the cleric

Generally, Hawkins High wasn’t open to the public during the summer. There had been an exception made a few years ago, though, when Beth had guilted her favorite art teacher into giving her access to the art studio the summer that Adam died. She’d been stuck in town for the summer, anyway, and needed something to keep her sane. In truth, she hadn’t gone much that summer, nor had she gone in any of the summers since, until this one. It had been difficult to want to draw, paint, do anything without Adam in her life. He was back now, though, and Beth figured it was as good of a time as any to give art a shot again. It was what her brother would have wanted her to do in his absence, but she’d failed to keep up with what made her truly happy without him pushing her to do it. 

The front doors to the school were open during business hours, but it was the key to the art classroom that really mattered. It rested in her pocket, weighing down her jean shorts as she walked through the hallways of the place she once felt the safest. As she reached the art room, though, the key had become obsolete, as the door was already open, but it didn’t seem like anyone was inside. It was strange, but Beth shrugged it off, grabbing an apron from the hook over the door, about to pull it over her head when she saw a figure that made her drop the fabric to the ground. “What the–Will?” she yelled, startled, before holding her hand to her chest and breathing a sigh of relief. “Oh, my god, you scared the crap out of me. What the hell are you doing here? Not that I mind the company, but I didn’t think they gave out the key to anyone else,” Beth admitted with a laugh, picking up the apron from the ground. “How’s your summer been? I can’t believe you were just a tiny sophomore and now you’re graduated.”

where: the Byers’ porch!

what: brother reveal (2.0) (semi-sober version)

The day after the Wheeler’s Fourth of July barbecue Cole woke up with a pounding headache and a faint memory of a conversation with Jonathan Byers. But, he’d also woken up in Adam’s arms, and that took precedence. Still, the memory haunted him; Cole couldn’t escape the embarrassment he felt knowing that he’d been noticeably drunk when he told Jonathan they were related. Not his brightest moment. 

In truth, he’d wanted to tell Will first– he’d even tried before, after the camping trip at the lake, but he was too nervous. Cole figured that it might be an easier pill for Will to swallow, since they weren’t close in age like he and Jonathan. He’d fully intended to tell Will right away, Jonathan’s warning to ‘be careful’ ringing in his ears and convincing him that he needed to tell Will before someone else did. But, then the explosion happened and Cole was in the hospital. 

At this point, he didn’t know what to expect, and he was certainly worse for for the wear: bruises and cuts still healing, arm in a sling, bursts of pain in his torso from the broken ribs, and the ever-present fear that something worse was going to happen. That something worse might cause him to lose Adam again. And if something worse happened and Cole died (physically or otherwise) before he got to talk to Will, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

So, he filled up his flask– only for a few bursts of liquid courage– and drove over to the Byers’ neighborhood. Only, he couldn’t stop in front of the house. Nervous fingers tapping on the steering wheel, Cole looped around the neighborhood once. Twice. Three times. God, he didn’t have the gas money for that, so he parked about five houses down and got out, careful not to bang his ribs or his arm on the car, and began pacing. 

About a half hour passed, accompanied by a few more swigs of the stinging liquid, and the dread didn’t go away. So Cole took a deep breath and approached the house… only to see Will sitting on the porch, sketchbook in hand. Had he seen him the whole time? An embarrassed flush gathered on Cole’s cheeks, and he wiped his good hand on his jeans to dispel the sweat that had gathered.

“Hey, man,” Cole greeted, attempting to put on a casual smile. “Got a minute? There’s something I wanna talk to you about,” the words fell out in a jumbled heap, but he was glad he’d said it. That he couldn’t escape from it this time. “I talked to Jonathan a while back and, I just… I thought I should tell you.” Cole studied his sling, picking at the fabric fraying on the edge. “Lonnie’s my dad, too.” Saying it out loud, without copious amounts of beer to numb the feeling, left Cole feeling like he’d ripped a bandaid off. He was exposed, bare, vulnerable to whatever Will’s response would be. He wished desperately that he remembered what Jonathan had said, if only to have some litmus for how this would go.

     “Sure, wanna...?” He motioned to the bench, the space next to him, offering a seat before Cole continued on to say that he had talked to Jonathan, and…why would he feel the need to tell him that, anyway? What was this all abo…Lonnie’s my dad, too. Oh. Oh. That wasn’t the last thing Will had expected to hear: it wasn’t even on the list.  His gaze suddenly focused on the sling Cole wore, the loose threads he fiddled with and he replied, “How is your arm doing?” It was almost funny that he would rather talk about the aftermath of the carnival, with its explosions and casualties, than his—their—father.

     He had to answer the massive revelation that was just dropped. Paradigm-altering information. His dad was Cole’s dad, too. But what was he supposed to say—my condolences? This shouldn’t be quite as much of a rug-pull as all that had been happening this summer with the border and the doppelganger and the cabin and who knew what else. Was it really surprising that Lonnie Byers had had another son with someone out there (even one whose age made it clear that the man had had an affair?) Not really. But Will couldn’t help the feeling that in all of this, he was the butt of some cosmic joke right now.

     It was like he was always the last to know anything, like he was always the one who walked into a room right after something cool happened, always just missing the moment. Or in cases like this—like nobody thought he could handle the truth; he was just too fragile, too sensitive, or at least that was how everyone viewed him. Jonathan knew? Will didn’t even think he and Cole were friends. How long was ‘a while back,’ anyway: a couple weeks or even longer? When the hell would Will become an active participant in his own life, instead of stuff just...happening and him learning to deal with it. Not today, evidently.

        Mike hadn’t heard the phone ring when Ted shouted down to him from the top of the basement stairs to pick up the phone. In doing so he was pleasantly surprised to hear Will’s voice on the other end of the line. That was until the underlying problem became evident. Something was wrong. It wasn’t initially obvious in Will’s voice or the words he used to ask Mike to come over. To anyone else the conversation would have sounded pretty normal - just one friend asking another to come hangout, but Mike knew there was more to it than that. 

       When Will hung up, Mike took no time in slamming the phone back on the receiver and running up the basement stairs, skipping every second step. He shouted a half assed goodbye to Ted, who was already half asleep and clearly not listening as he sat in his La-Z-Boy recliner watching the television, on his way out the door. There was no time for questions about where he was going or what he was doing, and besides, Karen would know to call Joyce if she wanted to find Mike. 

       Pulling up to the Byers house, he all but jumped from the bicycle, letting it fall to the ground on the side of the old driveway the way he had a thousand times before. He walked through the yellowing grass towards the familiar front door, knocking on it and tapping his left foot as he waited impatiently for someone to open it. “Will?” He called out when no one came for another two seconds. Walking to one of the nearby windows, he cupped his hands over the sides of his face and peered inside. There was no sign of Will which shot a wave of panic through him. “Will!” He called out again, knocking on the window this time. 

     So he was just finishing getting dressed when he heard the knocking and an ever-so-slightly frantic calling of his name at the front of the house. He hurried to answer the door, shaking his damp hair out as he swung it open. “Hey. Sorry, I thought…You got here quick,” he commented and stepped back to allow Mike into the room before shutting the door behind him. He must have raced over as soon as they hung up. Will was just going to pretend his face was flushed from the hot shower. There were important things to discuss.

since the carnival, gabe had been seeing new clients left and right, neverending. most were ashamed, men begging him not to tell their wives, and wives pleading that he shouldn’t disclose this to their husbands. he got it, he really did, therapy seemed like a big, daunting, scary thing to those who hadn’t really been exposed to it before. beyond the communal grief, that made him deeply sad, and he hoped that he could give the town of hawkins, indiana, a complete one-hundred-eighty degree perspective change on the matter. gabe worked diligently, committing each and every one of his new clients to memory. it was exhausting, but hopefully, in the long run, would be worth it. 

he made each new client who walked in the door feel as special as the last, but the younger they were, the sadder he became. there’d be some serious journaling to do later. he put that idea off though, turning his attention to the kid who couldn’t have been any older than eighteen who sat down in his office. with a warm smile, he stood up from behind his desk and introduced himself, “nice to meet you, william. i’m dr.gabe diaz.” he sat back down, grabbing his ever reliable pen, then asked, “what brings you in today?”

     “Will. Sorry, I go by Will,” he quietly corrected the doctor. Off the bat, he didn’t like thinking of the man as a doctor even if it just referred to his degree; the word sounded too clinical. Therapist was a bit better, he supposed. But he wasn’t going to call him Therapist Diaz. Did he have to call him Dr. Diaz, or would it be insulting if he used Mister? Will almost asked, but the question of what brought him in stopped the words in his throats and he managed only a half-sigh, half-pained-sort-of-humorless-laugh. Too much to explain, was the answer, really, but then what else was he here for except to talk about his many problems?

it had been two days since scott’s funeral, which meant two days since bob realized he couldn’t actually leave hawkins. he still didn’t really understand why that was, but he decided to make the best of it. if he was going to get out of the motel 6 at the edge of town, he’d need a job. and, besides, he’d get too bored spending time watching cable in his hotel room, so he needed something to pass the time and what better place to do that than radioshack? now, bob had been managing this branch by the time he…left hawkins, but he wasn’t egotistical enough to think that because he’d done a job well four years ago, he’d be able to have it back, especially not because he’d have no called, no showed half a dozen times before being let go!

so he walked into the store wearing the same pressed button-up he’d worn to the funeral (because it was that or the only clean t-shirt he had left…this was supposed to be a short trip!), the bell atop the door jingling pleasantly. he put his best smile on his face as he marched up to the counter. “hey, there, young man. i was hoping to see if you all are hiring and if you are, if i could have an application?” the employee’s back was to him at first, so it wasn’t until he turned around that bob recognized him.

he was so much taller than he’d been when bob had gone and he’d cut his hair differently, but there was no mistaking that wide-eyed look of surprise or the kindness in his yes. bob’s own eyes lit up in recognition even as his stomach churned with guilt. instinct said to apologize or, at the very least, go around the counter to pull will into a hug. bob did none of those things. he did, however, make a joke because that seemed like the least weird thing to do at a time like this. “who are you and what did you do with will byers?” he held his hand out in front of him, about chest height. “about yea high? mom cuts his hair?” he smiled a little sadly. he’d missed so much in his time away. 

     That all went out the window as soon as he did turn around and set sights on...Well, he wasn’t just hearing but seeing things wrong now. It couldn’t be him, because he was dead, and that was impossible...Then again, crazier things have happened in this town. No, he couldn’t entertain the thought. This stranger just happened to look and sound exactly like Bob Newby. And to also know him by name, and about how tall he was the last time they had met, and how Joyce used to do his hair with a bowl and a pair of household scissors. How? How was he standing in front of him right now?

     The attempted joke didn’t so much break the ice as stun Will even further into silence, surely gawking at the man but unable to worry about being polite just about now. Who am I? Who are you? What are you? You’re supposed to be...He finally managed to crack a syllable out, though it came more as a whisper of disbelief, “Bob?” A ragged intake of breath, because Will realized he had stopped doing that at some point, and he was about this close to a whole breakdown, so he forced out, “Is this...real?” As if a hallucination would admit to it. “How are you here?”

It had been a crazy time since Fourth of July, and Argyle was trying to stay high through it all. Otherwise, he’d be a mess. Jonathan was injured and in the hospital, and all he could do while he waited for him to get out was smoke and try not to panic. He knew Hawkins was a fucked up place, but why did it all have to happen while he was staying here?

Though he’d finally calmed himself down with some weed, most of the apartment smelling like his Purple Palm Tree Delight, he didn’t expect anyone to be coming over before Jonathan got back. At the sound of the door opening, Argyle jolted, turning toward the entrance of the apartment wide-eyed until he recognized Will. “Holy shit, man, don’t sneak up in here like that!” He huffed a sigh, calming his racing heart. It would be nice to have some company, at least. “What brings you here, little Byers?”

What Drew initially thought was going to be a random, boring town that he would temporarily be staying at, turned into something he couldn’t even fully comprehend. After Fourth of July, he ended up hiding out at home, trying to wrap his brain around the things he’d seen and heard. It made a little more sense now why Hawkins seemed different than everywhere else. However, there were still so many unanswered questions…

·       What: Brother Reunion

·       Where: Hospital.

Jonathan felt nothing when he woke – probably because of the drugs. His body felt heavy. There was no way he’d sit up right now. The low beeping and brightness of the room required a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, he knew exactly where he was.

Fuck.

He couldn’t remember much from the incident. Moving his eyes downward to look at the blanket draped over his body, he noticed a cast on his lower left arm – who picked orange? A couple beats passed in silence. The room was empty. He remembered running and yelling but everything else was blank. The pieces of last night slowly started coming back together – sitting next to Max on that ride, Barb vomiting black goo, the brainiac who deactivated the bomb, the chick with the matchstick – the carnival was a disaster. Lifting his head from the pillow, he squinted to look around the room, hoping to find something to summon a nurse. Jonathan needed to get out of here. A glass of water also came to mind. He could probably spit dust right now.

Jonathan moved his cast-free arm to examine the wires next to his body. Hearing the door open, he snapped his head – probably too quickly – to land his eyes on Will.

“Will.” It came out croaked and dry. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. The movement hurt this time, and he winced down at his chest in a desperate attempt to prop himself up. “What – what happened?” Slightly more frantic, he scanned Will for any injuries. Jonathan had lost track of his brother at the carnival. How did that even happen. “Are - are you okay?”

    It was after one of these rare excursions that he re-entered the room and found Jonathan awake, looking at him, struggling to sit up. Will hurried over, reclaiming his seat beside his brother's cot and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him down (but mostly to keep him from trying to get up again.) “It’s okay,” he soothed, though his face screwed up slightly at the question of what happened. “The fireworks; I think they were tampered with. There were explosions and then you were, like, knocked out and...” He slowed himself down, took a breath. He had to be the one to remain calm now, and he was already getting choked up.