WILL POV -

---- A few days later; Wednesday 1:32 PM ----

Will was at his worst,

"Boy get your head in the game!" El ordered, "This needs to be delivered today!"

"Can't we do this later?" Will's un-casted wrists steadied its grip on the display board, shuffling along with El through the drive yard and to her dad's truck. He winced, keeping his complaining to himself; everything hurt – but it wasn't physical.

"I read my diary wrong, Max wants it for her livestream today, not next week," grumbling as the board covered her field of vision, "And you're the one who insisted on helping,"

Shooting a deadpanned expression, Will grunted, "I was being nice, I just got my splint off!"

"Stop complaining! More working!" The doe-eyed girl commanded, half-joking, half-serious while giving directions, taking one step at a time to ensure safety,

Minutes passed, the display only caused his aching muscles to grow tired,

When they reached the truck, they rearranged their positions, "Okay; one, two, three!" counting together while lifting into the back – laying it flat, placing a white sheet over to keep it clean.

She climbed into the truck bed, carefully stepping around the display not to break or damage the product – she was proud for this display and wanted to show It off – tightly, she bound the straps, keeping just enough distance so the artwork itself wouldn't be damaged.

Wiping her forehead as though she defused a deadly weapon, she jumped off the truck with a thud, "I used to be able to do this by myself before!" dusting her hands,

"I've seen the things you make – no way you carry them yourself!" Will squinted his eyes at the statement,

"I swear!" the girl argued, walking around and jumping into the driver's seat.

Will followed, lingering for one last moment, "Are you sure? I could have sworn..." he paused upon pulling the handle; why did he remember her getting help? Someone carrying easels, backdrops and supplies with strong arms.

"What was that?" the doe-eyed girl buckled her seatbelt, confusion etching her features,

Shaking his head, Will cast the thought out, climbing into the passenger's seat, "Never mind," he smiled, nervous as they moved off.

A shadowy distant sense of familiarity washed over the brunette as he shut the door behind him, fastening himself to the seat – no face came to his mind; who was this mystery man? He felt a strange emptiness in the back of his mind, like a gnawing nagging feeling someone was there – someone who had always been quick to make his, and everyone else's life easier.

Even with getting his splint off, passing his exams and having graduation approaching, time felt burdensome. He enjoyed solitude more than anything in the world, but it had become lethargic at some point.

There was a suffocating pit in his gut, readjusting his position to be comfortable in his seat – the ride to Max's was mere minutes away, so why did it feel like it was stretching on forever? He felt restless, unable to sit still.

When he pressed his upper abdomen, a dull ache arose,

Was it indigestion?

"You okay?" El asked, keeping an eye on the road, yet carrying concern as usual,

"Yeah..." Will replied absentmindedly, not even knowing how to explain his anxiety ridden thoughts, "My stomach just hurts,"

"That's cause of all the pot noodles you eat," she teased, words laced with worry, "You need actual meals, when we go to Max's go lay down,"

Will nodded, smiling faintly. He closed his eyes, resting against the door of the rumbling truck – the only time he felt something was when he was making and eating pot noodles, for some reason that was when he felt the most alive, closest to whatever was missing.

The pain grew deeper as they approached the redhead's studio, seeing Max with her hands on her hips, an impatient expression on her face,

"Finally! You guys take forever!" she groaned, "I'm stressing over here and you guys are taking your time," fanning herself with her hand,

"Blame the traffic," El replied, taking the keys out the ignition with rolled eyes.

Lucas and Troy who had been waiting dormant quickly took action, retrieving the set from the back of the van, slowly, but surely shuffling into the studio while Max barked orders.

El meanwhile, guided the brunette out the van and to the small couch in the corner of Max's studio, pushing past a stray pillow to make space. "You're pale, Will – lie down for a bit, okay?" she smiled, her tone gentle yet firm.

Despite usual grumpiness, Will didn't argue, the lump in his stomach worse than ever – anxiety reaching its peak, now everything made him feel sick and dizzy. As he slunk into the couch he saw the familiarity of the walls, the painting he made many years ago signed and dated, presented proudly above him...

Ugh... where was El? When did she leave the room?

Everyone was way too loud,

And then there were the voices –

"No more naptime for me!"

It was that same damn voice – whose voice was it? why was he hearing it? he needed a clue, a sign to explain what he was experiencing... just something!

"This is for you!" a female voice called, distinct and familiar.

Will barely registered the voice, honestly, he was convinced it was another one of his hallucinations until he saw a gift bag waving in front of his face; What now? At least that cut him out his thoughts.

"Take it!" El urged,

Reaching his arms out to accept the bag, Will blinked, "What is it?"

With a shrug El continued, "I don't know," she admitted, frowning slightly as she scraped every crevasse of her mind, "I had a reminder on my phone to give it to you today, but I can't remember why or who it's from. Just that it was important,"

For some reason, this gift, whatever it was and whoever it was from, made him feel better, "You don't remember at all?" he asked, looking up at her,

"No clue, but you should open it," she shook her head, seeing Max signalling from across the room, "Oh I need to go,"

When she left, the brunette hesitated, softly sliding the gift out the bag, feeling the packaging serenading his fingertips. Carefully, pulling the ribbon, he peeled the wrapping paper, revealing its contents.

Inside was two leather-bound journals, its covers worn out but well kept – clearly held together with love. Will's fingers traced over the lines on the cover – a simple constellation of stars; it looked expensive and personal, as though someone poured their whole heart into each page.

But there was no note, no name on the books, nothing.

Sitting up, he flipped through with trembling hands – he turned the first page,

"I stopped Will before he got on the train to California. Sometimes I wonder what he planned to do once he got there, but then again part of me already knows – I'm glad he's still alive. He doesn't like me yet; I tackled him at the station and he paid my fine... I wonder if I ever paid him back?"

With a furrowed brow, Will continued reading, skimming pages, skipping unnecessary detail – he could almost feel the moments, hear the laughter – this wasn't how he remembered it at all... but why did it make more sense than his memory?

"Will is getting bullied, I had a fight with the assholes; I think people are scared of me... is Will?"

Just who was this person?

"I'm surprised Troy let me ride his bike to Will's house – it was an emergency though, so it made sense – I just hope I was calm, even Troy seemed worried. Will passed out, the doctors said he was malnourished and dehydrated... poor baby,"

Passed out? Will remembered waking up in hospital... he knew someone was with him, was this that person? Troy was waiting for him when he got back – Will never questioned it considering they were friends now, but thinking back, it was truly bizarre at that stage of their relationship.

"I've been avoiding Will this week, his fondness is -99, I'm worried being close would hurt him... but I want to cheer him on at his art showcase – I hope it goes well."

Fondness? Art showcase? That was over half a year ago!

"We went to Upside-Down-Land today, it was fun – I also saw my mum... she didn't even know it was me, that stung..."

The words trailed on, expressing deep, sensitive emotions – explaining the intricacies of their strained relationship, how he wanted his mother, to be a child again, and to feel loved like any other.

Will didn't know how to react...

Poor writer.

"We kissed – it was... okay, well for a first kiss it was good, nothing groundbreaking- we're going on a date tomorrow to the movie theatre, but I don't know how to feel, I like Will... but do I like him?"

Will raised a hand to his lips, feeling the soft tips of teeth fitting perfectly in his, connecting like jigsaws. The description following of the date felt so specific, too detailed to be some obsessed fan writing fanfictions. This was a real memory whispering to him.

"Me and Will had our first fight today – I should be a better boyfriend, but I don't know how to, I don't have long left, why am I not someone from Will's world?"

Skipping pages, Will opened the second book – halfway through reading the entries – seeing supposed dates, picnics, study groups, friend meetups. These were clearly written down in ink, ink that didn't dare smudge. He remembered these moments, but couldn't remember the author... was it one of his friends? Dustin? Troy? But if that was the case, why couldn't El remember.

"Months passed in minutes. I don't know what to do anymore. I only have 14 days left... I need to complete this mission!"

Missions? That was something mentioned on multiple pages – missions, objectives, rewards, time limits, counters, errors – they were noted time and time again with no context, as if Will was supposed to know what it meant.

"We broke up... I failed him,"

How sombre. Anguish was clear, reluctance in every letter – the entry was short... in pain.

Finally, he reached the very last entry,

"What do you think happens to a child who wasn't loved? Nancy said everyone on Earth is loved – I'm not sure how true she is about that. I don't know why I was brought here; I don't know why I'm forced to leave, I'm not sure about anything anymore... but I know I love Will Byers."

"I'm sorry Will,"

Sounds of his friends muffled as he turned the last page, seeing doodles scrawled on the back, inside a heart read;

Will Byers + Mike Wheeler

Momentary confusion caused him to repeat the name, "Mike Wheeler? Who was....?"

The fog clouding his mind cleared, like taking off glasses obviously the wrong prescription – he remembered everything.

Floods of memories imprinted into his mind – remembering the laughter, romance, touches and even the arguments. The river rushing through his veins provided clarity – the world brighter once more, hues saturated.

"Mike!"

Will shot to his feet, stumbling to main area of the studio where all his friends had gathered- in his reading time; even Dustin had turned up in support, manning the camera.

"Guys!" Will's voice cracked as he called out,

"Will we're in the middle of a stream!" El whispered quietly with Dustin by her side,

"M-" His voice caught in his throat, "Mike! have you guys seen Mike?"

"Which Mike?" Dustin tilted his head like a lost puppy,

"Mike Wheeler!" Will explained, his voice raising a few decibels; where was he? Why didn't they know who he was?

El furrowed her brows, "Who?"

"He's our friend! He saved you from Angela!" then turning to Dustin, "He was in your class!"

"I don't think..."

Before they could continue, and say something he didn't want to hear, the brunette stepped past them to Max, Lucas and Troy who were mid-stream; at least they needed to know him, right?

Adrenaline pumped, speaking in a confused, hurried tone, not even caring this was being broadcasted,

"Hey, what's wrong?" Max stood up immediately, furrowing her brows - something needed to be bad for him to walk on set. Will hated being the centre of attention.

"Mike wheeler?" Will tripped over his tongue, too much on his mind, "Where is he?"

"We don't know a 'Wheelbarrow'," Troy cut in with a little joke, making light of the situation,

"Not 'Wheelbarrow', 'Mike Wheeler'!" he corrected restless,

Nudging Troy under the table, Lucas also got up, mimicking his girlfriend, "Explain him to us,"

Sinking. That's how his heart was, he opened his mouth, trying to speak; how does he explain someone who no one remembered? It was mathematically impossible.

"Why don't we talk later Will? After the stream," she emphasized her words, cautiously skirting the issue, voice soft,

Will's hand tightened around the journal, opening a pages, reading a few excerpts, "See look!" he held up the book, pointing at a paragraph, "He worked for you! And you Troy, he helped you with your dog and... and..." stammering his words,

Softly grabbing both his shoulders, Max rubbed his side, "Take a break, you've been stressed ever since school ended," smiling through concern – but this was all being live-streamed, she couldn't get into the main details of exactly what was going on.

He pushed the arms away, feeling tears bubbling over – clawing out of the dark, "Why don't you guys remember him? Why am I the only one who does?"

Blank faces.

Cautiously stepping forward, Lucas tried to calm him, not caring about the stream, "Will? Will it's okay – we'll figure this out. Let's go sit down right now, me and you and we'll-"

"No, no," Will mumbled, appearing aggitated, chest heaving, "I need to go," without even waiting for a response, he absentmindedly made his way to the door, trying his best not to explode with adrenaline – he could barely hear the sounds of his friends calling after him, expressing worry and concern.

He didn't care.

Picking up the pace, the brunette sprint through the streets, catching wind while his legs burned with an ache replacing his every sense. The journals still remained clutched in his hands like the only tangible proof he had of Mike's existence.

The destination was clear in his mind, stopping, or checking for the bus routes weren't even an option – if he didn't move, his mind would explode.

People cast glances, scoffing as he passed, some girls – his fans – cooed, trying to get his attention or make him stop, getting nothing in reply, not even acknowledgement. All Will could think about was Mike, the memories of the past growing stronger, each step forward was a dip into his past.

The streets blurred as he passed the train station where they first met, the movie theatre where they had their first date and almost even getting hit by the bus they used to take together... He didn't stop running until he crossed town

By the time he reached the familiar two-story home on Maple Street, his lungs burned, feeling a distinct iron taste on his tongue, sweat trickling down his flesh with hair sticking to his forehead, limbs shaking – but he didn't care. The house looked exactly as he remembered, neatly trimmed lawn, potted plants placed purposefully on the porch and the mail box –

It read 'The Wheelers'

A glimmer of hope arose, was he inside?

He crossed the line, stumbling to the porch, knocking frantically – he needed to throw up, puke out his heart just to get rid of this intense feeling. Without hesitation, he pounded on the door, his fist slamming against the wood in an endless cacophony.

Please be here.

"Mike!" he shouted like lyrics to his assault against the door, "Ma'am! Anyone! please open the door!"

There was a good sign. Steps approached, and the door creaked to reveal Nancy, standing in her cardigan and skirt, hair tied up in curlers. She looked him up and down in concern, noting his dishevelled appearance.

"Will!" she said cautious, "What are you doing here? Why are you drenched in sweat?"

It was the voice he was familiar too, the one he heard for countless hours when he would stay over, "Where's Mike?" he asked abruptly, not even bothering with answering the questions,

"Mike..." Nancy repeated, about to continue but trailed off as though her mind was cloudy.

"When was the last time you saw him?" he gasped for breath,

"I- um..." Nancy appeared tongue-tied, unable to remember – she seemed so confused for someone who was usually so confident.

Will cut through her thoughts, "Ma'am, may I come inside for a moment?" he said polite but had a peculiar look in his eyes as he barged in without asking permission, the place was homely how he always remembered it, soft and secure...

But Mike wasn't here! He wasn't anywhere,

When was the last time he had seen Mike? it wasn't yesterday nor the day before, it had been over a week, or maybe it had been a month,

Why hadn't I noticed?

Rushing to the second floor, muscle memory led him to Mike's bedroom... well, what was his bedroom,

The room was empty.

Not just because Mike wasn't there, it was just completely barren. The walls were bare, devoid of any of Mike's 'Star Wars' or 'Dungeons and Dragons' posters, just plain blue paint sucking life. The bed was worse, just a frame with worn out mattress, no blankets, no covers, not even any pillows that might suggest comfort.

Even the air felt lifeless. Closing the door behind him, the click was the only sound for miles. Nancy didn't follow; she must have sensed he needed to be alone.

His eyes landed on the desk, it was different; despite missing all of Mike's comics, figurines and half-answered homework papers, it had something else on its surface... it was out of place... it was a pen.

Approaching carefully, he gulped the lump in his throat, creaking into the chair, "Why?" he knew it was important – it was ordinary, a high-end pen found in any office – so why was it here?

He placed the journals down, picking up the pen, core memories rushing into his brain to drown him in tears – telling stories – the pen felt heavier, warmer, like it was alive with energy he couldn't quite place.

Messages, almost otherworldly passed his eyes, from the past months - all from a foreign point of view,

[Mission Complete: Find Will Byers]

He saw himself through someone else's eyes on the floor of the train station. This was the first meeting, so this view must be Mike's.

More commands, pop-ups, or whatever they were called appeared with their own little story, showing all the things Mike had done for him, the sacrifices he'd made;

[Sub-Mission: Make Will Byers a Friend]

[Sub-Mission: Make $3000]

[ERROR: SYSTEM MALFUNCTION]

[Sub-Mission: Get Will Byers 100,000 Followers on Social Media]

[242 Days Remaining]

[Sub-Mission: Who Is More Precious To You?]

[ERROR: SYSTEM MALFUNCTION]

The final chimes of messages rang in his ears, seeing a memory of the school rooftop, it was the last day of school – the doors to the rooftop were being pushed open, "Will!" 

Mike yelled for him...

[ERROR DELETION: 100% COMPLETE]

[ERROR SUCCESSFULLY DELETED]

Then, it all stopped, why? Why? Why was he so slow? Why couldn't he help? Why did he have to be like this? All this time, he had been wondering why he needed to be on that roof on the last day, and it was finally answered.

Mike leaving is my fault -

He sobbed to himself, tears pouring out, this whole time, Mike had just been giving, giving and giving. Will was ungrateful... he couldn't even save him. Tears dropped onto the blank desk, forming tiny, dark spots on the pale wood.

He hadn't even realised he'd uncapped the pen until he saw a faint glow emitting form its tip. A line of text appeared before his eyes, just like the mission pop-ups he had seen moments prior.

[The Author's Pen: An object with the power to rewrite reality. Use wisely]

[Write The Setting You Wish To Change In The Blank Space]

[Accumulated Fondness Will Be Used To Complete The Request]

Would that really work?

"I.. I don't know what to do," He shook his head, tears and sweat congealing into one, "How? How do I do this?"

Was this an elaborate prank? Some sort of hallucination? Or perhaps a personal purgatory? He didn't know, it didn't matter...

Only then, had he noticed another sacrifice Mike had made. He reached out, hands trembling as he traced the previous request,

'Please, Make Will Byers Happy'

It was so obviously written by Mike's hands, glowing soft, pulsating even. Will's chest ached, thoughts of everything Mike had endured alone with no one to share the burden of this all...

"I want to do something for you for a change," he sniffled, "I wanna... wanna fix this,"

The pen beckoned him, a quiet reminder of the message glowing on the desk. Will wiped his teary eyes roughly,

Steadying himself, he pressed the nib to the table, barely hesitating as he traced the last letter, clicking the cap close with a sniffle,

[Loading...]

"Please work," he mumbled, waiting in the silence; seconds felt like hours,

[Resolved!]

Hope? Was Mike somewhere?

Will looked around at the empty wall, the empty closet, empty bed. The silence bore down on him, way too oppressive. It was too much - everything was way too much.

He brought his knees to his chest, burying his face into his arms. He'd done just as the pen had asked; he wrote the words, used accumulated fondness and begged the universe... and yet, the room remained barren, still devoid of any life...

No! He had to do something!

He couldn't sit here and feel pity... he thought about what Mike would do in this situation.

In haste, he got up, wiping his eyes while still clutching the Author's Pen, not caring about his streaming tears.

He left the room...

[The Mission Has Been Changed]

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3615 Words

Sorry for the longer update time than usual, I needed a little break.

Stay Safe <3