you can color my world with sunshine every day

[deadboywalking]

Featuring: Will Byers deadboywalking and you~
What's happening: General March catch-all business
Day/s: Throughout March (3/02-3/31)
Content warning: panic attacks, ptsd, mentions of self-harm, possession, death, suicidal ideation (all in prompt 3)

i. casa de wheeler-byer

[So Will and Mike have a house now, which is an excellent thing for two eighth-graders to have. It's small, just enough for the two of them, and Will is obsessed with it. He's barely left it since the first day it appeared, busy painting every single wall with the variety of art supplies he got from Eddie.

One wall is a forest, one is a lake, another is a field with the sun shining and the sky a brilliant blue (and a rainbow ofc), and another is a literal castle. Will's working on this last one now, in the living room, sitting cross-legged so he can work on the details of every single stone in the outer wall, the links in the chain of the drawbridge, the sprigs of bright green grass along the moat. He's got paint all over him, in his hair, smudged on his face, on his clothes.

He hasn't been this happy in weeks. Since before coming to Reims. Since before the Upside-Down. He's in a focused, intent trance, but he's calm and happy enough that any visitors would be welcomed.]

ii. do you take commissions?

[Now that Will has his art supplies back, he's on a roll. He's already helped Kara and Faith redecorate, as well as made a sign for Majima, so why not offer his services to more people who might need it?

Hence:] un: willthewise - if anyone needs anything drawn or painted or any signs or anything done, let me or mike know. it's really grey and sad here, so i wanna help it be a little more colorful, if i can. mike's usually at fight club, and i'm at castle wheeler-byers. it's got a sign, you can't miss it.

i'll also be doing illustrations for mike's book of monsters thing, so if you gave him anything for that and want to make sure i did it right, come by.

iii. because a vision softly creeping left it's seeds while i was sleeping; open to close CR

[Most days are good ones. Will has settled in to a routine here in Reims -- go to Fight Club with Mike, visit his friends, draw or paint or sketch late into the night. Try and stay out of trouble -- nothing stupid or risky, stay away from the monsters. Help out where-ever he can. It's not perfect, it's not home, but Will's sort of happy here.

On the good days.

But then there are the bad ones. Sometimes it's a nightmare, sometimes it's a smell or a sight or a barely-audible sound. Sometimes Will just wakes up and he knows already it's going to be one of the bad days. He'll try to go through his routine like normal, try to pretend that everything's okay, but then there'll be that one tiny thing that flips the switch in his brain and --

-- and he's back, he's riding home from mike's and something is chasing him, he's in the shed with the rifle, no he's in the shed tied to a chair, no he's not in the shed he's in castle byers and there's something growingfesteringliving in his lungs and his throat and his stomach, no he's in the field behind school and it's in his ears in his eyes in his mouth and arms and legs and mind and bones and it's walking for him talking for him killing for him, he's in the upside-down and he's so so cold, he's in the lab and there are needles in his arms, he's in the lab and bob is dying bleeding screaming and he's happy he's so happy it's exactly as he planned, he's in the shed and tapping out C L O S E G A T E C L O S E G A T E K I L L I T K I L L M E K I L L M E --

and in reality Will is sitting hunched over on the front steps of his house in Reims, doubled almost in half, absolutely still, absolutely silent, because he has his wrist shoved into his mouth and he's biting down as hard as he can to keep from screaming.

Because he has to be quiet.]

Comments

[deadboywalking]

Sorry.

[It's very faint, and Will ducks his head, curling in on himself like a miserable little sea turtle.]

I didn't...realize I was doing it.

[clussy]

Hey...

(Eddie's voice goes real soft. The kind of soft he uses for his friends when they started going down dark places. He reaches his hand out and gently fixes Will's hair before resting his palm against the curve of Will's cheek. He uses his hold to lift Will's head back up because no, no hiding away little turtle.)

You were scared. I'm not angry. I was just worried. You don't have to apologize for being afraid and doing something while you were afraid to try and help. Okay? No sorries.

[deadboywalking]

[Will thinks about resisting for a moment, but he finally lets Eddie lift his head up, his eyes embarrassingly bright, his lower lip quivering a little. God, he's cried so much here, it's terrible.]

I'm s-- [He cuts himself off, with a soft huff of sound, a laugh in intent.] I didn't mean to make you worried. I didn't mean to make anyone worried.

[clussy]

(Eddie smiles at the near apology and shakes his head. He leans over and gives Will a solid kiss on the temple. He just does it because it felt right to right then. It's something he's done to Bill, to Richie, even to Bevvie and Max. Will doesn't have to cry anymore. He's not alone now.)

I'm always worried. It's nice to just have a valid reason to be worried for once. Did you wanna talk about it?

[deadboywalking]

[Eddieeeeee, jeez. Will blushes to the tips of his ears, but at least he's smiling now instead of staring into space blankly, right?]

It's just...stuff happened and sometimes it gets really big in my head and I can't stop thinking about it. Most of the time I'm okay. It's stuff that happened back home, not here.

[clussy]

(Wiiiiiiiill! Eddie does his absolute best to not feel a teensy bit self-satisfied at that blush, and schools his face to remain perfectly still.

Yeah, that's definitely an improvement. But when Will describes what it can be like, Eddie's expression goes soft and serious at the same time.)

I know exactly what that's like. It's so scary. It's like some thoughts refuse to go until you've heard them out properly.

(He looks again at the bandaid he'd placed on Will and gingerly touches it.)

I'd offer you advice but I honestly don't even know how to stop that stuff for myself. I guess I try and think of my friends.

Does....(He starts up only to trail off. Was it right of him to ask? They were friends, right?)

Does it have to do with your monster?

[deadboywalking]

[Will tugs his knees up towards his chest, hugging them there tightly and breathing in, then out. Slow. Measured. The way he'd been told would help with the rising bubble of anxiety in his chest. It does, a little bit.]

Yeah. The stuff it did. The stuff I did with it inside me. That's what I remember the most. Feeling and seeing and -- tasting what it did. How happy it was to be hurting people.

It makes me...feel like a monster too. [He manages a faint smile, attempting reassurance:] You can tell where your monster ends and you begin, yeah? You're not all tangled up in it.

[clussy]

(Eddie watches Will with a newfound intensity. IT had functioned differently. It could fuck with your head too in certain ways. Would remind you exactly what there was to be so afraid of in this big, endless world. But Eddie hadn't synced up with it quite like that.

He scoots across the space between them until his legs are scrunched up against Will's side. It gets him thinking. And he realizes this is one of those Big Moments. He can't fuck it up, no matter how bad his anxiety was, and he takes his time thinking.)

No...I'm not...(This is something he's never confessed before, so it takes him sometime.

He rests a hand on Will's arm and pulls him apart, pulls his arm away so that he could hold his hand. It was instinctual for Eddie. From how he's spent time with Bill over these kind of things.)

I'm tangled up in myself though. And my mom. A lot of people say they always hear their parents or their own voices in their head but...Sometimes I think she's standing right behind me. It's a voice like that. It's real. And other times, I start thinking real- real bad. Like I'll lay in bed and be convinced for an hour that I'm a cancer patient and I can feel all my organs shutting down and that I can feel my whole body growing thin til nothings left.

(He wants to...to stress that this isn't just a childish imagination. It isn't.)

It's so bad that sometimes I swear I can smell the medicine even.

(He bites at the inside of his cheek.)

So maybe it isn't the same thing as being tangled in a monster. But it's being tangled up in something you can't get away from...But I think the thing is that there's a tangle at all.

(He pulls at Will's hand, leaning forward to look up at his face.)

If it was just smooth sailing, then yeah, you'd be a monster. But I think that tangle being there means this isn't something right inside of you- something that shouldn't be there. It's like...It's like a virus, Will. When you're sick and puking up, do you look back later and think it was you that was making you puke or do you think it's the virus that made you puke?

Maybe the monster did awful things while it was in you- but that's the thing. It was in you- not the other way around. That's like blaming a car for a person crashing it into a tree. Maybe the car coulda had better tires or a better engine or better brakes- but it was still the person who decided to take it for a spin. Your tangle is the most human part about you. And it's okay if you can't...see where you end and the monster begins. Picture it like colors. Maybe you have two really similar reds and if they're together, you'd have to squint real hard to see the difference. But back up, and suddenly it's really obvious what is or isn't different.

[deadboywalking]

[Will almost automatically laces his fingers with Eddie's, listening quietly, face scrunched up in concentration. It's harder when Eddie makes the car comparison, but of course as soon as he brings up color theory, Will understands better.

After a pause, he squeezes Eddie's hand, tightly.] As long as I'm not the only one who's tangled up, I suppose. I guess I don't want to be different. Wrong.

[clussy]

(It's a nice feeling right off the bat and one he associates with long, safe spent summers in the Barrens. It reminds him of the rushing water they had built a dam in, and more than anything, it reminded him of the Losers. He strokes a thumb slowly over the side of Will's hand, squeezing tightly.

A good friend. Will was a good friend.) You're not the only one who's tangled up.

(His mouth quirks to the side and he contemplates that.)

Maybe you are different- but I think different is really nice. Everyone is different from each other. I think that's the point of being a person. But different isn't bad. And you're definitely not wrong.

[deadboywalking]

[For a moment Will just looks down, watches the slow slide of Eddie's thumb over the back of his hand. Eddie's hands aren't soft -- they're warm, they're roughened, they're like Mike's. They're familiar, in an unfamiliar way. He likes them.]

...I guess...I guess I sometimes feel like the stuff that was supposed to get put into my head...got put in wrong. Or backwards or mixed up. Like the pieces are in the wrong place.

[clussy]

I feel like that too.

(In a lot of ways. Not just one or two. He's earnest in his comparison. He's not trying to override the sentiment, he just wants Will to know that he's really not alone.)

I guess God assembles some people and messes up when reading the directions. (Eddie gives a tiny shrug like what can you do?)

Maybe the pieces are in all the wrong places, but I think all that matters is you. Maybe if you didn't feel bad about stuff, I'd be a lot more worried about you, but you're a good person. Good people can do bad things or make bad choices- and you didn't really even have a choice. So I don't think it's fair to be so hard on yourself.

[deadboywalking]

[Will shrugs too, raising and lifting a shoulder in a gentle, tired motion.]

That's what my mom says. So you're probably right. [Congrats, Eddie, you got the Joyce comparison.]