Worlds Turned Upside Down: Will Byers x Reader

Chapter Twenty: The Funeral

Jonathan comes through the front door, pausing as he looks into the living room. Joyce and Lonnie sit cuddled up on the couch together. Mrs. (L/N) is curled up on the other couch, using the arm rest as a pillow. She opens her eyes, sits up, and tries her best to neaten her hair. Noticing Jonathan's judgmental stare, Lonnie and Joyce move slightly away from each other and sit forward.
"Hey kid," Lonnie greets the confused boy.
"What's going on?"
"Your dad's, uh, gonna stay here tonight. On the couch," Joyce clarifies, so that Jonathan doesn't get any other ideas.
"Yeah, I'm here as long as you need me, okay?" Jonathan's eyes drift to the tarp on the wall which covers the hole Joyce had bashed into it, "How are you holding up?"
Ignoring his father's attempt at making small talk, Jonathan pushes the tarp aside to examine the large hole.
"What happened?"
"Don't worry about that," Lonnie tries to direct Jonathan's attention away from what Joyce had done, he'd worked so hard to calm her down and get her to think somewhat rationally.
"Mom...that thing you saw before, did it come back?"
(Y/N)'s mother perks up, surprised that the boy who had shamed her before now seems to believe the two, "Yes--"
"That's enough," Lonnie doesn't want this conversation to get any further. Jonathan gives him a stern look.
"Can we talk? Alone?"

♥︎

Lonnie and Jonathan now have an angry conversation in Jonathan's bedroom. Joyce and Mrs. (L/N) can only hear indistinct mumbling through the wooden door. The women sit quietly amoungst themselves until Mrs. (L/N) decides to confront Joyce about what had just happened.
"So, umm, what was that?" (Y/N)'s mother says trying to sensitively touch on the subject even though she's honestly a bit ticked off.
"What was what?"
"So, what, are you just going to forget about our children just because he told you to. Joyce, we both know what we saw," Mrs. (L/N) can't help but be a bit more blunt so that the woman understands where her frustration is coming from.
"Woah, woah, woah, I did not forget about our children. It's just...I don't..." Joyce stumbles through her words, she doesn't exactly know what she's thinking right now. "Well, maybe, he could be right, maybe--"
"Joyce!" Mrs. (L/N) scoffs, "Why are you letting him persuade you like this? Do you not remember what we saw? Do you not remember that thing that tried to attack us?"
"Look who's talking! You're the one who...who basically shuts down when you're around your husband. Maybe, it's time you learn to form your own opinions," Joyce shoots back at the woman. Mrs. (L/N) is speechless. She can't believe someone just said that to her. She can't believe any of this. How could Joyce just abandon her like that?
Joyce notices the hurt look on the woman's face and feels guilty. "I didn't—" Mrs. (L/N) abruptly stands up.
"No, it's fine," (Y/N)'s mother gathers her coat from the back of the couch, "I'm going to keep fighting for our children. That's a fact, not an opinion," She storms out of the house. Joyce stands and goes to follow the woman, but decides it would probably be best to let her cool down. Joyce slumps back onto the couch and sighs.
Lonnie walks heavily into the room and sees an empty couch and a frazzled Joyce, "What happened?"

♥︎

Mrs. (L/N) stands in the Byers' driveway, "Sh*t," She'd forgotten that Joyce had driven her over here. She looks up at the dark night sky and sighs. Her husband definitely isn't awake and her house is way too far to walk. She doesn't want to lose her pride and go back inside to ask for a ride from Joyce. What am I gonna—
"I'll give you a ride," Jonathan had heard the agitated mother slam the door and curse. He hopped out of his window, so he wouldn't pass his father and mother, to make sure she was alright and found her stranded in his driveway.
Mrs. (L/N) nods, "Thanks."

♥︎

Mr. (L/N) wakes up slowly, the early morning light seeps through the living room curtains. He shifts slightly on the couch and his eye catches multiple bottles of alcohol sitting on a coffee table next to him. Then, he remembers.
The man rockets upwards, extremely confused.
Last night...it wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been...was it?
He doesn't remember drinking, but he does have a pretty prominent headache. Did he blackout drunk? He moves his hand towards his neck, a dull pain resides there.
He stands up and rushes into the kitchen to the closest telephone. He dials the police station. It rings a few times before a woman picks up, "Hello, this is the Hawkins Police—"
"Yes, can I speak to Jim Hopper?"
"I'm afraid he isn't in right now, can I take a message?" Mr. (L/N) stamps his foot and murmurs, "D*mn it," He isn't giving up, "Well, can I have his home number, please?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized to do tha—"
"Please, this is Mr. (L/N). I need to speak to him, this is urgent," The woman on the other end of the line pauses.
"Alright, but he isn't going to be happy about this,"
"Thank you, thank you so much," The woman proceeds to slowly read Hopper's number off while Mr. (L/N) scribbles it onto an old crumpled newsletter. "Alright, thanks, have a good day," He hangs up and dials the Chief's number.
He impatiently taps his foot as it rings. No answer. (Y/N)'s father dials again. No answer. "D*mn it!" He slams the phone back into its holder and runs his hands through his hair.
"What are you doing?" Mr. (L/N) turns to see his wife with her arms crossed.
"Oh, I...umm—"
"And were you seriously drinking? What the h*ll! Also, about the other day when you...attacked me! Honestly, what were you thinking because I'm not putting up with this sh—"
"Listen, I'm sorry—"
"Well, sorry isn't going to cut it—"
"No, about everything. About acting like you were crazy, about putting my hands on you, about the past few years, about being a giant d*ck," Mrs. (L/N) freezes. Why is he apologizing now? She's speechless. "I believe you."
"About what?" She says, hostility still lining her voice, she isn't going to be won over so easily.
"(Y/N). She's alive," Mrs. (L/N) is now surprised. Seriously, what's with this complete one-eighty?
"Yeah, how do you—"
"Me and Jim Hopper. Last night we went to Hawkins Lab—"
"Hawkins Lab?"
"Yeah, Hawkins Lab. And we snuck into the morgue and Jim, he cut the bodies open, but they're fake. They're stuffed with this...this cotton."
"Oh, my God," (Y/N)'s mother sits down in a nearby chair, her hand over her mouth, "Why would they be trying to cover this up?"
(Y/N)'s father sits in a chair next to her, "I...I have no idea. But...but she's alive. Our girl is alive. And Will too."
"Yeah..." Mrs. (L/N) looks down, "They're alive, but they're not safe."
"What do you mean?"
"They're trapped somewhere else...in some other world or something. They're being chased by this...this giant, ugly monster. They could be killed any second...that's why we need to save them. That's what we were trying to tell you," Mr. (L/N) rubs his temples.
"How do we help them?" Mrs. (L/N) thinks for a second.
"I...I'm not sure yet," her husband sighs, "But, we need to get Joyce and Hopper. Together we'll know what to do."
"Alright," the two sit in silence. Until (Y/N)'s father decides to speak up again. "I really am sorry...I-I don't know what to do...I'm stuck. I felt stuck, so I drank. I'm a terrible husband. I'm a terrible father. Can you ever forgive me?" His gaze stays downwards at the table. Mrs. (L/N) moves her hand towards his and lightly places it on top.
"Maybe...but, you need to get help. We need to get help. So, that if—when we get our daughter back...We'll be the best parents we can be. Promise me," He looks up to meet his wife's gaze.
"I promise," Mrs. (L/N) smiles. A happy, refreshing smile and she laughs a light, breathy laugh.
"Then, I guess I'll consider forgiving you."
Mr. (L/N) smiles kindly back "Swell," he jokes. They sit in comfortable silence until (Y/N)'s father looks up at the clock and is reminded of a certain fact. "Sh*t!" He shoots up from the chair.
"What? What is it?" His wife asks, a bit concerned.
"The funerals. (Y/N) and Will's funerals. They're back to back. In an hour. We gotta get ready," He rushes out of the kitchen and makes his way to their bedroom.
"Oh, God," Mrs. (L/N) rushes after him, much more concerned about having to curl her hair and pick out an outfit than he is about doing the bare minimum and putting a suit on.
Both parents rush to get prepared for the back-to-back funerals thrown for the stuffed corpses.