Chapter Text
Will doesn’t know how much longer he can keep blaming this on his father.
There’s a half empty can of beer logged between his knees, and a pile of rocks at his feet. His back hurts where he’s sat on the decimated trunk of a fallen tree, hunching in on himself when he leans down to grab a stone, and throw it over the ledge before him.
Everything in his life has led up to this moment, he thinks bitterly.
Sat alone, drinking stolen Budweiser, at the very quarry his ‘body’ was pulled from all those years ago.
He’d never tell anyone, but he often finds himself wishing that the body was real. That the since-removed headstone with his name on it held meaning, and the coffin below was all that was left of him. It’s a nightmare he finds himself having frequently- being buried alive. Trapped beneath everyone’s feet, pleading with them to realise that he’s still here. He knows the real meaning in the dream- that his trauma has manifested into something more mundane; easier to deal with for his subconscious. It’s reminding him that it’s still there. It makes him feel stupid.
Waking up is harder than the dream.
The next stone he throws is weak, and splits in two when it bounces at the edge of the cliff, before disappearing without a sound. Silent.
Will wonders if he really had fallen into the quarry on his way home when he was 12, if the water would’ve even made a noise for him. If its gentle ripples swayed by the wind would’ve graced him with a wave, if white peaks would even form in his grace when he hit the surface.
Sometimes his dreams set him free from the coffin, only to find himself at the bottom of the lake instead, cold, dark, and silent.
Sound doesn’t travel the same in water as it does in air, so crying out was useless, but Will found that if he ever did break the surface, he could never bring himself to scream.
He’s grateful for those dreams, however, because it means waking up in silence too. He’ll find himself stuck to the mattress, his own hands clawing at his throat, trying to removed an attacker that didn’t exist.
Now, his hands are bloodless with the cold, and his skin stings when the sleeve of his coat shifts as he drinks from the can. The rational part of him is screaming, what are you doing, why are you drinking? You swore to never do this, to never find companionship in the bottom of a bottle. You swore to not be like him.
Will knew he was predisposed to certain things in life. That certain diseases would catch him quicker than others. His grandparents on both sides had cancer, strokes, heart problems. His mom drank like a sailor. He could ignore it, with his mom, if he tried hard enough. She was warm and dewy when she drank, more emotional than she’d let herself be in the sober light of day, until she would inevitably crack. He could sense that it brought her a relief- she had the courage to talk when the booze was flowing; she was able to make him uncomfortable with a lack of guilt simmering at the surface.
Lonnie drank differently. Lonnie wasn’t looking for courage, only a reason. It was an excuse for him, Will thinks, to say everything he wanted to, unapologetically, with even more venom once darkness fell over their house, and the phone was detached from the line. Will’s first drink had been pressed into his hand by his father when he was 9 years old. Lonnie was gone not long after. He promised himself he would be different after that. That he would overcome the genotype.
Will guesses that those promises were broken when the first orange pill bottle was pressed into his mom’s hand after they’d found him. They were weary about prescribing it, as he was so young, but the men in the coats were more afraid of what Will would be like without his brain subdued. It had something to do with an episode he’d had in the hospital. He doesn’t remember a whole lot about it, just that a nurse had to sit with him whenever mom or Jonathan weren’t there.
Will learnt quickly to take the pills with lots of water, otherwise the taste would linger in the back of his throat, and his head would get funny and dizzy. He never told his friends about the prescriptions, but he knew that they saw the gloss in his eyes and heard the lilt in his voice. The way that words sometimes came out wrong, and he couldn’t keep a conversation going to save his life.
He thinks about the smell of antiseptic, and crushes the now empty can under his foot, listening to the way the sound bounces off the earth around him. His Walkie sits on the log next to him, flashing read with life but dead of communication. They’re not meant to meet at the WSQK until 9pm. He’s sat in the darkness, but finds that he isn’t scared, as the woods had been dark for him for as long as he could now remember.
In the summer, when the party would find themselves huddled in a field, paddling at the creek, or racing each other up trees, Will would often realise he had spent the entire day trying to wake himself up. He would dig his nails into his palms, drag his knees purposely on the bark, and hold his head underwater for as long as he could after Lucas pushed him in. It was to see if he could break the world around him, prove to himself that this wasn’t right, that the sun wasn’t meant to fall on the earth in pools between tree branches like that, that the sweat on his back was unnatural and wrong, and the packed lunch in his bag wasn’t meant to exist. The woods weren’t meant to be a kind place, where he could smile, standing out in the open. It made him more uncomfortable than the fear.
He fishes another can from his bag, balancing his flashlight between his teeth as he does so. The taste of metal is on his tongue, and he can smell the staleness of the beer on his breath. He makes a mental note to not get too close to any one later.
Everyone thinks he is at the library, something he tells them every Friday. He’s there to catch up on what he missed from last year, in Lenora. When he’d dropped is own studies in support of El- not that anyone knew that. Her report cards were more important than his- Joyce never asked for anyone else’s. He’s advanced in 9th grade everything now, but is still miserably behind in all things Sophomore.
It was nice, though, teaching El long division and basic algebra. The objective, find the X, was something she’d always chuff at. She’d been finding things her entire life, but with a means beyond her. Being able to do it with open eyes and a pen and paper made her feel normal- a feeling she’d been chasing since she escaped the lab. At least, that’s what Will believed. It was one of the few things they had in common, but it was wasn’t something they’d ever share aloud.
Math was one of only times they’d actually speak about anything that wasn’t Mike.
The beer slides down his throat with some effort, and he grimaces at the feeling of it cloying in his throat where he’d swallowed too much too soon. He picks up another rock, squeezes it tight in his hand, feeling the pain, and then he throws it into the quarry.
It makes sound for a second, before it is swallowed again by darkness.
Will is reaching for another rock when he hears movement in the forest behind him.
He snaps his head around, and spots several beams of light approaching through the woodland, and the gentle hum of chatter starts to crawl through the trees. Flashes of green and white show as the lights sway, and Will’s beer slips from between his knees, crashing loudly onto the gritty floor.
The chatter stops, and the flash lights point directly at him. Beer is spitting on Will’s shoes, and he hisses under his breath.
“Who’s there?” A voice shouts, and the sound of footsteps becomes erratic, drawing nearer by the second.
Will fumbles for the beer, grabbing it with wet hands. He slings his bag over his shoulder and grabs his rucksack, ready to flee.
“Hey!” Another voice shouts, closer this time. Will is ready to run, but when he stands, his foot finds the pile of rocks he had been throwing from, and he rolls his ankle immediately, and the shock of it send him falling face down into the earth.
The air is punched out of him, and his flashlight miserable rolls away, as beer pours directly from the can down his shirt, pooling over his chest and navel.
“Fuck,” he wheezes, mouth welling with blood where he’d also gnawed down on his lip as he fell. It dribbles over his chin, and he tries to push himself up when he feels a sudden weight tug at his bag.
“Zombie boy?” Someone says, and suddenly Will is blinded by the beams of several flashlights. He winces, eyes stinging, mouth still filled with blood.
He’s pulled over onto his back, and finally sees the people surrounding him.
He recognises Andy immediately, the curl of his lip unmistakable, even though Will’s eyes are still adjusting to the light of the torches. Next to him is Chris someone Will only knew in passing, and next to Chris, Chance.
Will heaves, and more blood spills over his bottom lip.
“The fuck,” Andy says, “what the hell happened to you?”
“I fell over,” Will manages, pushing himself to sit. His ankle is throbbing. “I was just leaving, don’t worry.”
“Why would we be worried?” Chris says, face contorted, “what are you doing out here? No one ever comes here.”
“Yeah,” Andy says, “especially not you.”
It’s a dig, and Will knows it. They’d all read the papers back then, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that some of their parents had even kept it.
Will blinks at them, feeling dizzy. He meets Chance’s eyes, who is staring pointedly at Will’s soaking shirt, that sticks to his chest and stomach. Will pulls his jacket around him.
“I do come here,” Will says, “I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Hey, don’t get smart, shit head. Answer the question.” Andy barks, and Will winces.
“I wasn’t doing anything.” Will mutters, and tries to stand up, however Chris steps forward, as if in warning.
They all stare at him, and then the empty beer cans that roll at their feet.
“You drink, Byers?” Andy says. He sounds surprised, almost.
Will blinks at them again, suddenly unsure of exactly what was going on. “Obviously.”
Chris inches forwards again, but Andy sticks out a hand, stopping him.
“You’re in Hell Fire.” Chance finally speaks, and Will grimaces.
“There is no Hell Fire.” He replies. There’s still blood pooling over his chin, and Chance follows the flow with his eyes. Will’s skin feels tight against his body. If it weren’t to his busted ankle, and the fact that he would definitely be body-slammed within seconds, he would be running by now.
“Yeah, tell your friend that.” Chris spits. He doesn’t have to say his name for Will to know they mean Dustin.
Will doesn’t speak, swallowing some of the blood in his mouth. It hits the back of his throat meanly, and he suddenly feels very nauseous.
“So, what, you’re just out here drinking? Alone?” Chris says.
“Not alone,” Will drags his sleeve over his bloody chin, “I have my Walkman.”
Chance snorts on a laugh, “Right.”
Andy’s brows furrow. “You’re fucking weird.”
“Uh huh,” Will agrees, because how can he not. It is weird. What he’s doing is weird. Everything about this is weird. Everything about him is weird.
Will’s wrist watch begins to beep manically on his wrist, signalling it’s time to head to the WSQK. The boys stare at it, suspicion evident on their faces. Will turns it off.
“Look,” he says, “I’m not looking for any trouble. I have somewhere to be. Okay?”
“Where?” Andy spits.
Exasperation suddenly washes Will whole. “Can I stand up now?”
The boys share a look, before Andy jerks his head. Will grimaces as he stands, trying not to put too much weight on his ankle. It throbs meanly. He rubs his sleeve over his chin again.
A practised lie rolls off his tongue. “I help choose the tracks for the WSQK. My friends work there. That’s where I’m going.”
“Who? Rockin’ Robin? Steve Harrington?”
Will nods. He realises now that he might be a little bit drunk as he sways on his feet.
The boys stare at him like he’d grown another head. There’s a moment of silence, like they’re telepathically communicating, trying to decide what they should do with him.
Chance shifts on his feet next to Andy, bumping his shoulder. He and Andy share a look. Will doesn’t know what it means.
Andy tuts. “Whatever, man. Just stop being so freaky hanging out here by yourself. Come here again, we’re gonna have a problem.”
They begin to walk away, leaving Will stood in a stunned silence. On the floor behind him, his walkie crackles to life.
“Will? It’s Mike, come in, over.”
“Shit,” Will check his watch. He’s got fifteen minutes to limp his way to the station. He grabs the walkie, “hey, I’m here, over.”
“Where are you? Over.”
“I’m, uh, just past Kurley, I’ll be at the squawk in ten. Over.”
There’s silence spare static on the other line. In the distance, Chance looks over his shoulder back at Will, and his gaze lingers for a little too long. Will doesn’t know what it means.
“No you’re not.” Mike’s voice hums through the walkie. Will immediately notices the lack of signalling. Mike is worried.
He blanches. “What?”
“We just drove down Kurley. We didn’t see you.” A pause. “You weren’t at the library either.”
Will’s finger hovers over the speaker button, unsure of what to do. The world spins around the edges, and he suddenly feels the weight of his last unopened beer in his bag. The world is fuzzy, but not quite enough. It’s barely scraping thirty five degrees, but he feels warm all over. Even his wet shirt feels tepid on his skin.
“Where are you? We’ll come get you.” Mike’s voice vibrates through the speaker again. Will swallows. He’s doing that thing. His voice is soft, nervous, caring- something he only does when he’s concerned for him, but doesn’t want to send Will running. It used to make Will feel sweet, but the nausea he felt when he fell earlier has now returned at full force. That tone hasn’t been sweet on him in a long time. Instead , he’s fizzing with an anxiety he can’t truly acknowledge because of the beer sat in his stomach.
“Cartersville.”
“What?!” Another voice crackles in, and Will winces when he recognises that it’s Jonathan’s. They must be in the car with Nancy.
There’s a rumble of arguing Will can’t decipher on the line as he begins to limp to the tree line, back towards the road.
“We’ll be there in five.” Mike’s suddenly says, and his voice is strained, as if he himself were holding back anger. “Over and out.”
Will yanks his bag from his shoulders with a little too much force. He burrows his Walkie deep inside, and swaps it for the unopened beer. He cracks it open, and the sound is swallowed by the fortress of trees, and with every gulp his ankle hurts a little less, and the nausea turns to a dull lull.
He remembers he’s wet with beer when Nancy’s station wagon pulls up next to him on the road. Jonathan is sat in the passenger seat next to her. The car is silent where music would usually hum through the stereo. Their faces scream worry, confusion, disappointment.
He climbs in the back seat, where Mike finds him with wide eyes.
Mike opens his mouth to speak, but Jonathan beats him to it. “Jesus- what the- Will, you stink.”
“Is that beer?” Nancy says, and she whips her head around to look at him, hands a tight grip on the wheel.
“Uh,” Will flushes, “maybe.”
Mike stares at him with his mouth hanging open.
“Will!” Jonathan shouts, eyes wide and scandalised.
“What?” He bites back, unable to help help it, still confused and disoriented by what happened at the quarry, still smelling his fathers breath on his own, “like you didn’t drink when you were my age.”
Jonathan scoffs, “that’s different-“
“Different how? Because I’m different?” The words spill from his mouth before he can think them through, and he watches his brother’s face pale. Nancy’s face twitches, and she turns back to the wheel, putting the car in drive.
Like all siblings, Will and Jonathan fight- but it wasn’t usually like this. Will wasn’t usually so caged. He didn’t tend to get mean.
Mike’s eyes are burning holes into Will’s face. Will shifts in his seat, and presses his head against the window, staring into the tree-line.
Will hates the forest, but he could sure make it his home.
Jonathan looks at him a little longer, before he deflates, “We’ll talk about this later.” He mutters.
Will huffs, “Whatever.”
In the corner of his eye, he can see Mike’s mouth moving like he’s trying to form words, but can’t decide which ones. His eyes flick to the front of the car, where he must meet Nancy’s in the review mirror, because he then huffs, and focuses his gaze to his own window instead.
The car is silent. Will sucks on the blood that has clotted between his teeth and on his bottom lip. Somewhere deep inside of him, there’s a thrill that’s akin to winning. Part of him celebrates. He doesn’t understand why. He feels awful. His neck prickles, but he pushes the feeling away.
When they pull up to the station, El is stood in the lot, arms folded across her chest. She’s clad in a pair of blue jeans that Will recognises to be his own that she’d stolen in Lenora, and one of Mike’s sweaters. He remembers when she first took the jeans.
“What?” She’d said, “They are too small for you anyway. People look.”
Will never asked what she’d meant by that. The memory makes him burn.
Nancy and Jonathan leave the car first. Mike turns his body towards him again, but Will is already half way out the door before he can say anything.
El runs up to them. He slams the door a little too hard. She notices.
“Hi,” she says, brow furrowed. “You are wet.”
Will nods, “Yeah. I fell.”
She stares at him, eyes flitting to his swollen bottom lip, inquisitive. She doesn’t believe him. Will has wondered for a long time if her powers include lie detection. He hates the way her eyes feel on him.
He swallows, meeting her eyes. “Don’t.”
She purses her lips, but nods, and turns to look at Mike over the hood of the car. Her face lights up with a grin, and Will can’t help but notice how it’s strained at the edges. She rounds the car, grabbing Mike’s hand, and pulls him towards the doors of the station. Mike’s head flits between the two of them, before focusing back on El, and staying there. They link arms, and follow Nancy and Jonathan to the entrance.
Will swallows the steadily growing lump in his throat, and tears his jacket from his shoulders.
Everything in my life has led up to this moment, he thinks again, as he peels his sodden, stinking shirt from his body, and stuffs it deep into his back pack.
He zips it tightly, before reaching into the front compartment, and grabbing his mints.
He knows that it’s a pathetic attempt to hide what he’s been doing, especially since he’s already been found out, but the image of his mother’s pale, frightened face is a scour behind his eyes, so he may as well try.
The wind is biting on his bare torso, and he’s hit suddenly by the memory of smoke wrapped around his body, something being inside that he didn’t permit. He shakes his head.
He thinks of Chance’s eyes on him earlier.
He pulls his jacket back on, crunching a mint between his molars, and zips it all the way to his chin.
He’s the last one in the room, and he fights against the way everyone’s eyes tell him it’s obvious.
He slots in behind Lucas and Dustin where they’re sat at the table, pushing himself on to the window sill. They turn to look at him. Lucas’ face twitches like he’s going to smile, before his eyes land on Will’s bottom lip. Dustin does the same, however, unlike Lucas, he can’t keep a poker face to save his life. His eyebrows shoot up, and in response, Will clears his throat pointedly, looking to Hopper where he stands next to the projector.
Lucas and Dustin share a look. Jonathan’s eyes bore into him across the room. Mike is so focused on whispering into El’s ear that Will is sure he hasn’t even noticed he came in the room.
His mom stands next to Hopper at the front of the room. Her eyes cling to him, as if she were to even blink, he may vanish into thin air. Will swallows the metal in his mouth, and pretends that something about it doesn’t pick at a barely headed scab.
“So,” Hopper clears his throat, “let’s start with the Mac-Z.”
The glass of the window pane is uncomfortably cold against his back by the time they call on him.
“Will?” Hopper’s voice is a demanding presence in the in the otherwise quiet room, “Anything?”
He inches himself from the icy glass just a fraction, “Nothing here. Same as it’s been. He’s quiet.”
Will keeps his eyes on Hopper as if it’s enough to drown out the rest of the eyes on him. He holds his gaze steady, pretending he can’t see the vibrant concern on the faces of Jonathan, Nancy, and Mike. His mom is frowning, but the creases in her face tell Will it’s not because she thinks he’s lying, just that she’s worried about when things could change.
Hopper holds his eyes for a moment longer. His strong jaw clicks on a swallow. Will does his best not to falter under it.
“Okay.” The man says, “That’s it for today. I trust you all remember your protocols. And that you also remember how stepping out of line could jeopardise us all.”
It’s the same way he finishes every meeting, however this time, his eyes are on Will, and only Will. Will doesn’t budge under the look. His head is still fizzing with the beer, and the thirst is more poignant than ever when everyone in the room follows the man’s eye line.
There’s an awkward silence. Robin takes the grace of breaking it.
“Alrighty then,” she says from her position on the couch next to Steve, “We’ll be on queue for tomorrow. Any requests?”
It’s the same thing she asks every time.
“A little ‘U2’ never hurt anybody.” Jonathan says.
Robin grins. “I can work with that.”
The room bursts into movement, and Dustin and Lucas immediately turn to him.
“The hell happened to you?” Dustin asks, eyebrows scrunched. There’s deep bags under his eyes, and his voice rasps slightly when he speaks.
“I fell on my way here.”
“You fell?” Lucas says. He crosses his strong arms across his chest.
“Yep.” Will answers, popping the ‘P’.
“Mike said you weren’t at the library.” Dustin speaks again. There’s accusation in his tone.
“Yeah,” Will swallows, “I skipped today. Went for a walk instead.”
“Out by the quarry?” Lucas says.
Will flinches. “I didn’t go to the quarry.”
“Right.” Dustin speaks now, “Because Andy and his goons have been hanging there for a while now.”
“Really?” Will mumbles, “I didn’t know that.”
Lucas and Dustin stare at him a little longer, before they meet each others eyes. Lucas shrugs his shoulders, and it’s a movement so small that if Will hadn’t spent his entire life watching people, trying to read them, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
Dustin sighs. “Okay dude. You just gotta tell us where you are. Mike was freaking out, blowing up the line. It was a lot.”
“I had my Walkman.” Will says.
Lucas tuts, “That’s not the point, Will.”
Will doesn’t get the chance to ask him to elaborate, because suddenly his mom is there, placing a small and gentle hand on his arm.
“Hey baby,” she says, “you okay? How was the library?”
“Hey,” he spares a look at Dustin and Lucas, “it was good. I finished reading ‘1984’.”
Neither of them acknowledge the lie. Will isn’t surprised; he’s practised the art of begging without words his entire life.
His mom smiles, “That’s good, honey.” She squeezes his arm before dropping her hand, “Hey, I was thinking of staying at Hop’s tonight. Will you be okay?”
Will cringes, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
Her face falls minutely when her eyes finally land on his lip. “What’s this?” Her hand returns, pawing for his face. He meets it halfway, pushing it back.
“Nothing, just bit it on accident.” Her eyes gleam suspicion, and Will is getting pretty tired of being interrogated all the time. He rolls his eyes, “Mom.”
“Okay, okay, I know. Too much.” She sighs, “Just ice it when you get back. You look like you lost a fight.” She turns to Lucas and Dustin, “You boys gotta look for each other, you know.”
“Yes ma’am.” They say in unison.
There’s warmth in her eyes as she looks at them all, and she smiles, before turning and leaving them standing in a stony silence.
Lucas breaks it, “I’m gonna head back to the hospital.”
He and Dustin nod, “I’ll come with tomorrow.” Will offers, and Lucas smiles at that.
Dustin lets himself be swindled into a conversation by Steve when he shouts his name from the couch. It’s some kind of debate, arguing over the better soundtrack- Star Wars verses Back to the Future.
Lucas rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves.
Will stands by himself, watching the room around him.
Robin has a hand pressed over her chest, her face struck with mock offence as Dustin and Steve squabble next to her. Jonathan and Nancy shuffle away from where they had been huddled at the area board to his mom and Hopper, where they’re stood with Mike and El next to the projector screen. Joyce has always been an animated talker, and her hands move vividly in front of her as she speaks. El’s eyes are wide with attention, flitting rapidly between his mom’s mouth and her flailing hands, nodding along to whatever she’s saying. Hopper watches the two of them, eyes soft- something rare. The six of them slot easily into each other’s presence. Mike stands with his arm looped through El’s, watching her face. He says something, and they all erupt into laughter- even Jonathan and Hopper.
They look like a family. A real family. Not one sewn together with shaking fingers and the binding thread of shared trauma.
El presses her face into Mike’s shoulder as she giggles. Will burns. He wonders if he was really in the room, and if he wasn’t, if anyone would notice at all.
He can’t watch moments like these for too long. If he does, he starts to feel sour- but a kind of sour he cant just swallow. It weighs heavy in his chest, and makes him want to say mean things. It sometimes makes him wish he and El really were siblings, just so he’d have excuse to get a little violent every now and then. He pinches himself hard.
Mike’s eyes suddenly meet his own, and his Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow. Will keeps his face neutral. The corners of Mike’s mouth twitch like he’s going to call Will’s name.
Will turns on his heel, and leaves, almost forgetting to correct the limp in his step.
He’s made it halfway out the door when Mike catches up to him.
“Hey! Will, wait!”
The evening air is a shock on his skin, and the zipper of his jacket brushes in a harsh line on his navel. He turns to Mike, whose cheeks immediately flush in the cold air.
“Where are you going?” Mike says. His eyes glue themselves to Will’s bottom lip, still bruised, swollen. Will sucks it between his teeth, checking for any residual blood he might’ve missed.
“I was gonna walk back.” He answers honestly, staring at the print on Mike’s sweater instead of his face.
“What? All the way back to my place- that’s insane, Will.” His voice is a jumble of worry. It makes Will want to crawl inside himself.
“I’ve done it before. It’s fine, I have my Walkman.”
“That’s not the point.” Mike parrots what Lucas had said earlier, “it’s freezing, and you’re still all wet, and,” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if she should say what he he wants to. He decides. “You’re limping.”
“No I’m not.” Will is pathetic.
“Uh, yes, you are. I can see it- your left side. What happened at the quarry?”
“I didn’t go to the Quarry, Mike.” The lie feels fruitless at the point, but Will clings to it anyway.
Mike ignores him.
“Did you get in trouble? Was it the jocks? Did they hurt you?”
The rapid fire of questions is enough to make Will choke. Something in him snaps.
“-Jesus, what is your deal? I’m not a baby, Mike, stop freaking out over me all the time.” He spits, finally letting himself look at Mike’s face, “I don’t need you to worry about me all the time. Go worry about El instead. Fuck.”
Mike flinches a little, like he’d been hit by spitting oil at a hot pan. His mouth flaps, shock evident on his face. He lets Mike fumble for a few seconds more, before Will sighs, and pushes his way completely through the door.
He makes it a few paces down the lot before Mike shouts behind him, “I’ll tell your mom.”
Will freezes.
“About the beer. I’ll tell your mom about the beer, if you don’t let us drive you home.”
Home, Mike said- like his house was somewhere Will was meant to be.
His shoulder tense. He turns to look at Mike, who had followed him a few feet out the door. Mike’s face is unreadable, but his eyes are narrow as he waits for Will to respond.
“Jesus Christ, Mike.” Will mutters. The backs of his eyes sting. Mike doesn’t budge.
“I know Jonathan won’t, but I will.” Mike continues, “Then you’ll see a real ‘freak out’.”
It’s mean, Will realises. Mike is being mean. He’s blackmailing him- with his own mother.
Will shakes his head, staring at Mike in disbelief. Mike shrugs at him. His eyes are big and sparkling under the red glow of the WSQK sign.
He’s so pretty. Will wants to punch him.
Mike doesn’t wait for him. He turns and walks back to the entrance, not stopping once to check if Will is following.
Because he knows. He knows that no matter what Mike might say, or do, that Will would always follow. That he was helpless to him. That he doesn’t even need to start a competition to let Will know he’d won.
The defeat has Will biting his lip so hard that the wound from earlier blooms with fresh blood. The feeling of fighting is rotten, but just like earlier in the car, something deep inside thrums with life. He spits the blood away instead of swallowing it, and nausea greets him again in shallow waves.
His spit is veiny with red where it’s landed on the floor. Lonnie used to spit all the time- out the window, when he would drive. One time, he held Will down, and spat in his face after Will’s teachers caught him doing it at recess one time. Will didn’t understand why. Why was Lonnie allowed to do it, but he wasn’t? That didn’t seem fair.
He swallows the next wave of blood instead of spitting.
Will stops trying to hide the limp as he walks back to the station doors.
Everthing in his life.
—