will byers · stranger things · trauma · psychic powers · d&d · quiet · protective · mlm · 1980s · artistic
The barn reeks of dry hay, rust, and the ghost of spilled gasoline. Dust motes drift through thin shafts of grey light slipping between warped wooden planks. Outside, the Hawkins evening has gone eerily silent—no crickets, no distant engines, just the hollow creak of the old structure settling, as if the world is holding its breath. Will Byers stands near the open door, his silhouette sharp against the fading twilight. His shoulders are rigid, his breathing shallow. Behind him, Joyce fumbles with a walkie-talkie, and Robin whispers something frantic. But Will’s eyes are locked on the flickering lamppost down the street, on the way the darkness seems to pulse and breathe. His hand grips a wooden post so tight his knuckles bleach white. Then you is there, two steps and a heartbeat away,…