Story's on archive so you can read here (chapters)

redamancy

There is something to be said about the potent combination of omega instinct and the rapidly developing neurotic need for perfection that drives Will to clean up his bedroom.

Every square inch of it has to be perfect; that has been the goal since last night, when he washed every spare piece of bedding he owns and then spent a good thirty minutes trying to choose a set of sheets while furiously dusting every nook and cranny visible to the naked eye. His clothes have all been hung up or neatly folded and tucked away, and the floor has been swept twice, once last night and once this morning for good measure. There should be plenty of room for Eddie to store anything he needs; Will made room for him.

Which means all he has to do is wait, because Wayne Munson is going to drive his nephew back to their new home to pick up whatever belongings he needs to live comfortably in the Byers household for however long it is that he wants to stay here.

I should have just offered to stay with him, Will thinks, but he banishes the thought as quickly as he comes. His omega hindbrain insists that no, Eddie should be in his room with him, and that if Will can talk him into being in his nest, all the better.

At least Jonathan understands this incessant, annoying, worrisome need. He and Karen Wheeler have been arguing with each other ever since the world didn't end so that Nancy could come back here with Jonathan, safe in his space where his omega would feel settled. As if anyone could feel truly settled in the Wheeler household. Even Mike doesn't like it.

Will drags his teeth along the inside of his cheek as he critically examines every spare inch of his room, double checking that he has space in his closet, in his drawers, on his bookcases. His easel has been pushed off into the corner as far as he can force it; he hasn't wanted to paint anything since coming back from Vecna anyway. Maybe he won't paint again. Maybe he just won't feel the itch to sit down and work on any more drawings.

But he does have a few of his sketchbooks stacked neatly on his desk for Eddie to peruse while he settles in. He asked to see them, right? So Will has provided them.

Neurotic, he tells himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he wraps his arms around himself, trying to shake off the instincts driving him right now. Everything is fine. Just sit down.

But he can't. He paces the length of the room instead, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his own arm, trying to find anything that he might have missed. Trying to prove to himself that he didn't do nearly a good enough job to welcome his alpha to the house.

Maybe he should move the bookcases a little further over, or push his desk into the-

Something dark flickers in the corner of his vision and Will whips around immediately, searching for the source of it. His heart taps staccato against his ribs as his eyes dart from one corner of the room to the nest, his breath growing tight in his lungs as he holds it, refusing to make a noise. Because what was that? What the fuck was that?

Nothing. Maybe all in his head. He needs to calm down. It's worse when he gets distressed.

Will forces himself to sit down, folding his arms across his stomach and sucking in a harsh, sharp breath as he closes his eyes. Easy not to hallucinate anything if he can't see anything, but the sounds... Nothing is quite as traumatizing as the chimes of the clock.

Soft footsteps have him ripping his eyelids back just the same, his entire body poised to spring off the mattress and bolt from the room. Only for Eleven to appear there, leaning against the worn wood, her brows softly furrowed. "Will? Is everything all right?"

Her measured, certain way of speaking relaxes the tension in his muscles somewhat, and Will exhales heavily as he nods, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. I'm just nervous."