Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Hit Me with Your Best Shot

"Hit Me with Your Best Shot"

Hit me with your best shot

Fire away

Come on with it, come on

You don't fight fair

- Pat Benatar

As soon as she recognized that the image on the tape and the drawing Will had made were the same thing, Joyce tried calling the school, wanting him to be brought into the office for safety until she could get there. But they told her there was no AV club today, so Joyce ran for her car. At the school, she skidded to a stop near the bike racks instead of wasting time pulling into a parking spot.

Inside the building, the AV room was empty, but she found Dustin and a red-haired girl she didn't know calling for Will. Before Dustin could tell her anything, Lucas ran in through the door. "The field," he said urgently. "The field!"

Joyce ran with the boys outside and across the field. Will was standing there, unblinking, unmoving—unresponsive. Mike was with him, trying to get him to wake up. "I found him like this," he shouted as Joyce and the boys and the red-haired girl ran up. "I think he's having another episode."

"Will?" Joyce put her hands on his shoulders. "Will?" His closed eyes were moving, she could tell that much, but he was far away. What was happening to him? This was worse than when he was in the Upside Down, when he was here in front of her and still gone away where she couldn't get to him, couldn't keep him safe. "Will! Sweetie, wake up! It's Mom!" She looked around at the boys in a panic, but none of them knew what to do any more than she did. Oh, God, if only Hopper were here. He would know what to do. Stroking Will's shoulders, then holding them firmly, she told him, "Will, wake up," in a voice he always listened to. But there was no response. Nothing. She might as well not be here for all he knew, wherever he was. His eyelids fluttered, but only the whites were visible. "Can you hear me? Will. Please! Wake up, please. Wake up! It's Mom! It's me!"

Just when she thought it was hopeless, that she had lost him for good, he gasped and opened his eyes.

Joyce pulled him close. "Oh, God, Will, I thought I'd lost you!"

"I ... I ... I'm ... okay," he said at last.

"Are you sure? Dude, that was freaky," Dustin said. All the kids looked concerned but relieved, even the red-haired girl.

"Was it one of your episodes?" Mike asked.

"Guys. I'm fine." Will looked up at Joyce. "Can—I want to go home."

"Of course." With one arm around his shoulders, she walked him into the school, grabbing his backpack, and then led him out to the car. The other kids followed, as silent as Will was, standing on the steps and watching until she got him into the car.

It was a quiet ride home. Joyce kept looking over at Will, but he was sitting with his head down, clearly not wanting to talk. She pulled up in front of the house. "Let's get you some hot chocolate, okay?"

"Okay." There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

Joyce held off on her questions until they were sitting down and Will had some of the hot chocolate, although he didn't seem to enjoy it much, before asking him what had happened to him there in the field.

"I can't ... remember," he said slowly, as if there was something keeping him from talking, like he was pushing the words past some barrier.

"I need you to try," she told him.

"I—I was on the field, and ... and it all just went blank, and ... then, you were there."

There had to be more to it than that. "Will. I need you to tell me the truth."

"I am," he protested, but she knew he wasn't. She'd known that voice since he was three years old. She knew when he was afraid to tell her something.

Joyce got up from the table and retrieved the drawing she had made from the tape from the kitchen, putting it down in front of him. "This shape. I saw it on the videotape from Halloween night. The same shape as your drawing." Will looked at her wide-eyed, but didn't say anything. "These episodes that you're having, I think Dr. Owens is wrong. I think they're real. But—but I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. So you have to talk to me. Please."

He looked at her, but for once in his life she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"No more secrets," she said. "Okay?"

Will nodded.

"Okay." She pointed at the picture. "Did you see this thing, again, on the field?"

Another small nod. "Yes," he whispered.

"What—what is it?"

"I don't know." This was hard for him, she could see. He was fighting back tears. But she had to know. She couldn't let this go, not for another minute, not if she was going to help him. "It's almost ... more like ... a—a feeling."

"Like the one you had that night at the arcade?"

"Yes." His eyes were wider and wider, shining with tears.

"Well, what does it want?" Joyce asked him.

"I don't ... know. It came for me, and—and I tried." He was losing his fight with the tears. "I did try to make it go away. But it got me, Mom."

"What does that mean?"

"I—felt it—everywhere. Everywhere," he whispered. "I—I still feel it. I just want this to be over."

She pulled him close as he wept, wanting to cry with him. But she couldn't, not if she was going to help him end this. "It's okay. It's okay," she told him, even though they both knew it wasn't. She held his face between her hands. "Listen. Look. Look at me. I will never, ever, let anything bad happen to you ever again. Whatever's going on here, we're going to fix it. I will fix it. I promise." She didn't know how, but she was going to. Will was not going to suffer any more from this. "I'm here," she told him, gathering him close again.

As she held her son, Joyce looked down on the drawing. She hated that black thing already, hated it and was going to get rid of it. Somehow.