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klausinamarink · 1 year ago

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One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 8)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 | next: Part 9 | ao3

The meeting we’ve all been waiting for… (also wow it’s already October what the hell. Plus it’s whumptober so this feels very fitting ^^ also sorry for the slower updates, I’ve started work again and it’s hectic to even get the writing energy after shifts, especially when I’m also doing a couple fan events)

Will carefully moves his hand around the drawer, brushing against the items inside and feeling their shapes for something familiar. When he finds it, he takes his hand out all the more slowly as not to brush his elbow against the vines that are keeping the drawer half open.

In his hand is a Zippo lighter. This one is bigger than his palm with a dragon engraving. The sight of it makes Will’s heart skip a beat. This one. This should work too.

He slips it into the pocket of his vest. It clinks against the other Zippos he had collected. On his way out of the trailer home, Will hops over the thickest vines on the ground as the residents chatter.

“Don’t forget about the fish.”

“I won’t, Bella. Are you stopping by the Byers kid’s funeral today?”

“What?” Will asks aloud, stopping in his tracks.

“Maybe, but I’m not sure I can attend the wake after.”

“Why? You and Joyce have a feud I don’t know about?”

“None of your business, Cody. I just don’t feel comfy about apologizing for nothing to a woman grieving her dead son.”

Will stays a moment longer but the couple’s conversation is already over, heavy footsteps echoing across the floor and to the gravel outside. He follows, but not before waving a hand on the light-switch, watching the lights in the living room burst into glittering orange in quick succession.

“Goddamn electric bill…”

He takes that cue to leave.

It’s a stomach-turning daze on the walk back to Eddie’s trailer. The couple had just mentioned a funeral. His funeral. But that can’t be right! Funerals happen when someone dies and their body has to be buried. And Will’s still very alive right now and his mom knows that!

And if Mom knows he’s alive, then she must’ve told Jonathan and the Party. And if they all know, then the school and rest of Hawkins wouldn’t make up a funeral for him.

Right?

He swallows down the urge to vomit. It’s suddenly harder to breathe. Will thinks it’s another coughing bout but nothing happens. It just feels like his chest is being squeezed.

He hurries faster. He doesn’t want to leave Eddie alone for too long.

Once he’s back in the trailer, he tiptoes his way into Eddie’s bedroom. He hasn’t been there before in the first visit, but it’s so full of posters, books, cassette tapes, and a red oddly-shaped guitar hanging on a wall. When he had first stepped in here, Will understood why Eddie didn’t want anybody to know he listens to David Bowie because there’s not a single poster of Bowie or The Clash anywhere. Only scary looking metal bands with similar clothes as Eddie.

Eddie’s still laying on bed, his back to the door. The same position he’s been in when Will had left.

Will slowly comes up to him and gently pats on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything because touching is enough confirmation to say I’m back.

It’s like when Dad yells at Jonathan and his brother would be completely mute for the rest of the day or even the next day, not liking it when Will tries to talk to him.

“It’s not because I don’t like you trying to make me feel better. I just hate hearing someone talking to me when all I can still hear is Dad.” Jonathan had explained to him gently. Will had understood and hugged him, promising not to talk on Jonathan’s bad days.

Seeing Eddie becoming blank-eyed and not talking after weeping for what felt like hours had brought Will back to his brother’s bad days. So when Eddie couldn’t get up at first, Will made him get up and took him back inside where Eddie had let go of his hand and disappeared into his room.

It makes Will angry. Not at Eddie but at his uncle. Eddie had talked about his uncle Wayne like he was the best guy in the world and he left. He ran and never came back despite hearing Eddie on the phone.

When they get out of here, Will is going to punch Eddie’s uncle in the knees. Maybe. He had never hit anyone before.

Leaning against the bed, Will sits down on the floor and gets out the Zippo lighters he had collected. He has twelve in total so he organizes them in two rows of six. He picks the first one up and tries to catch a light.

It doesn’t work.

He puts it on the side and picks up the next one.

For about every two minutes, Will tries a lighter and sees if a flame can work. Sometimes it catches but only for a brief second. When a lighter does work, he flicks it off and on again to check if it’ll do it again, only for the spark to fail. This happens to Zippos number four, seven, and nine.

Even as the lighters dwindle with no success, Will keeps his hopes high. He has a crazy plan that he’s sure Eddie would love and he really wants it to work.

Number eleven is the one with the dragon design. He sucks in a quick breath and flicks it on.

The flame appears immediately before his eyes.

Will gasps, suddenly unable to flip the Zippo lid on. It looks much more brighter than the others, almost the same glow as the lights. Despite its small size, it illuminates the room, casting shadows as it flickers.

He takes another breath and closes the Zippo. He clamps it tight between both hands. Please come back.

As the Zippo flicks open, its flame returns.

Will can’t help but emit a happy shriek, “Eddie! It works, it works! The lighter works!”

He turns around, hoping to see Eddie sitting up wide eyed and shrieking back in excitement. But he still sees Eddie’s back.

The smile falls from Will’s face. He clicks the Zippo shut. Then he flips it open again, stretching his right hand out enough so it wouldn’t get burned. He looks at the now-orange wall as the shadow of his hand mimics a rabbit’s head.

“Look, Eddie the Elder Traveller.” Will whispers. He “hops” his hand, making it disappear and reappear on the silhouette of Eddie’s back. Then he moves his fingers so it would look like a fox. “The fox is about to get the rabbit.”

Eddie doesn’t move.

A sudden thought strikes upon Will: What if Eddie’s dead?

He lunges himself onto the mattress, barely careful to turn the lighter off. After an ‘whoompf’, he turns on his side to actually face Eddie. He flicks the lighter back on and sighs in relief when he sees Eddie’s pupils immediately dilating.

“See, Eddie? We have light. I can make a real fire to scare the monster off.” Will tells him in a hushed tone. Watches for any more movement or reactions.

Nothing. Even his breathing is too small to notice.

Will closes the Zippo, shivering when the tiny warmth disappears. It’s getting colder the longer they’re here.

Eddie finally moves.

Will almost says something, but Eddie’s face is unchanging even as his arm wraps around Will and pulls him close to his chest, Will’s head tucking under his chin.

This close, Will can feel Eddie’s heartbeat - slow and almost not there..

He gulps, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. He lets himself stay in the hug before he taps Eddie’s arm. He whispers, “I have to get up.”

There’s a small tremor across Eddie’s body. Will feels him slowly shaking his head and tightening his arm.

“I promise to come back. It’ll only be a few minutes.”

Eddie shakes his head again but stops. Then he makes a tiny whistling sound like a sigh before his arm loosens. Will slowly shuffles away, watching Eddie’s face as he gets off.

The only change of expression is the glossy look in his eyes.

Will squeezes Eddie’s hand one, two, three, four times. He forces himself to look away and walks out of the room.

On the kitchen counter, the pile of dirty towels and broken wood pieces remain besides a tall bottle of cooking oil as he had left them. Will takes a deep breath and gets to work.

—

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Wayne’s courage to come back at his front door. Every attempt to turn the damn doorknob gives him the goosebumps and shivers down his spine. He’s fairly certain his trailer is haunted and the ghost in there doesn’t want him in.

But Wayne has to go back inside. He needs to collect his suit for Will’s Byers funeral later in the morning. It’s a public invite and Wayne wants to give his respects for Joyce Byers.

He cycles through deep slow breathes before he finally twists the doorknob all the way and steps in.

He expects the living room to be a mess, if the ghost is a poltergeist type. But it’s the same as last night. Not even his mugs are misplaced. Though he can practically taste the new weight of the atmosphere.

He hurries over to the hallway closet, which is a corner away from Eddie’s room. There, the weight presses down, slipping into his throat as if he’s choked with the depression. The same feeling he gets whenever Eddie has an awful day and wants to be out of Wayne’s sight.

Wayne’s hands are carefully still as he finds the black suit at the very end. It’s a little wrinkled but he doesn’t want to stay longer to iron it.

As he changes in the living room, the light in the kitchen flickers.

He freezes. Watches the light flicker slowly and than rapidly.

He finishes in record time and gets the hell out before the ghost gets another idea.

—

Will listens to the rumbling echoes of the truck driving away. He kicks at the front door again, imagining it to be Eddie’s uncle’s knees.

It’s really frustrating to get someone who isn’t Mom to do more than notice their lights going crazy and ignore it.

Will closes his eyes, takes more deep breaths, and tries not to get mad. Once he’s feeling more calm, he goes back to packing the new torches. He’s made about five, which is enough to fit the small satchel he found in. It’ll be heavier to carry, but he can do it.

He’s both excited and cautious about using fireballs in real life. He knows it’s going to be different than playing in D&D, but Will the Wise always uses fireball as the first and last chance to finish the fight.

Will the Wise had missed. Will Byers will not.

As he returns back to Eddie’s room, the older boy is still lying in the same position. Will wonders if Eddie had even heard his uncle come in and out.

His eyes fall on the box of tapes, somehow untouched by the vines. Then he looks over to Eddie’s desk where a Walkman lies with dust.

An idea pops up.

He makes a quick move to the tapes. He’s almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of them (Eddie probably has more than Jonathan!) but he lets himself pick one by random. It’s too dark to read the band name but it has three angels sitting and smoking.

He grabs the Walkman next. He pops the tape inside and presses play. It immediately starts to life, a song playing loud through the headphones.

Will pads over to Eddie, contemplating if he should slip the headphones on. He places them in front of Eddie where he could see it, exclaiming, “Walkman still works!”

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to sit up. Slowly and robotically, Eddie picks up his Walkman and slips on the headphones. His gaze remains dull and downcast. Will tries hard not to notice the tear tracks cleaning his dirty face.

He steps closer and gently takes Eddie’s hand, limp across the lap. “We should go back to my place.” Will’s not sure if Eddie can even hear him, through the music or not. But Eddie gives a small nod anyway, although he doesn’t stand up until Will tugs him to move.

Will squeezes Eddie’s hand three times as he leads them outside. The demogorgon isn’t here so there’s a bit more luck on their side. Maybe it’s finally leaving them alone?

He says this aloud to Eddie, but Eddie doesn’t respond or squeeze his hand back. Only shuffles along with a blank stare.

Will keeps a tighter grip on their hands and spears. It all feels too heavy.

—

The funeral goes as expected for a young boy: quiet, heavy-hearted, and carefully neutral expressions. No one wants to be the first to burst into loud tears, not even the Byers.

Wayne looks over at the family during the priest’s readings. Lonnie is carefully sober. Jonathan seems seconds away to crying. Joyce appears almost scowling, no doubt angry at the world for taking her son.

He also notes the three younger boys attending, possibly Will’s best friends. They all look carefully inattentive at the small coffin.

After the initial burial, most of everyone goes to the funeral home for the usual refreshments and murmurs. Wayne didn’t plan to go, not wanting another target of pity on his back. But something on his gut tells him to go there and he’s obedient to himself so he follows the crowd.

He keeps his head down, which does enough of avoiding attention. But the funeral home feels too small and tight. He goes outside to one of the porches.

Joyce is also there, sitting one of the cricketing wooden chairs. She gives out a heavy sigh, “Jonathan, tell your father I’m-”

She stops herself when she looks up and sees Wayne. She looks almost frazzled for a second before her shoulders drop slightly, then they hunch up again. “Oh, sorry.”

Wayne manages to bite the “I’m sorry for your loss” from the tip of his tongue. Instead, he takes out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offers it to Joyce.

She blinks before she takes one. Then she hesitates and takes two more. Wayne gives no comment to that. Only asks, “You want a light?”

Joyce shakes her head, taking out a lighter from where she stuffs in the two extra cigarettes. “Thanks for the cigarette though.”

“Not a problem.”

They smoke in silence for a while. Wayne peeks over at Joyce, feeling his eyebrows rise to his scalp when he sees her cigarette is halfway done. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Anyone’s smoking habits is their business, not his.

When Joyce finally speaks, it sounds careful, “I noticed another missing poster on the way here.”

Wayne grunts, “Who’s?”

“Yours.”

He stops. He doesn’t look at Joyce. He doesn’t want to see the same goddamn face on her too. Instead, he gives the smallest of nods as he stares out. “He might’ve just ran away to a concert. I’m probably overacting.”

A pause.

Then Joyce says, quiet and hoarse with an undying conviction, “My son is not dead.”

Wayne merely hums. Takes another drag instead of replying back to her.

“Think of me as crazy like everyone else, but that’s not my Will we’ve buried. He’s still alive, I know it.”

Wayne looks at her. She’s staring at the ground as if she wants to burn the grass in front of her. There’s a trembling anger around her outline that threatens to break out and scorch the woods. He gets the feeling this isn’t something Joyce had built up to after her son’s disappearance, but much earlier in her life that she hid well until now.

Her words come over him then and he feels a tug of, well, maybe not sympathy. More akin to understanding. The vague sense of knowing your child is still alive without a doubt and yet everyone already thinks otherwise.

It feels like a curse. That maybe he and Joyce had accidentally walked through some wrong area of land as kids long ago and nature covered their tracks by taking away their boys.

“I get it.” Wayne mumbles around his cigarette. “I know my nephew is out there somewhere but I just don’t know where.”

Joyce hums in acknowledgment. “Maybe they’ve found each other and are coming home as we speak.”

“Careful, wishful thinking is a bad habit.” Wayne jokes lightly. He feels relieved when Joyce snorts and shakes her head. He sighs and looks off to the direction of the cemetery.

“I’ve actually had a call from Eddie last night.” There’s a surprised noise from Joyce. “Yeah. Couldn’t believe it either. But it was so short with lots of static and actually killed my landline. But it was him. And he was calling for me. I just wish I could’ve known immediately where he was so I could drive there as fast as I could to my boy.”

Silence answers him. He worries the pad of his thumb along his jaw. His cigarette is still burning but he lets it drop to the ground, feeling unable to smoke anymore. He stares at the dying embers as if they would tell him off for oversharing like that.

“Did your lights flicker?”

Wayne blinks and looks over. Joyce’s sitting up straighter, traces of anger suddenly vanished and replaced by a wide-eyed expression he cannot place.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Your lights.” Joyce repeats. “Did they, uh, did you have some electrical problems after Eddie disappeared?”

Wayne stares.

Joyce shrinks down, putting out her cigarette. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No, no, it’s alright. Just why are you asking that?”

Joyce looks back at him with an almost helpless expression. Then she appears to steel herself with a sharp inhale, closes her eyes, and says “The night after Will went missing, I got a call. And I can recognize my baby’s breathing and voice. Even if the other line’s nothing but the static. And every day after that, the lights in my house flickered at random. It happened whenever I called for Will’s name.”

Wayne feels himself leaning forward towards her, his hand lightly grazing his beard. It sends him a little down to memory lane of being ten years old and listening to campfire stories. The ones that scare and intrigue him the most always make him lean forward, as if he can catch the next words from midair and keep them for himself like caterpillars in jars.

“I knew it was Will. It took me a couple of days to figure how to help him speak better through the lights. He told me he wasn’t safe or alone.”

Joyce opens her eyes and meets his. They look almost kindly like a summer’s rain. But Wayne knows how to see through and recognize an approaching tornado.

“Before Will said this, I asked him to spell his name. He did that and also spelled out ‘and Eddie.’”

Wayne catches the air escaping out of his mouth. He turns his head away, looking back down at his dead cigarette.

“I know it sounds like I’m making this up, but I’m not, Wayne.” Joyce continues, her voice firm with a hint of pleading. “If you choose to not believe me and see me as a psychotic bitch hurting your feelings, than that’s fine. All I’m just asking if your lights—”

“Last night.” His voice sounds too calm in Wayne’s ears even though his throat feels rough as sandpaper.

“Sorry?”

“My lights went crazy last night. Then again this morning.” He returns his gaze back to Joyce. Her mouth is open in an ‘o’ shape, almost like she’s in disbelief. She closes it, the unreadable expression returning.

She asks, “Do you… believe me?”

Wayne thinks back to the campfire stories. How the ones that shake his younger bones and skin are the ones with truth to them, no matter how small they were. And Joyce’s story sounds like the truth is too large to be chopped up.

“It feels a hell of a coincidence that our boys vanished almost a couple days of each other and then we get crazy by our house lights.” Wayne answers slowly.

Joyce almost shutters with a sigh of relief before she snaps her head up at him. “Can you take me to your place?”

Wayne blinks, taken aback by the little whiplash of her words. “What-”

“I want to check your lights. See if we can speak to our boys.” Joyce’s tone is no-nonsense. Her eyes are hard with determination. Her outline of fury is shimmering, no longer ready to burn the town down.

Wayne wonders if he’s looking at himself. That he has the same fury and determination that everyone had seen in him since Eddie never came home.

He nods at her. “I’ll drive you.”

—

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @hbyrde36 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

#wayne and joyce have finally met!!! *throws confetti *#they’re gonna be so awesome together #also will is about to have a mini arson arc - it’s what he deserves <3 #I planned for a Jeff pov here but i think that would’ve clog things little too much so he’s back in the next part #will picked out black sabbath’s heaven and hell album btw. I swear there’s a deeper meaning to it.#eddie and will in the upside down au #klaus writes #eddie munson #will byers #wayne munson #joyce byers #stranger things

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