Chapter Text
William ‘Willy’ Byers is a competent detective. Some would say he is wise beyond his years. In his not too long career in law enforcement and a very young career in the FBI, he has proven himself worthy. Worthy of trust, reliance, loyalty. He specializes in missing people, missing children to be specific. They say he has a certain ‘intuition’ when it comes to matters like these. Like he can trace the paths taken by these children and their abductors in their final confrontations. All Willy can say to that is that it’s rather innate. That he just knows. Some call it divine intervention. Some chalk it up to his own personal struggles in his childhood, turning probable trauma responses into an MO. Some are suspicious: of his connection within the agency, with nefarious organisations, with God, or are simply put off by him by everything that seems to surround him.
They wonder about him. They keep an eye on him. They don’t question him. He is their golden boy, after all. A feather in their plume. A shining beacon of government’s competence, of the FBI’s competence in rescuing him from a shady organisation back in 1982. And at the same time, another shining beacon of their competence as a part of their organisation, helping bring more children back to their parents.
The rescued savior.
His name is far reaching, and yet no one knows much about him. The man keeps to himself. Lives with his mother, a fraying woman, tortured by something. There were attempts at diagnosing Joyce Byers, but all in vain. She is a deeply melancholic woman and that is all to it. Besides melancholy though, Joyce Byers has a particular brand of fierceness that only ignites when Willy is concerned. She had barged in offices to check on him if he had been gone on missions for longer than she deemed necessary. Willy was not embarrassed by her, but it wouldn’t be wrong to assume that he was at the very least annoyed.
But it also helped him, in certain ways it made him seem more alike. Besides his mom, there seemed to be no tethers connecting that man to the rest of the country. It was like he spawned one day in FBI’s records and the world’s records in general. Any attempts at figuring out his past, and by proxy the details of his rescue, were cleverly brushed aside by himself. William Byers is a walking enigma. Mysterious past, paranoid mother, bridled with talent and quiet. Equal parts frustrating and enticing for anyone daring to get closer to him or anyone onto him. William remains seemingly unbothered.
--
No new assignments for William for the past two weeks. It is starting to get to him. He avoids being free, avoids being alone in his head. It is nothing to be worried about, if anything, it is fairly common for someone in his profession, dealing with such brutal things. Although he would like to be back on his feet again, finding more people. There is so much to do.
“Byers, Jack called you in his office.”
Finally. William mutters to himself and finds his way to his boss’s office, his coffee sits forgotten on his desk.
“Morning, Jack.” William greets his boss as he enters his office. Jack is a tall man, certainly reminds of an actor William can’t ever recall. He has the look of a man eternally tired and on the verge of screaming at someone. But he rarely does, almost never at William. Jack has seen a lot and hence can be jaded at times, William had collected as much when he joined FBI and came to work with Jack. But he was pleasantly surprised that jadedness has not completely wiped out all of Jack’s empathy and acceptance of offbeat ideas. In a sea of people who are curious, intimidated or jealous of William, Jack merely treats him as any other employee and respects his input even when they are atypical. For this alone, William would call his current job his favourite.
It must be a special case if he has been called to Jack’s office. William has ideas as to which cases could be given to him and his partner, Steven. Thinking of Steven, where is he? Not that William is ever particular about his partners. He has been told that it is a flaw of his.
“Willam. Take a seat.” Jack nods to Willaim in acknowledgment and turns from his phone to take his own seat.
“Steven took a transfer.”
William is at a loss for words. As his partner, William should be the one telling people about the change. But here he is, getting informed by their boss. If William cared even an ounce, he would feel embarrassed, but he doesn’t. he merely thinks it unprofessional on their collective behalf and braces himself for an upcoming lecture over interpersonal communication.
“Ok.” He responds.
“That’s it, Byers?” Jack is looking up him through his glasses, his eyebrow raised in a question.
“What do you want me say? I –I didn’t ask him to leave.”
“I know. He had his personal reasons. But I am sure you wouldn’t know.” Jack’s face is still the same from before.
“No.” William says, trying not sound terse.
Jack sighs and sinks into his chair.
“We all know here that you are capable, Byers. But there is a reason that we assign two people. It’s a team effort because what we do, is difficult for one person. No, don’t start with me—" Jack interrupts William before he could get a word out.
“—We need a partner out there in the field, not because we are not capable, but because of the nature of our work. We don’t know what’s out there. Ok? We don’t know what we might be missing. Unknown unknowns, William Byers.”
Jack stops speaking. William knows he is hoping for him to say something about changing his ways. And Jack is not incorrect. But William works best in the quiet, when he does not have to accommodate another person.
“You’re right, Jack. But is do adhere to our policies. I share my information—”
“After solving the case halfway.” Jack interjects.
William feels his ears redden and drops his head.
“Your partners feel like they are not even included in the case. You don’t speak. Not even when it is necessary to. Why would they want to work with you?”
Jack is right. But he is also not William. He does not know how William works. How deep he has to dig into his own psyche, how vulnerable and lost it leaves him. He does not want to explain every single intuition to an ever-curious partner, who is there just to add one more solved case to their ledgers and move on.
Every case leaves William a bit shredded. Every child, not found, haunts him. Every child, found, with some glitter missing from their eyes, turns his stomach into a knot.
William has never been wholly successful at compartmentalizing like his peers. His peers have mostly assumed him to be a lone wolf of sorts who does not like to share his loot. The mismatch leaves something to be desired from all of his pairings.
But Jack is right. It is indeed a team effort. And it is unwise to go out by oneself. So, he keeps quiet and decides to let Jack finish and perhaps assign him a new partner and a new case.
Perhaps he will try harder this time.
After five minutes of words, William has heard before but never managed to retain, Jack is quiet, probably assessing the futility of his efforts.
He lets out a sigh, prompting William to emerge from his thoughts in hopes of new information.
“Are you aware of Indiana-12?” Jack finally speaks.
A bolt of electricity runs through William’s spine. He looks into Jack’s eyes and nods, his throat running dry.
“How much do you know?” Jack inquires.
“Just the papers, and gossip. I wasn’t aware when it handed over to us.”
“Ok. I am giving you Indiana-12. It’s certainly deeper than it looks. I want you to investigate it.”
“Are you sure? There are many people more qualified—” William tries.
“Trust my judgement on this, Byers. Will you?”
“Yes Sir. I am –um, honored. Thankyou.” William tries to calm his beating heart. He has never felt this inadequate in his life.
Jack shakes his head.
“Just find those kids. Or at least, find out what happened to them. It’s been a year.”
William lets out a shuddering breath.
“I will try.” He vows.
Jack shakes his head again.
“We.”
William tilts his head but then it dawns on him. His hyper-individualism and self-reliance, and lack of team playing were the topic of discussion for the past several minutes.
“We.” Will reaffirms and tries to smile at Jack who gives no readable expressions.
William finds two files on the table the very next minute.
“It’s a preliminary report on the Indiana-12. Give it a good read and you can find more documents at your leisure. And that—”
Jack points out the other file.
“—is the file of your new partner. He is well experienced, though not as much as you. But you are not to underestimate him. And you WILL be better this time, Mr. Byers.”
“Right.” William says, unable to keep the terseness out of his voice this time and leaves the office.
--
Back on his own desk, William finds his now cold coffee and stares at it with reproach, then decides to down it, nonetheless, hoping it would do something to keep a blooming headache at bay.
The preliminary report has nothing new in terms of theory for William. He had deduced as much from all the information floating. What he has now is more concrete set of names and place names and a nagging voice inside his head that this new case is too big for him.
It is not because of danger. He has been in plenty of danger before. This is something else.
Nothing scares William more than not knowing. And this case is full of holes. Four children went missing from a town in Indiana, over a span of two years, almost half a decade ago. Two bodies. No marks.
Twelve more children went missing over the course of three years. One year ago, two more bodies were found. No marks.
It became hot topic for politics and media speculation for some time. Became a matter of state pride that led to victories in elections before losing steam and finding its way in the hands of FBI. William thinks it is rather late. The case should have been here half a decade ago. But alas.
And now it is finally here, and William is approaching some version of writer’s block in his own profession. One thing is for certain though, William has to go out in the field. The field being the entirety of Indiana. It sounds exhausting and Willaim immediately tenses up at the sound of his own thoughts. He is needed and yet all he can think of is his own comfort. How did he get this way?
Perhaps it is the exhaustion taking over. He decides to take a look at the other file.
Micheal Wheeler.
What a strange little name. He utters under his breath.
William opens the file and is greeted with a face framed by black curls. His breath catches and a strange new kind of sensation unfurls in his chest.
Have I seen him before? Why is he so familiar?
He reminds himself to close his mouth and breathe again. It seems wise to close the file. He can figure out the story in it some other time. It is important to breathe. The expectations that Jack has put on him today, from the case to interpersonal skills, are too much to handle today. And now this, this being.
In his entire career in law enforcement, William has never been nauseous. He has despaired, been angered and even cried. But this strange new unfurling is making him nauseous.
Why does this person whom William has no connection with incite such a reaction!
He hides the file inside the lowest drawer and comes back to the Indiana-12 file. So much work to do.
He first needs to figure out an efficient route to trace the living places of all the known victims and their respective sheriff offices.
He needs all the autopsy reports.
He needs reports on all the sightings and tips.
He needs information about family, family businesses, the history of the towns, at least fifty years in past.
It might be excessive to some. But not to William. He knows and Jack knows that this case is not typical. It is practically cold. And they have no leads. When the future is uncertain, look in the past. The past knows answers, it has already lived it.
So that’s what he needs to do.
He needs to sort out some kind of arrangement with more friendly colleagues to check on his mother from time to time.
He needs to convince his mother to not make a scene this time if he does not come home for a couple months.
He needs to pack.
He needs to leave.
He needs to go to Indiana.
It is important. And William is probably burnt out, but this feels too important for pesky bodily exhaustion.
Penultimate. The word pops into his mind. to what? William wonders and sets on a course to the record room.