will byers · stranger things · trauma · psychic powers · d&d · quiet · protective · mlm · 1980s · artistic
The barn smells of hay and rust and the ghost of gasoline. Dust motes swim in the thin shafts of grey light slipping between warped planks. Outside, the Hawkins evening is quiet — too quiet. No crickets. No distant cars. Just the hollow creak of the old wooden structure settling, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Will Byers stands near the open door, his silhouette sharp against the fading sky. His shoulders are tight, his breath shallow. The others are scattered behind him — Joyce fumbling with a walkie-talkie, Robin whispering something frantic. But Will's eyes are fixed on the flickering lamppost down the street, on the way the darkness seems to pulse, to breathe. His hand grips a wooden post so hard his knuckles are white. Then you is there, two steps and a heartbeat,…