rifle, shaking, even as Henry’s hand remained gentle on his shoulder. The house was two-storey, a stained-glass door in front. “Let's go, Will.”
Their footsteps were quiet when they entered. Henry didn't release his shoulder, staying with him the whole time even as he ushered Will into the dining room, making him sit on his right since he sat on the head of it. Will’s hands remained on his lap, looking at the dishes already inlaid in front of him. Scrambled eggs and waffles, a cup of maple syrup beside it.
“You like them, don't you?” Henry said, sliding an empty plate towards him. Will took it, then the spoon and fork he was given. “You must be very hungry.”
“How did you know?” Will asked.
“I've always known it, Will. Just like your name,” Henry said. He gestured to the scrambled eggs, “Eat.”
Will ate. He put the scrambled eggs in his mouth, tasted it, and chewed. It was good, miles different from the spore-infested bread he'd shoved into his mouth or the moldy lunchables he'd taken from the stinking refrigerators in the grocery. There must’ve been something in his face since Henry smiled, pouring him a glass of milk.
The room Henry provided him was big, and it had a bathroom in it. Will used it to bathe, rubbing himself thoroughly and ridding himself of the sweat and thick grime he'd gotten from the spore dimension. Afterwards he clothed himself with the prepared robe and got out, shivering. Henry was sitting on the bed, holding his rifle. He looked at Will, “I could teach you to aim properly, if you want.”
Henry knew a lot of things. He knew how to draw— and was excellent at it, looking over at Will’s shoulder occasionally whenever he drew, pointing out some details, correcting them. Will was grateful for it— he'd never had a decent art teacher since the one in Hawkins High was often absent, bailing whenever he could. With Henry, he could improve, even if Will would feel his face redden whenever his back made a contact against Henry’s chest.
Right now, they were situated in front of the house. Will had the canvas Henry bought for him set up, the art materials— also from Henry— beside him. He picked carefully among the pencils and picked one of the thinnest ones— 4H. When drawing, it was important to make the first strokes light for it to be easy to erase.
“Very good,” Henry commented upon seeing the preliminary sketch Will had made. “What medium will you be using?”
“Acrylic,” It was Will’s best. His color mixing was still a bit mediocre, not getting the color he wanted after many tries so he’d just stop mixing, knowing how expensive it was. He couldn’t have his mom noticing he was getting lighter in weight because he’d skip lunch to save.
“Acrylic it is,” Henry said. “Acrylic is the best, no? I prefer acrylic too, but oil does wonders.”
“I wanted to learn oil too,” Will said, remembering himself glancing at where the oil paints were, then seeing the price. He shook his head and put down his pencil in favor of the paintbrush. “Forget it, please.”
Henry hummed and didn’t say anything.
Henry would leave occasionally, leaving Will on his own devices. What Will would do during those moments was explore the entire house— every corner, every nook and cranny, every floor and every door. Henry didn't forbid him from doing anything except to leave the house, and he also left him some movie tapes to watch on the television in the living room. By his second week of staying there, he could map the entire house in his mind.
There was a small library beside Will’s room. The walls were covered by bookshelves packed with books with no gap between them. He should've figured Henry was well-read, given the way he speaks. Intelligent, graceful, charming— like it was said by a character from a book, but not in that odd way Mike often did. Mike loved to write so naturally, he’d learned that somewhere through reading but the things he'd read were comics about superheroes and they were not something to be found within Henry’s library.
But Mike— Mike was Mike. Will found him stupid sometimes but, well, he doesn't know. He doesn't know why he felt like squirming or why his heart was beating this fast just by thinking of Mike. Really doesn't know why his heart ached, too.
Will plucked one book from the shelf. The Little Prince. He flipped the book until he was face to face with the back, blinking at the huge font. This was a children’s book, but the illustration on the cover looked nice so Will took it with him to one of the tables. Mike said something about his choice of books, that Will always picked something that had nice illustrations, that he'd insist buying the dusty one in shops because it had nice art and not like those Mike would push towards him, with rippling muscles and punching and kicking. Will then learned to never take Mike’s opinions at face value because afterwards, he'd insist on paying the book for Will and there was that weird feeling again. That twinge.
Will sat down and read. It was originally written in French but it was actually both published in English and French. Will knew nothing about French except bonjour because there were girls in class giggling about it since their English teacher’s pronunciation was exaggerated when she tried comparing the intonations between English and French. She made them repeat some words too, like awe, and the whole Party was still laughing about it after class.
The Little Prince was finished quickly, so Will stood up and returned it to where he got it from. The moment the book slid back into place, his neck tingled.
This was one of the new things he'd experienced this week, in this house. Whenever he'd feel it, Henry was bound to come. And just like clockwork— the door to the library opened, revealing Henry with a package on his hands, a smile on his face. Henry would bring him gifts whenever he returned, and almost all of them were awesome, like he was watching Will. Most of them looked expensive too, so Will was a bit guilty. He'd tried apologizing, saying he didn't have to but Henry merely comforted him, saying it's alright.
It was odd, but— it also felt nice.
“Will,” Henry greeted, “I figured I'd find you here.”
“Mr. Henry—”
“Henry is fine with me, Will,” Henry said, caressing his thumb on the spine of The Little Prince. “But if you insist on Mr. Henry, I won't mind either. Anything is fine with me.”
“Okay. Henry,” Will said. The tingling sensation lessened, but it was still there. He'd noticed this feeling yesterday, but he quickly managed to connect it to Henry since it only ever faded whenever Henry wasn't here. It wasn't per se a negative thing— more like a positive, even, because back when he still didn't have this ability, Henry would open the door to him changing and it was embarrassing, Will didn't even hear him, lost in his own mind.
Henry was very tall. Will’s neck would strain, trying to meet his eyes, but he thought Henry saw him struggle with it since he'd lean his head down slightly for them to talk properly. Will had never been treated this way before, and he felt something pinch in his heart.
“I have another present for you,” Henry said, placing the package on the table. As always, Will couldn't guess it. The previous gifts he had received were art supplies, an expensive DND kit— it was a bit of a downer since he had no one to play with. He could imagine Mike and Dustin and Lucas’ faces once he pulled it out, playing nonstop for days— then shoes, cassette player. “Would you like to guess what it is?”
“I don't know,” Will said timidly. “I've never guessed your gifts.”
Henry chuckled. “Why don't you try?”
“Uh,” There wasn't a pattern for Henry’s gifts. The cassette player was very random as well as the shoes, although the DND kit and art supplies were very predictable since Will was known to love it. Henry had told him he'd been observing Will before, which Will initially found weird but he eventually counted it as fine because Henry said he'd known Will liking those things since he was observing him in the Upside Down to save him. Will would draw sometimes to comfort himself, hands shaking with breath trembling, or murmur the words of their previous campaigns to not feel alone.
“It's alright, no need to think so hard about it,” Henry said. He pushed the package onto Will and handed him a cutter. “Open it, then.”
Will cut into the tape and unfurled the cover. Henry was smiling beside him when he peered into the box, stuttering a little when he saw what it was. A yellow nightgown. Those silk things he'd only ever seen rich people wear, light as a feather and so nice in the skin. There was a cap included with a fluff on its tip. Will took it from the box and spread it out— it was long sleeved, the hem just around his ankles, and the hem was stitched with fluff, too. It was very simple but very beautiful.
“Oh,” Will murmured, folding it again and gingerly putting it back on the box. “It's very… pretty.” Girly, not befitting. But it'd be rude to point it out, so he remained quiet.
Henry leaned in. “I have a request, though.” Will looked at him, wide-eyed. Henry put a hand over his hand, and it was very warm. “Will you wear it tonight? For me? I want to see how it looks on you.”
“Okay,” Will agreed easily. It was a simple request.
When he first came here, nighttime didn't exist. It was a weird thing to observe since Will could see the hands on the grandfather clock changing, turning, while the skies remained the same. At six in the evening, Will was looking up at the 9 AM sky. If it wasn't for the clock, Will would've thought everything was happening in one singular long day. It messed with your head, and it had messed with his head enough he wasn't touching his food during his dinners with Henry that Henry had noticed.
When Henry had asked, Will felt stupid. Maybe it was just him the skies wouldn't change for, not seeing him worthy of seeing its beauty at night. He'd read, once, that some places had no concept of nighttime— daytime, too, which was messed up— and he'd thought this place was one such place but Henry had prompted him to talk, gently coaxed him, and words soon spilled out of Will’s lips.
The day after, Will had thought he was dreaming when past-4 in the afternoon, orange and yellow began to color the skies, shifting to purple near 5 PM and by 7 PM, it was reminiscent of spilled ink with the familiar moon looking down on him.
It also made him wonder where exactly he was—
“Will? Are you finished? Dinner is ready.”
Will blinked, his reflection in the full body mirror looking back at him. He was donning the nightgown Henry had bought, the cap bunched on his hands. He didn't know if he should wear it, it seemed excessive when he was just coming down for dinner and going to sleep afterwards, but it was included in the box for a reason—
Henry knocked once. “Should I come in, Will?”
“No, I’m— I’m okay,” Will said, turning once more to make sure. Make sure of what, he didn't know, just— it was a very pretty nightgown, but he'd never seen boys wear it before. Was it even proper for him to wear this? It was definitely what girls would wear, not him. It felt very soft like he was wearing feathers, and his slippers too, fluffy white with rabbit ears on the tip. Everything was so… extravagant. That seemed like a fitting word.
He heard a chuckle from outside his room. “Don’t be shy. It’s just me.”
Will took a deep breath before he made for the door, opening it. Henry was there, hands on his back. He didn't look any different except for his clothes which were his typical suit and tie, and he'd discarded the Fedora he often wore.
Henry scanned him from head to toe. “It suits you. I was a bit unsure about your size, but it seemed to fit you nicely.” Warmth flooded Will’s cheeks. His eyes flicked to the hat, “Are you not going to wear it?”
“I'm— not sure,” Will said. “Maybe I'll just wear it when I sleep later.”
Henry smiled. “Of course, Will. It might even hinder you from eating later,” he said, placing an arm around his shoulder and beckoning him downstairs. “Might even fall on your food, no?”
It was their routine. The gifts eventually stopped, but only because Will had told him. He didn't even need some of them, though he was taking the time making use of them since it was Henry’s money and he couldn't let it go to waste. He didn't know how much money Henry had but the house— it was big and spacey, nothing like their house back in Hawkins unlike this one— something only rich people could afford. But just because Henry was rich didn't mean that Will would let him pour everything on him, it was just— despicable, and if his mom knew about it she'd definitely scold him.
Money in their household was scarce and here he was, wasting another person’s. But Will had told Henry to stop and he listened. Thankfully, he listened. If only more people listened to Will. Mike listened to Will, too, but he was also very insistent sometimes but it was understandable since he was the de facto leader of the party but— it was nice, to be listened to.
Henry was nice.
He was dreaming, they told him. They said that everything that happened— everything he’d experienced, everything he’d felt, everything he’d worn and everything he’d eaten— were all part of a huge, elaborate dream. Will’s first instinct was to deny. The second was silence.
If he thought about it, if he really thought about it, what was happening to him was almost dream-like. A man like Henry— charming, gorgeous, caring, understanding, everything about him was just dreamy. He was everything Will had wished for so surely, surely something must come to disrupt what had been going on. Henry was perfect and he was Will’s, and Will should’ve learned perfection wasn’t meant to be his. The house, the life they’d built— it was perfect, down to the core. He must’ve known something was amiss. He must’ve known something this good was bound to be fake.
There was this memory, inside his head. He was inside a makeshift fort filled with drawings and faded blankets, and he was with a woman with a blurred face. Her voice was warm and playful, careful and tender hands, and she’d tuck Will under her chin and hug him. It was a buried memory, but everything about it— it was… it felt like a dream. That woman was his mom, he knew deep inside him, but she wasn’t here and she’d forgotten about him, and everything— everything that was good to him were bound to end up as dreams.
They stayed in this homely cave with trinkets and blankets and scavenged items for a while before they decided to move on, trekking across the vast desert. These two girls, they told him he’d wake up from this dream. He’d be in Hawkins, the real world, and Henry would fade— his memories with him, everything they’d done together, they’d stay here, in this world.
Will had always gotten into trouble for being realistic. In the distant past, he remembered getting into trouble with a monster and he’d even roped Henry in, wanting to— to— he’d forgotten why he was so persistent in going outside some distant months or years ago, but after that encounter he’d never wanted to stay outside for more minutes or hours than required. Henry told him he’d nearly died, and wasn’t that another proof of Will’s stupidity?
This one. These girls— they were giving him something again. Another one he could decide to take or refuse.
“So,” Kali said. Their eyes were on the hole on the ground, and the ladder leading further down. “Here.”
Henry was the most amazing thing to happen to him, but Will had never been able to bode well in dreams. With Henry, he felt complete. Like everything that Will was lacking could be found within him. It was amazing, and it was so good. Henry made him happy. With his kisses, with his gifts, with his touches, with his words. But— Will had never been able to remain in one place. He always longed for the woods, for adventures. For bikes and campaigns and outside, like the landscapes he often drew.
Will tucked his hair behind his ear and began to descend down the ladder.
There was a dead person in front of him, carrying a briefcase. In front of the person was a boy scout, with traces of blood connecting them. Not far from them was a rock drenched with blood, and Will quickly connected it to the boy’s bleeding hands and the man’s temples looking like someone carved it with something.
“So you lied,” Will murmured. “Henry didn’t ask you to get me.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “Henry is a bad person.”
Will said nothing. He knew how Henry was— he’d never been anything but good to him.
They stopped in front of a bunch of boulders, and between those boulders was a gap. Compared to the dreary sand he'd seen outside, this one was all red— red storms, red skies, and— sightless eyes, jaws hanging open, twisted limbs and death. Will looked away, cold sweat gathering in his temple. He’d known this would happen. He’d known what he’d see once he continued with his wanting to go outside, to leave.
“Henry killed a lot of people,” Jane said. “One of my friends nearly died because of him—”
“I’ll ask him myself.” Will cut her off, a hand on his nape. If he was going to find out about Henry’s murders and killings or anything else, it wouldn’t be from strangers. He’d hear from Henry himself.
He heard Kali scoff. “Fine. To go to Hawkins, they said to remember your favorite song. Or happy memories.”
Jane swallowed and nodded. She stepped forward, raised her hands, and removed the boulders to widen the opening to the red dimension. Will didn’t look back when he crossed the portal, chest pounding loudly in his ears. If everything they’d told him was true, he’d face it. He wouldn’t look away, and he’d—
Henry.
Henry. Will found his clock pendant necklace, bringing it to his lips. The storms above him, the lightning, the bats flying above— he didn’t care. Not when Henry— Henry.
Oh, god. He needed Henry more than ever. He never wanted to feel the tingle on his nape more than ever. Will missed him terribly, and everything— he needed Henry to tell him everything. His lips on his skin, his promises, those words he’d murmur about how they’d be together forever in this new world. He needed Henry, and he needed no one else but him.
These murders Jane told him— he wanted Henry to tell him himself. Whether it be falsehood or the truth, he wanted to know. And he’d know. He’d find Henry— the real Henry, in Hawkins.