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There’s more crying, by the time they’re done talking. Will spends a long time sniffling into the hard muscle of Henry’s chest, sobbing for the childhood that was stolen from both of them, for the children that died because of it, because of the actions of Martin Brenner and the Flayer. Will cries until the tears start burning, until they dry upon his cheeks and the only thing he feels is anger. He hates Brenner, he hates this lab, he hates the monster that ruined his and Henry’s younger years- that tried to steal them and use them.
Henry holds him through his breakdown until Will has to shove himself out of his hold and pace across the crumbling floor, his sneakers crashing into toy parts and sending them sailing at the far walls. He screams, he cries some more, he collapses there in the middle of the room, crashing to his knees upon the curve of the painted rainbow, his heart breaking for Jane, for Henry, for all those little kids. He could’ve been one of them so easily. Henry approaches him slowly, like he’s calming a spooked animal, like he’s ready for Will to snap and bite- but Will couldn’t now, not at Henry.
“I-I’m so sorry, Henry,” Will blubbers from the floor, drawing his knees up to hide his face in between them. Henry coos and shushes him so gently, close to tears himself at the sight of his broken boy, but holding it together through the light Will’s love has left inside him, through the years he’s had to sort through his rage.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, William,” Henry murmurs as he crouches next to him, slowly easing his hands onto the boy’s shoulders so he doesn’t startle him. “It’s not our fault, remember?” That seems to get through to him at last, Will’s sniffles slowing as his tears dry, his big, achingly sad eyes peering up at Henry from under dark, wet lashes.
“Say it, Will,” Henry orders, nearly whispering but no less firm. Will sucks in a stuttering breath and visibly strengthens himself, his brows knitting over his eyes, his jaw clenching as he lifts his head high. His good boy.
“It’s not our fault,” he whispers back shakily, his plush bottom lip quivering in a way that strikes fresh heat into Henry’s core but he pushes it down. Henry just nods, nudging at Will’s chin with a knuckle.
“That’s right. Good boy.” Will sighs like the words have released something within him, his hands coming up to rest helplessly against Henry’s shoulders, unable to ask for what he wants but communicating it through touch. Henry wants to push him just the tiniest step further, though, so he ignores the request.
‘Try again,’ he whispers against the soft walls of Will’s mind, less legible language and more of an interpretation of intent. Will flinches and blinks up at him, eyes so big and wet and sweetly confused. ‘Try, my love. Tell me what you need,’ Henry impresses again, holding the deep contact between their eyes. Will’s brows twitch down and he licks his lips as he visibly concentrates.
‘HOLD’ he unintentionally shouts at Henry’s mind, the intent expressed loud and clear. Henry rears back for half a second before a bright smile breaks out across his face, chuckles falling from his throat. Will winces and ducks his head, embarrassed, but Henry moves to immediately give the boy what he’s asked for. He swoops close and gathers Will up in his arms, standing from the dirty floor with grace.
“Of course I’ll hold you, angel. You did so well. I’m so proud of you,” Henry admits, squeezing the boy close to him against his chest, adjusting his hold to have one arm around Will’s back, the other under his knees, their faces tucked close together. Will blushes so prettily at the praise, the flush of color something that Henry realizes he’s becoming addicted to. Before he can lick across the boy’s cheeks to taste the heat, though, Will flinches back just as a droplet of dark blood drips down from the left side of his nose.
“Shit,” he hisses, hand flying up to swipe the blood away, staring down at his reddened fingers in shock. “It’s really true… I- I have-”
“Power, William. You have power.”
“How do I- I mean, how do I use it?” Will asks earnestly, so eager to be taught, to learn everything that Henry is willing to show him. Henry smiles down at his boy warmly.
“I’ll teach you how, don’t worry. We’ll go back outside for it, just-” Henry regretfully places Will back down upon his own feet on the floor, dragging his hands up his sides reassuringly. “Just give me a moment to retrieve something for you.” He places a soft kiss upon Will’s lips and steps away, their hands lingering in the air between them, hesitant to let go, to stray further than reach from one another. Will tries not to whine as he watches Henry stride over to the broken glass mirror, shuffling his feet under him nervously, suddenly more scared of the shadows clinging to the corners of the room than he wants to admit, even as he rationally knows that Henry would never let anything happen to him.
Will watches as Henry braces his strong hands against the lip and edge of the mirror at a wide broken section and deftly lifts himself, throwing his legs over the edge, disappearing into the dark room beyond. Will feels his heart jolt in his chest and instinctually reaches out with his mind, brushes that intangible part of himself forward until he feels the dense walls of Henry’s own mind, feels the little tickle he gets in response, fond and ever-patient, reassuring.
‘I’m right here, little one,’ Will hears without his ears, a hot flush creeping down to his chest at the names Henry calls him so lovingly. Satisfied that Henry is searching for something just out of sight and not abandoning him, Will sighs and shakes his clenched hands out, spinning on his heel to seek out his discarded bookbag. He darts over to the couch they had broken each other apart on, biting his lip at the sight of Henry’s ruined button up, laying crumpled at the end, smeared with their mixed cum and stained with their blood. Snatching his bag from the ground, he leans one knee onto the cushion and leans forward to grab the shirt, hastily shoving it down into the bottom of his bag, over top of the old hunting knife. He doesn’t know why he wants to keep it, he just… It’s part of them, their history. It’s a memento of their first date, if this could be called that. Maybe it’s sappy- sentimental- but Will wants it so he takes it, as simple as that.
“Here, add this in too,” Henry speaks up from behind him, Will stifling the mortifyingly high pitched noise that tries to claw its way out of his mouth, whirling and nearly losing his balance to fall back onto the couch. Henry just catches him by the front of his denim jacket to keep him upright, his free hand holding out a thick notebook. Will huffs at being caught taking the shirt but doesn’t say anything, just gingerly takes the book from Henry’s hand.
“What is it?” Will asks, even as he flips open the first few pages, eyes drawn immediately to the intricate sketchings spread throughout. There are diagrams and charts and illustrations of things he doesn’t have the scientific mind to comprehend, long rambling notes in a neat, cursive script.
“It’s Brenner’s work. His compiled notes on the nature of this realm; the science behind it, at least. He was never much a fan of calling our abilities magic. Too fantastical for the harshness of reality, he used to say.” Henry’s voice falls flat as he talks of Papa, of the man who stole his life from him, who neutered his powers with a chip implanted in his neck, kept him chained to this basement, forced him to help with the chaining of other children after. Will snaps the book shut and stares up at his lover, wanting to suck the pain out of him like venom, to kiss it all better the way Henry does for him. Something tells him Henry wants a moment to not be touched, though, so Will just shoves the book down into his bag before zipping it shut.
“Thank you,” he offers softly, stepping just a tiny bit closer, not touching but nearly, gazing up at Henry. “I’m sure Dustin will be able to make sense of it. It’ll help. Thank you, Henry.” He means it, tries to express it with his voice but finds he can’t in the way he needs to, so he thinks it, pressing the intent into the small space between them, their minds brushing against each other’s, mingling instinctively. Henry smiles then, soft and sad and proud. Tired.
“We need to kill the Flayer,” he says quietly, shocking Will back into his own head, blinking. “It’s weak; sleeping for now, I think. Losing me as its primary vessel has set it back in its plan, but if we wait too long, and it wakes? It will be desperate for a host, and you are still the perfect candidate. We must destroy it before it wakes, Will. Or you will never be safe.”
“Henry…” Will whispers, a strange mix of fear and love swirling inside of him. “You can help us. You could- Come back with me, we could explain all of this-”
“You have the most amazing soul, William,” Henry interrupts, cutting off that line of thinking, but no less heartbroken by how sweet the boy in front of him is. “You have more empathy and compassion than anyone else I have ever encountered.” He smiles sadly down at Will, drawing him into his arms. “But they would never accept it; my help, let alone our… involvement. I will help you all destroy the Mind Flayer, but the moment I reveal myself will have to wait, unfortunately. Do you understand?” He hates to do this, to crush his boy's bright hope, his desire to show them that Henry has changed, that he changed him.
But Henry is right, Will realizes. As things stand now, his family, his friends, would never accept that Henry is no longer Vecna, that he doesn’t pose a threat to their lives anymore.
“I’m working on a plan,” Henry offers earnestly, sounding slightly unsure of himself in a way that feels unfamiliar to him. He hates it, but this is uncharted territory for him. “I’m going to figure out a way to pull Max out of the Flayer but… to do that, I may need your help. So…”
“So training,” Will finishes, rapidly understanding the basis of what Henry is planning. Hope fills his chest like helium, excitement sending his blood racing around his body again. “Do you really think we can save Max?” He asks eagerly, desperately trying to not let himself get carried away.
“I think we can- eventually. The trick is doing it without waking the Flayer. We’ll have to be careful. William, I-” Henry lowers his head for a moment, holding Will tighter. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused for all of you-”
“I’m not the one you need to say sorry to, Henry,” Will interjects softly. “It’s Lucas and Max, once we get her back. Jane, Dustin, and my mom… All of them, really.” He scoffs a laugh at the growing concern on Henry’s sharp face, rising up on his toes to plant the sweetest kiss he can on the older man’s lips, feeling strangely assured in himself and them now. “I’ll help you. We’ll convince them, together. But first… training.” Henry nods against his head, happy to drop the subject of atonement in favor of focusing back on his boy.
“Training, then,” Henry affirms, reaching down to grab Will’s bag, slinging it over his own bare shoulder, only feeling slightly ridiculous to be a grown man wearing a school bag. He doesn’t give Will a moment to prepare as he leans back down and scoops the boy back up into his arms like a bride, and strides from the rainbow room, Will’s soft giggles echoing out around them. He’s happy to leave that cursed room behind, happy to have made new memories there with his love.
Henry’s powerful body makes short work of the endless flights of stairs, Will laughing into his ear every time he shows off and uses his powers to be able to leap several steps at a time, the sound like music, so out of place and yet perfectly at home here in the Upside Down. After a few minutes, they emerge from the stairwell into the long hallway at the edge of the building, and Henry walks them over to the same broken door he led Will in through, ducking through it to deposit Will gently to his feet outside.
As the thunder rolls through the sky and the hours pass, Will realizes training is easier than he was expecting. Not the act itself- trying to stretch his mind beyond its limits, trying to influence the random objects Henry points out to move through space- but the nature of it. Henry is a natural teacher and Will is a natural learner, the way they communicate seeming so flawless and smooth. When Will struggles, Henry comes up with new ways to encourage him, new ways to describe the direction he needs to take until finally, Will understands and is able to lift a small piece of rubble a few feet off the ground. Henry scoops him up in his strong arms and kisses him in reward, Will laughing breathlessly into the kiss in delight, even as the blood drips from his nose and smears between their faces.
They're just losing themselves in the kiss, their hands wandering, heads tilting, when the soft chittering of a creature creeps from the woods across the field. Will jerks back in shock, hands clinging to Henry, whose eyes immediately move to track the shadows between the trees. Henry relaxes almost instantly, smirking down at Will
“It's just a-” He pauses, brows lowering in consternation. “What do you fools call them? A Demodog? It won't harm you, not if you reach out to it. You and I are still… connected to them, even without the Flayer inside of us.” Will glances between Henry's eyes and the dark woods in confusion, the wheels of his mind visibly turning.
“Reach out?” He asks quietly, voice full of fear that Henry wishes he could scoop out and replace with his own assuredness, but knowing that his boy will find it on his own soon enough- he always does.
“Just like you do for me, angel. It’ll feel different, but similar. You’ll see- I know you can do it, Will. Try for me?” He knows exactly what he's doing, exactly what to say to push Will into trying something new and scary and he's completely willing to use it to his advantage. Will needs to learn more about the scope of their powers if they're going to have a chance at destroying the Flayer in time.
Will nods sweetly, eyes lighting up at the chance to prove himself, to be a good boy, to make Henry proud.
“Okay,” Will agrees, mostly to himself. He turns his back to Henry but stays connected, his shoulders brushing the broad chest behind him with every calming breath. One hand reaches up to absently swipe some of the blood from his lip, then falls to his side as he twitches, concentrating his focus on the faint outline of the creature pacing back and forth just beyond the dark treeline.
He fans his consciousness outwards, gentle waves lapping over the tall dead grass, woven with vines and debris, the air between them shimmering with drifting particulates. The chittering picks back up, softly curious sounds echoing out towards Will, who cocks his head and narrows his focus down.
There, he feels it against his mind, an animalistic impression, something running on pure instinct and impulse, drawn to the lab by the faint scent of blood coming from Will’s nose. Not hunting, just seeking the source. Will gasps as he connects further, his eyesight flickering in and out as he briefly sees through the Demodog, sees himself and Henry standing together at the side of the lab, the entire scene tinged red and blurry, viewed more by scent and impression than actual sight. The simple mind that greets him isn't… hungry, in the way he thought it would be. It isn't angry, or mean, or devouring like he assumed. It's just… there. It's curious and attentive, even as it gets distracted easily by the sounds of other creatures in the distance that it can sense easier than Will ever could.
Will blinks back into his own head and watches in amazement as the Demo trots a few feet out of the treeline, braving the open field, its bony little nub of a tail wagging like a dog’s.
“Interesting,” Henry murmurs to himself over the top of Will’s head, quirking a brow in consideration.
“It's kinda… cute,” Will admits, his hand twitching to reach out to the creature, even as his heart races. This is the same thing that killed Bob, that ripped all those people apart in the lab, but… As Will reaches into its mind again, he realizes they had almost as little choice in that night as he did. Yes, they ate and attacked and killed but… they did so at the command of their Master, the same as he did when he betrayed his friends' location, when he led the demodogs to their doorstep.
The Demodog wiggles and continues towards them, little chirrups and hissing barks leaving its throat, its flower-petal face opening a bit as it sniffs at the air. Will braves a few steps away from Henry's front, only twenty or so feet separating him from the Demo, now.
“Hey there,” Will breathes to the creature, shakily lowering himself to a crouch, following all the guidelines he learned to approach an unfamiliar dog he learned as a kid, unsure if he's making a fool of himself or not, but uncaring either way. Brushing his mind forward again, he pets gently along the creature's simple consciousness, trying to convey his soft curiosity, his desire to connect. The Demo chitters just a touch louder, its mind happily lapping at Will’s, easing closer and closer. Will reaches out with one hand, palm down-turned, fingers twitching with nerves that he tries to suppress. He can do this, he realizes.
The Demo paws closer, it's grey lips haltingly stretching out, snuffling at the tips of Will’s shaking fingers. They're both scared, both unsure of the other, but slowly getting more comfortable. Will feels as the creature digests his scent, senses something familiar in it, and watches as the faint tension in its back drops. All at once, it drops its muscular shoulders down, bowing its head to the ground before jerking back up, eagerly sniffing along Will’s wrist and up his arm as the boy giggles in shocked delight.
Unafraid, Will loosens his own tension and reaches forward to pet the creature, feeling along its thin skin, not slimy but damp from the cool air, colder than he was expecting against his fingers. The Demo puffs a breath of foul-smelling air into Will’s face, the boy grimacing as he laughs, watching the way its stunted, bony tail wiggles eagerly back and forth, the way slick drool drips from its mouth, smearing over his dark jeans.
“I can't believe this,” Will wonders, scratching the Demo under the chin, as it kicks its back paw against the ground in delight, the same way Chester used to do before he passed back in ‘84.
“To be completely honest, I've never seen them act like this,” Henry admits from behind him, moving around to crouch at Will’s side, but keeping his hands firmly at his own sides. “You have the same effect on them as you did on me, it seems.”
“Maybe they just don't like you,” Will teases, roving his scritches along the Demo’s neck and chest, searching for the best spots, the ones that make the dog chitter happily, a strange rumbling purr kicking to life like a motorcycle engine in its chest. “Isn't that right, huh? Is Henry just too mean and scary for you guys? You like me better? What a sweet boy,” Will drops into an oozing baby-voice as he pets the Demo, unknowingly sending a bolt of desire through Henry's gut.
God, the boy is gorgeous like this, Henry thinks, not even slightly annoyed at the teasing, or the interruption of their training. Will is ethereal when he's sobbing, when his face is crumpled with big fat tears sliding down his cheeks- but he's beautiful when he's happy, when his cheeks glow and his cute bunny teeth show through his wide smile.
Will lets himself get lost for a few minutes, playing with the Demo, rubbing its belly and feeling deliriously happy, his fear leaving him in such a rush it leaves him almost light-head, though that could be the effects of his few hours of training catching up with him.
His watch beeping is what draws him back into himself, his hands stilling upon the Demo, both of their heads tilting at the sound, Henry watching on in patient adoration. Will sighs and taps his watch to kill the alarm, wincing at the time. It's nearly five in the morning, and he needs to get back home before the Wheeler house starts to wake, before his mom comes down into the basement to check on him. He glances back down to the Demo and pouts sadly, knowing their time is up. The Demo sits on its rump and nuzzles at Will’s hands, begging for more petting.
“I’m sorry, buddy, I have to go,” Will moans, petting along its shoulders and back anyway, before forcing himself to pull away. Henry rises from his crouch and reaches a hand down to help Will up as well. “Go on, go hunt something, I’ll be back- I think,” Will encourages, reaching out with his mind to nudge the Demo away, to let it know that he has to be done petting now, that it should go back to whatever it was doing before. The Demo whines but listens, tilting its head back to sniff at the air, locking onto something that must be far off in the distance. It nudges at Will’s hand one last time in goodbye before it turns and bounds off into the dark woods once more, its powerful muscles shifting and bunching beneath its skin.
“You really are an angel,” Henry murmurs to his boy, drawing him in with one arm to press a kiss into his hair. Will huffs into Henry’s neck in denial, but can’t find the words to protest, a soft pink blush rising to his cheeks at the compliment. He’s never been spoken to like this, the way Henry showers him with adoring praise and acclaim. Henry guides them back over to the wall of the lab, next to the rift with its glowing red membrane. Will glances around almost sadly, in disbelief that he’d ever get to a point where he didn’t want to leave this realm. But he has to be brave, has to go back to his Party, figure out a way to give them the notebook Henry has given him. They have the beginnings of a plan. They’re going to save Max, kill the Flayer- they’re going to figure out a way to win, together.
“I love you,” Will whispers into Henry’s skin, as the older man draws him into a tight hug after threading Will’s arms through the straps of his bag, settling it onto his back once again, heavier with the book and shirt it now holds.
“I love you, too,” Henry growls into his hair, arms tensing so tight that it hurts, but Will just sighs into the pain, enjoys it while it lasts, knowing that soon they’ll have to part. “Be careful going home. Don’t let them catch you,” Henry instructs, drawing away from Will regretfully, putting distance between them now, so that he doesn’t change his mind and keep the boy trapped down here with him for eternity.
“I won’t,” Will promises, fingers twitching to reach backout, to throw himself into Henry’s arms and beg to be kept, beg to not have to leave. Henry nods, his jaw clenching, before he jerks his chin at the rift. Will turns and watches as a thick black wine slithers over and dips through the membrane, tearing a hole for him to crawl through, lifting the steel plate on the other side.
“I’ll come to you soon,” Henry assures his boy, fingers lingering in the air just behind Will's head, knowing if he touches he won’t let go. “Now, go.”
“I love you,” Will whimpers softly one more time, cursing his weak heart for the sadness that tries to overtake him. Before he can break, he drops to his knees harshly and leans down into the rift, throwing his arms out into the tall grass on the outside. Gravity whirls unnaturally around him, and then he’s pulling himself out instead of falling, another vine slithering over to wrap through one of his belt loops, assisting him- a parting gift from Henry that makes Will bite his lip to smother his incredulous laugh. He emerges into the Rightside Up, breathing in deep lungfuls of the clean, crisp air- just as cold as the Upside Down but smoother, not humid or full of drifting dust. The endless crack of lightning and roll of thunder is replaced by the soft song of crickets and whisper of wind through the trees, the tall stalks of grass hissing against each other in the breeze.
Will lets himself lay there for a long moment, watches as the big vine carefully lowers the steel plate back to the ground in silence, the window of glowing red light narrowing over Will’s eyes until it blinks out completely, leaving him awash in only the dim, silvery light of the moon. He blinks the embarrassing tears from his eyes, harshly rubbing them away as he sits up and rolls to his feet. It’s so disorienting to stare out over the field of grass he just came from but for it to be so completely different. There’s no Henry at his back, no Demodog purring at his front, no shifting slither of vines at his feet. He’s alone out here.
Shaking himself out of his melancholy, Will brushes some of the dirt from his clothes and scans his surroundings, double-checking for any sign of trouble. With the coast clear, he huffs a breath and sprints across the field along the line of the rift, not slowing until he reaches the fence, cutting immediately to the right, back towards the hole he crawled through in the chain link. There, he army-crawls back through and takes a moment to wonder how he’s going to wash all this dirt and dust from Jonathan’s jacket.
“Come on, come on,” he whispers under his breath, kicking softly through the leaves and sticks littering the forest floor, cursing himself for hiding his damn bike too well. His sneaker catches the metal handlebars and he stifles a yelp, hurrying the shove away the disguise, lifting it up onto the two wheels. He walks through the trees slowly- too slowly, with only the light of the lowering moon to guide him- cursing Henry for making him drop his flashlight and then distracting him so thoroughly that he forgot to pick it back up from the bottom of the stairwell.
When he reaches the edge of the woods, coming out just on the side of the road that leads past the security building, he checks his watch and curses entirely too loudly for how stealthy he’s trying to be. It’s five-twenty in the morning, and the very first lightening of the sky is starting to the east, the deep black shifting into the darkest navy blue. He stumbles over to the road, dragging his bike with him, and hops on, pedaling hard down the road.
It takes him another half hour to get close to the Wheeler’s house, beyond lucky that the shift-change seems to be happening for the patrols, keeping him from having to duck behind trash cans or cut through yards. He careens into the driveway, swearing under his breath when he sees the light on in one of the upstairs windows. Instead of heading into the carport, he rides his bike right along the side of the house, down the small hill into the backyard, squeezing both brake handles too tight in his panic to get inside, the tires locking up in the wet grass. The bike slides out from under him and he loses his balance, rapidly approaching the ground, wincing in preparation for his entire left side to take a brutal fall. His hands shoot out in front of him to break the impact, his muscles locking up but it… never comes.
Breathing hard, Will peeks his eyes open and stares in disbelief at the dew-dropped grass just inches from his face. His body hovers above the grass by about five inches, his hands shaking, his breaths panting in shock. All at once, his hold on his body snaps and he drops to the ground with an “Oof!”, the impact much lighter than it would’ve been coming from the top of the bike. He just flew. Well, technically floated but… Still, he- He just flew. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time to freak out about that, he needs to get inside.
“Fuck,” Will groans as he pushes himself up from the cold ground, brushing sticky strands of damp grass off of his hands on his jeans. His entire body aches, bruises flooding deep into his skin, hips and hole sore from earlier, the knuckles of his right hand still slightly puffy and tinged purple from the fight at school, his neck still stiff and abused, ringed with burst blood vessels and the bruise he knows is sinking in, surrounded by scabs in the shape of Henry’s teeth. He probably looks like he got jumped and he’s going to have to come up with some way of explaining most of it before the rest of the house wakes up and they all spend the day at the Squawk, their long-standing Saturday plans since they were put under quarantine. It can at least wait until he gets himself into the shower he sorely needs, he thinks as he limps over to the back door to the basement, leaving his bike right where it lays in the grass, too suddenly exhausted to bother with moving it. He swipes the fresh ooze of blood from his nose with the collar of his shirt just as he leans his hip against the door.
Lifting up on the handle just as he did when he left, Will eases the door open with a soft creak, sending one last glance out into the shadow-dark yard as he ducks inside. He wonders when Henry will come to him next, when they’ll be able to hold each other again. Will smiles softly as he gently pulls the door shut behind him, resting his forehead against the frame with a happy sigh, his body relaxing now that he’s made it home unscathed.
“Where the hell-”
“Jesusfucking Christ!”
“-have you been?” Joyce demands, her tone cold and hard. Will spins so fast his wet sneakers slip out from under him, his back slamming into the door with a clatter of the blinds that cover the little window. A lamp flares to life in the corner of the room, the one next to his couch, revealing Joyce Byers in her glorious rage, seated on the cushions with his blanket wrapped over her shoulders, her face red and wet with tears. Oh, god, he thinks. Oh, no.
She throws the blanket off and stands, her jaw set hard but he can see the quiver, even as he ducks his head down to try to hide his throat from her, unable to meet her anguished eyes. His mom very, very rarely gets mad at him, rarely ever has reason to, especially in the last few years as he grew out of his more childish habits. He watches her from under his brow, stumbling back to his feet, his hands instantly shaking as red-hot, tingling fear drips down his spine and into his belly. Not fear of her, or what she’ll do to him, but fear of what she’ll think of him now, how disappointed she’ll be. He stutters through a gasp, his mouth opening and closing without being able to utter a single word. His mind is blank- he has absolutely no idea what to say to her, what to tell her.
Joyce trembles in place between the coffee table and the couch, her hands clenching and unclenching before she seems to shake herself and strides around the scratched wooden table, right up to him, the sides of her unbuttoned flannel flapping.
“I have been worried sick, Will,” she whispers through the lump in her throat, hating watching Will cower before her. She would never raise a hand to him, never hurt him, they both know it, but the fear response is ingrained, something neither of them will ever really be able to let go of. He clearly was not expecting to find her already waiting for him, already spitting mad. She sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm herself, tries to reign it in, tries to wrangle her fear into something more manageable.
“You get into a fight at school,” she starts once she can speak without choking on the words. Will winces, keeping his eyes on the floor guiltily. “So I come home to look for you, because no one knew where you were. I find you down here with some medicine so I think- oh okay, he’s got a fever. That explains it. Your voice, the way you were acting, why you left school without even telling the boys where you were going. It all made sense.” Will blinks at the floor, unsure of where she’s going, what logic she’s leading to, bringing his hands together in front of himself to fiddle with the sleeves of his shirt, drawing them down over his fingers nervously.
“And then I see your throat.” Her words are so soft. So heartbroken. Will squeezes his eyes shut hard, but the tears fall anyway, slipping down his cheeks as he gasps. Joyce steps closer to him, her own voice breaking, matching tears falling down her face. “So, I asked Mike. I cornered him after dinner and asked him if that boy-” She has to stop to breathe for a moment, pressing her fist against her trembling lips, sniffling hard. “If that boy choked you, during the fight. And he said no.”
Will whimpers unbidden, biting his lip immediately, pressing his palms hard to his eyes. God, no.
“Mom,” he moans in pain- pain at the thought of what she must have been going through this whole time. He’s so selfish, he’s awful, he can’t think or breathe or feel his hands anymore as he cries.
“He said no, Will! He said you already had bruises before the fight, that they saw them! He said that apparently, that boy didn’t even get a hit in- that he couldn’t have hurt you!” Joyce breaks, her voice raising for the first time, the sound of it sending them both flinching back. But she pushes on, “So, who did?!”
Will sucks in a breath through his closing throat, through the ball of lava that lives there now, and tries to come up with something, anything to say to her that will fix this.
“I- I can’t- Mom, I-” He can’t think, he’s blubbering like a baby, hardly able to see through the tears in his eyes. “I can’t tell you- You’ll hate me- You’ll think I- I’m broken, I can’t tell you-”
“Will, you can tell me anything! Please, I just want to help you, sweetie,” Joyce begs desperately, her hands flying forward to grasp at his shoulders. Will flinches back violently, his head finally rising, the back of it knocking into the door but he doesn’t feel it.
Joyce steps back immediately, her tears stilling as she realizes this is much bigger than she feared, her eyes locked onto the bite on the side of her son’s neck.
“Will-”
“I’m gay!” Will sobs, his voice shattering, his eyes squeezing shut as he breaks completely. His legs collapse, his back sliding down the wood of the door until he’s on the floor, his hands coming up to fist in his hair, pulling it as he chokes on his own breath. Joyce blinks down at him, frozen. “I’m fucking gay, Mom- I’m- I’m a faggot, a fucking queer! I- I can’t-” The words pour out of him like vomit, spitting the slurs with such vitriol that he sounds just like Lonnie for a second, his hazel eyes blown wide in pure panic as he stares up at her until he can’t anymore. He’s hyperventilating now, choking on his own spit and sputtering, all tears and snot and horrible wheezing breaths.
“Honey-” Joyce whispers, falling to her knees before her son, her beautiful boy. She knew- she’s always known, but to hear it from him, for it to come out so painfully… Her heart shatters inside her chest and she shuffles forward as slowly as she can, trying not to spook him anymore than he already is. He flinches from her touch at first, until she refuses to let go, until she pulls him into her arms and holds him tight. “I love you, baby,” she whispers into his hair, holding him as he shakes, as he sobs into her chest like someone has died, like part of him is dying.
“I’m sorry, M-Mom, I-”
“Shh, no! No, Will- You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I love you, sweetheart. Nothing will ever change that, do you hear me? Nothing.” She hates herself for how she approached this, for how she cornered him and yelled at him- Oh, god. “I’m so sorry, Will- I’m sorry, baby, I never should have- It’s okay, Will. You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m here. Mommy’s here, honey.”
She holds him through it. Holds him and pets at his hair and rocks him gently back and forth, the way she used to when he was so, so little and his crying would upset Lonnie- when Lonnie would scream and throw things and Will would end up inconsolable. Just like then, eventually his sobs quiet, his sniffles crackle through the air as he slowly comes back to himself, his whimpers and scratchy, pained moans getting further in between until they finally stop, his breaths coming more steady, though they still stutter and hiccup every few seconds.
“Will,” she starts, biting her lip to keep the wet sob inside when he flinches at the sound of her voice, ducking his head further into her, his hands coming up to cling to her sleeves. “Will, thank you for telling me, sweetheart. I need you to know-” She pulls away just enough to shift around and grasp his face between her hands, his cheeks wet and feverishly hot beneath her palms. “I love you. I still love you. I will always love you, Will. You are my son.”
“I-I love you too, Mom,” Will chokes out, finally managing to open his swollen eyes, squinting at her through his lashes, his lips pulled down in a pained grimace. “I love you so much.”
Joyce just pulls him back in, smothers her face into his hair, breathing in the scent of him, the two of them holding each other so tight it hurts, unwilling to let the other go. She wishes she could drop it then, wishes she could push the sight of the bruises from her mind, but they’re there. Right there in front of her, staining her beautiful son’s skin like some kind of ghost come back from her own past to haunt her. Someone is hurting her boy.
“Will- Sweetie, I know you don’t want to talk about it- I know it’ll be hard, but… I need you to tell me what’s going on? W-Were you attacked? Was it boys from school? Did they hurt you? Because you’re… gay?”
He jerks in her arms, already shaking his head, sniffling and clearing his throat, his eyes darting around the room, refusing to land on her concerned gaze. He leans back from her arms, but doesn’t pull away when she threads their fingers together, the two of them just sitting on the thin carpet of the Wheeler’s basement, legs tangled together. She watches him swallow and lean his back against the door behind him once again, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts, a few more tears slipping free to roll down his cheeks, dripping onto the collar of his shirt. Her eyes track the tears, and then lock back onto the bite mark, the awful bruising blooming to life under his skin, a ring of cloudy purple accented by scabbed over spots where the harsh indents of teeth pierced through. It’s layered atop the necklace of burst blood vessels he somehow gained in between leaving for school this morning and the time he got home after the fight. It makes her feel lightheaded, nauseous. Her baby boy.
“N-No, Mom,” he whispers, grimacing and fidgeting his fingers in her grasp. “I actually… I-” He blows a big deep breath from his lungs, adjusting his position against the door, eyes darting back and forth from their hands to somewhere off into the distance, his jaw clenching and releasing. Gearing himself up. She knows the look from any other time he’s prepared to tell her something she won’t like. She prepares herself as well as she can in the second she has, swearing to herself that she won’t freak out, won’t panic and upset him, won’t ruin this new trust he’s found in her.
“I’ve been… seeing someone,” he admits, phrasing it more like a question than a statement, shrugging his shoulders and ducking his head down to blink at his lap, his fingers twitching. Joyce’s eyebrows fly up and disappear beneath her bangs, her mouth opening and closing in confusion for a long moment.
“See- Seeing someone?” she repeats, voice wavering. “Like… dating someone? A boy?”
Will winces back, shaking his head automatically, replying, “Kind of, yeah. I- I guess dating. A g-guy, yeah.” She breathes through her panic, through her fear, through her anger. Not at him, no. Never at Will, her sweet boy. No, her anger is entirely focused on this nameless person, this guy that’s been abusing her son.
“And he… He’s been hurting you? Will, you could have come to me- I can help, Hopper can help, we can fix this-”
“No!” Will croaks sharply, his eyes finally locking onto hers in shock, his fingers grasping at hers more firmly. “N-No, you don’t- Nothing needs fixed-”
“Will, if he’s hurting you, we can-”
“He’s not!” Will insists, too loudly, immediately shrinking back into himself, getting quieter again. “I mean, he- he is but not-” He groans and pulls his hands free to bury his face into them, a crimson flush bleeding over his ears and down his neck. This is a disaster, he thinks, unable to come up with any way out of this other than to admit the truth and just face her disgust, her judgement.
He lifts his head back up suddenly, locking eyes with her even as the embarrassment threatens to stop his heart, to melt his face from his bones.
“Not in any way that I don’t ask for,” he says as calmly as he can, watching his mom’s dark brows knit together over her eyes in confusion. “It’s… It’s all consensual. What we do together. I- I ask him… To do this to me. It isn’t- He’s not abusing me, Mom.” He watches the wheels turn in her head as she leans back and stares at him, at the marks on his neck. Watches her fight through what he’s just said.
“Will, I know- I know it can feel like it’s your fault when something like this happens,” she begins, shaking her head in denial. “Believe me, I know, but this is not-”
“Mom, please. Listen to me. Hear me. He is not abusing me. I do not need help. I wanted this. I asked him to do this.” Will’s eyes harden as he digs into the well of love he feels for Henry, as he settles more into his body, knowing he’s telling the truth. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and I’m choosing him, Mom. I’m not going to stop seeing him, and you can’t make me. I love him. We… we love each other.”
He watches her clench her teeth and think. She probably thinks he’s delusional, thinks he’s so deep into an abusive relationship that he can’t see a way out, that he’s bluffing. He knows the truth. She and Hop could lock him up in a room for the rest of his life and they’d still never be able to keep him from Henry. Not when he can just fall asleep and wake up in his lover’s arms in the most perfect dream. They cannot keep them from each other and he watches her face as she realizes how serious he is, her eyes tracing over his hard eyes and set jaw.
Slowly, her own jaw unclenches and she sighs, dropping her eyes at last to her lap in defeat. She doesn’t like it. She hates it, so much that it burns inside of her. But she remembers being young, remembers how sure of herself she felt when Lonnie swooped in, home from college for the summer and started showering her in attention. How ‘in love’ they were, too. Before she got pregnant and he dropped out, before he started drinking too much and taking everything out on her. She remembers her mother trying to put her foot down in the beginning, and remembers how it just made her want him more. If she insists, if she pushes and demands that he not see this person anymore, all it will do is drive him further into this asshole’s arms. She can’t take that, can’t take losing him- not again. So she sucks in a deep breath and reaches out with one hand to thread their fingers together again, lifting her head back up to stare at her beautiful boy. Beautiful, even flushed red, with tear-swollen eyes, even sniffling leftover runniness from his nose. Even with those awful, awful marks on his neck.
“Can I at least know who-”
“No,” Will immediately scoffs, shocking himself by laughing, raising his free hand to cover his mouth to stifle it. Joyce leans back with her own incredulous laugh, shocked at his instant rebuttal. He shoots her a look. “If I say who it is, you’ll tell Hop, and he’ll go after him with a gun or something, which would be a complete disaster.”
“So it’s someone we know?” She clocks, quirking a brow at him, idly wondering when her boy became so grown up- a pang running through her chest when she realizes it was probably when he got together with this… guy. He’s always been an old-soul but lately… Lately there’s been some assuredness underneath it all that he didn’t have before. Some unspoken confidence.
Will tilts his head back and forth, wincing, croaking out, “I guess that depends on your definition of know? Either way, I’m not telling you. I really can’t, Mom. Not yet, at least.” He sighs at her, shrugging his shoulders against the door. “We’re working on it. We have a… A plan.”
He seems almost bashful, his fingers twiddling against hers with nerves. But he seems settled, too. Like some enormous wait has been lifted from his shoulders. He told his mom. He told her he’s gay, that he’s seeing someone. And she’s not disgusted. She doesn’t hate him. It means everything to him, and he wishes he wasn’t so exhausted, wishes he could really express to her what it means to him.
“A plan?” Joyce repeats skeptically, lightening her tone to help him relax, even though she still wants to go call Hopper and tell him to bring his shotgun over to guard the door to Will’s room. “What, do you have to wait until you’re eighteen? He’s not some old man, is he?”
She’s joking at first, but then she blinks up at Will’s silence and sees the wide-eyed look on his face, and feels her heart drop into the very bottom of her stomach and rattle there for a long moment.
“William Jacob Byers-”
“No!” Will whisper-shouts, hands flapping in front of himself, sitting up further to match her at full energy, insistent. “Mom, no! He’s not some old man, I swear! He’s just… He is a little older than me-”
“How little?!” She demands, also dropping into a whisper, grabbing at his flailing hands to still them before he accidentally hits himself or her. All at once, she can feel the ghost of her mother laughing somewhere off in the afterlife, cackling at her curse coming true.
‘Someday you’re going to have a daughter, and she’s going to do this to you, too. Then, you’ll understand how you make me feel. The fear you put into me every goddamn day. Just you wait, Joyce Maldonado.’ It’s the tiniest bit gratifying that her mother was only partly right. Joyce never had a daughter- at least not one she gave birth to herself- so it’s her son that’s grown up to be a carbon-copy of her. Too willing to love an older man that doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. God help her.
“Uh- A few years!” Will insists, biting his lip, his eyebrows lurching up underneath his tousled bangs. “Nothing crazy, I promise- I promise, Mom.” He intentionally tries not to think of what a crazy age gap would be in his head, knowing perfectly well that twenty years is plenty big enough to send his poor mother over the edge.
Joyce groans and drops her head into her hands, laughing through the heartbreak. She mumbles into her palms and Will cocks his head, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently.
“Mom, what-”
“I said, you’re just like me,” she laughs, raising her head enough to gaze over at her boy, watching the blush on his face. Watching the way he finally untenses, the way he tries to fight the smile battling for control of his lips.
A thought hits her so hard that it actually physically jolts her, the blood draining from her face, watching as Will’s eyes flare in concern.
“Wha-”
“It’s not Murray, is it?!” She demands to know, needing to know the answer no matter what he said about not being able to tell her.
Will sputters, his face crumpling into genuine, utter disgust, hissing, “Uncle Murray?! Ew, Mom! No! Jesus, why would you even think that?!” Blatant, all-encompassing relief floods through her so hard that she collapses against her son’s side, laughing somewhat hysterically.
“I don’t know! I don’t know- it just popped into my head. Oh, thank god,” she sighs, putting a hand over her pounding heart.
“What the fuck,” Will groans to himself, pressing a hand over his face, dropping his head down to rest against him mom’s hair. His heart can't take anymore of this, he thinks, even as his body floods with such great relief. She knows. Almost everything. And she’s laughing with him, joking. They're giggling about boys, in a roundabout kind of way. It's everything he's ever, ever dared to hope for with coming out.
“Sorry, sorry!” His mom chuckles, wiping tears from her eyes. “We've just never… been able to talk about anything like this before. I have no idea what you like… Older guys, apparently- which you, unfortunately, get from me.”
“Ugh, Mom,” he whines, even though he's smiling. She smiles back at him warmly, adjusting her legs to lay beside his, scooting back to lean her shoulders against the door at his side.
“So? What do you like? Blondes, brunettes? Beards? Skinny, short, tall?” He finds himself blushing at the list, shaking his head in defeat.
“He's… blonde. But that's all I'll say.” He looks away from her shyly, then glances back quickly. “Tall, too. I like tall guys.”
“Oh, you get that from me, too,” she huffs, linking her arm around his elbow and leaning her head onto his shoulder. “I don't… I don't like this, Will. But you're right. You're not a kid anymore, and I can't… keep you from seeing this man, if that's what you want to keep doing.”
“It is,” he whispers, letting his head fall atop hers, their matching chestnut hair mixing. “I really love him, Mom. I know I probably sound ridiculous and I know you think I'm just caught up in some… whirlwind situation but… It's real.” He feels the shift of her body against his as she breathes through a deeply tired sigh.
“So, tonight? You went to see him?” She asks softly, more gentle curiosity than trying to interrogate him. He chews on his words for a minute, trying to come up with the best way to explain himself without making any implications to who it is that he's seeing. He knows she'd never guess who it really is, but he doesn't want to accidentally implicate any of his teachers, for God's sake. Her asking if he was sleeping with Uncle Murray was bad enough.
“Yeah,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “I ran into him after I left school- after the fight. He said he was… proud of me.” Will smiles bashfully down into his lap and Joyce turns her head to stare at the soft expression. “For standing up for myself. He told me to go home and get some rest. We planned to meet up at midnight, so I slept and then… I snuck out.”
“Have you been doing this… regularly? Sneaking out to see him?” Joyce asks, a note creeping into her voice that betrays her unsteady feelings about what he's been up to. He hums for a second, parsing through how to tell her the truth within a lie. She can't know that Henry has been coming to him in his dreams every night for weeks.
“Mmn. Yes?” He winces as she twitches and blows around through her teeth. “Not every night, or anything, just- when I could. When we could plan for it. I’m sorry, really, for disappearing without saying anything… I didn't mean to worry you.”
“A little late for that,” Joyce quips wearily. “I'll always worry about you, sweetie. So… you two are…” She shifts around to face her boy head on, Will cringing back as he sees the trepidation on her face, knowing she's about to ask something embarrassing. “You’re… having sex?”
His face falls blank, his eyebrows curving up in shock, already shaking his head even though he can tell she already knows the answer, she just wants to hear it from him. He wriggles in distress and groans, wishing this night would just end already, but also strangely elated that he's able to talk about this with someone finally.
He sucks in a deep, bracing breath. If he's mature enough to be doing this- to have a relationship with a grown man, to be having sex at all- then he can talk about it honestly.
“Yes,” he confirms shakily, clearing his throat and forcing himself to sit up straighter. “Yeah, we- we’re having sex.” A hot blush floods his cheeks for what must be the millionth time tonight but he just breathes through it, watching as Joyce digests this information by staring off at the far wall of the basement, nodding slowly.
“And he- he didn't pressure you or… push you into anything you weren't ready for?”
“No, Mom,” he answers honestly, seeking her eyes out so he can push every ounce of sincerity into his gaze. “He's never done anything to me that I didn't consent to.” It's only after he says it that he realizes that's technically a lie, but to be fair to himself and Henry, it was Vecna who had kidnapped him so… semantics.
“And you're being safe? You’re using condoms?”
“Ohmygod, Mom-”
“What?! It's my job to worry about these things, Will!”
“Yes,” he lies, knowing if he tells her the truth she'll absolutely lose her mind. “We're being safe. Jesus.” She does not need to know that they've drank each other's blood, rendering condoms moot at this point.
“You can't blame me for worrying- between the bruises and that horrible bite and you being covered in dirt, it's not hard for me to assume the worst, you know.” Will blinks and looks down at himself, remembering the fact that he had to crawl on the ground several times tonight, and the almost-fall off his bike. He looks like hell- no wonder she’s so on edge about everything.
“Oh, well, the dirt isn't his fault.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I actually fell off my bike outside in the yard, I was going way too fast, and the grass was wet-” Joyce jolts and sits up onto her knees, hands already fluttering over him.
“What? Why didn't you say anything?”
“You never really gave me a chance to! We kind of had more important things to discuss, I think!”
“Will! Honey, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Her hands run up and down his arms, pull his own hands forward to inspect the dirt on his palms, the little pieces of grass still stuck to his skin and suddenly Will can't do anything but laugh. His beautiful, wonderful mother. Joyce pouts at him and swats his shoulder so softly he barely even feels it, and tries to stifle his relieved giggles. She still loves him.
“Oh, hush, you,” she gripes, groaning as she pushes herself up off the floor. She drops a hand down for him to take and helps pull him up as well. “Come on, baby- let's get you cleaned up.”
She moves over to the couch and flicks the lamp off, the room suddenly only lit by the dim grayish morning light leaking in through the window. Silently, she reaches out for his hand and he takes it, squeezing. His mom leads him up the steps to the ground floor and peeks her head out, checking for Karen or Ted, the only two that might be up this early on a Saturday.
With the coast clear, she tugs him along through the kitchen and up the stairs, their footsteps creaking softly, muffled by the thick, expensive carpeting. He's so, so tired, he realizes as his eyes droop on the way up. The last twenty-four hours have been complete insanity, and the hours of training his powers are catching up with him rapidly., on top of the physical fallout from the emotional breakdown he had in the basement. Once upstairs, Joyce leads him straight over to the bathroom and inside, immediately leaning into the shower to turn the hot water on.
“Here, honey,” she coos, helping him peel Jon’s jacket from his shoulders. “You can explain the grass stains to him yourself,” she teases as she folds the jacket neatly and sets it on the counter, little crumbles of dirt falling into the sink. He puffs a quiet laugh and nods, too tired to stop her from helping him pull his shirt off over his head as well. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, he literally was born of her body, but it's different, now that he's almost grown, now that he's covered in an almost endless array of dark bruises and raised scratches.
Joyce, to her eternal credit, just clears her throat shakily and bites her lip to keep from commenting, from making him uncomfortable. She can control herself, she vows. She won't break his trust, not now, when he needs it the most. So she just folds the shirt as well and sets it on top of the jacket, turning away as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, tears her eyes away from the handprint some grown man has left on her baby boy.
She wonders when her baby got so tall, when the childish body melted away into that of an almost-grown up, when he got so thin and graceful. It was like she blinked and he sprouted up in between one second and the next and she… feels like she missed it.
“You hop in a while, sweetheart. I'll grab you some clothes, okay?”
“Okay, Mom… Thank you,” he mumbles sleepily, over the hiss of the water hitting the bottom of the tub and the whirring hum of the vent fan. Joyce nods once, twice, knuckles some moisture from her eye and silently exits the room, taking his pile of clothes with her, sans the underwear he's still got on as he leans into the shower to check the temperature of the water.
Once inside the guest room she's been occupying for over a year, she tosses the dirty clothes into her hamper and takes a moment to sit on the bed, burying her face into her hands. Those handprints flash into her mind, pressed into her son’s pale skin, the ring around his neck, the teeth marks scabbed into the strangulation marks like the dot on an exclamation point. It turns her stomach but she promised him that she wouldn't freak out, that she’d let him make his own decisions. She doesn't want to.
She wants to radio Hopper immediately, wants to tell him that her son- the boy he's already slipped up and called his son a few times by accident- is seeing an older man, that's tall and blonde, that likes to hurt their boy. But she promised. And Will has never had much to himself, he's never had the same things his friends had. She had to hand make his Halloween costumes when his friends got the nice ones from the store. He had to bike further out of town to get home, out past where the streetlights run just because it was the only house Joyce and Lonnie could afford when she was seventeen and pregnant and the only job Lonnie could find was fixing up junk cars. He lost his childhood to a real life monster, stolen from him the moment it stole him away and left him on his own for a week in that hellscape. He kept himself alive, he fought and fought and fought to live. Then it came back to possess him, to steal his mind away instead of his body, to use it to try to kill them all. And he fought again. Her brave boy. While the other boys were getting girlfriends and falling in childish love, her boy was suffering in silence again, feeling wrong and broken for not wanting the same things, just for liking boys instead of girls. So, if he says he loves this man, if he says the marks he leaves behind are something he's… asking for… She’ll force herself to trust him. To let him make his own decisions. But there needs to be some ground rules, she determines. She won't dictate his life but he is still only sixteen, and she deserves to set a few guidelines.
Renewed in her stance, she rises from the bed and wipes the wetness from her face with her palms, drying them on the flannel she stole from Hop a few weeks ago. She grabs a pair of her own pajama pants, the ones she has to roll twice at the waist because they're a touch too long, knowing they'll fit Will perfectly, then grabs one of Hop’s huge t-shirts from a hanger in the closet. Tiptoeing her way back down the hall, she hears the beginnings of Karen waking for the day, quiet shuffling and the wooden slide of a dresser drawer coming from behind the closed door of the other woman's bedroom.
Before she can change her mind, she strides over and gently knocks, the sounds cutting off behind the door. Quick footsteps hurry over and then the door is being pulled open to reveal Karen in all her glory, rumpled rollers in her hair and a long silky dressing gown that would make Joyce look like a circus clown but somehow works on the other woman.
“Joyce?” Karen questions softly, concern knitting her brows as she leans on the doorway. “Hey, how's Will? Still got a fever?”
“Y-yeah, he does, unfortunately,” Joyce lies through her teeth, the familiar blanket of mild guilt settling over her shoulders like an old friend. “I went down to check up on him and he was burning up. I've got him in the shower now-” She waves a hand down the hall to where they can both hear the muffled sound of the running water and the hum of the fan. “And I'm gonna let him pass out in my room for as long as he needs. Would you mind telling Mike, when he gets up, to just go ahead to the station without Will today? I'll drive him over later once he's up, if he's feeling better.”
Karen is already nodding, already answering, “Of course! Of course, Joyce. Tell Will I said to feel better. Oh, poor baby. You let me know if you need anything, okay? I love that boy like he's one of mine, you know-” Joyce can't help but grin softly, happily taking Karen's offered hands. She does know; Karen has always been so fond of Will, who was at the Wheeler house almost every day of his life ever since he met Mike in kindergarten.
“Seriously, let me know! I make a mean chicken noodle soup!”
Joyce laughs softly and replies, “I will- thank you, Karen. Really, for everything. I don't say it enough, but we're very grateful to you for letting us stay here-”
“Don't even mention it. I mean it, Joyce. You guys are family.” Karen draws her in for a quick but firm hug and Joyce feels a small part of herself loosen, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders.
Just as they pull apart, they both startle at the thump that comes from the bathroom just down the hall.
“Shit-” Joyce huffs, already moving.
“Go, go- you worry about him, I'll let Mike know the plan!”
Joyce waves over her head in thanks and tucks the bundle of clothes under her arm, hurrying over to the bathroom door and barging in. Steam clouds the air, the water too hot for the little ceiling vent to keep up with, so Joyce darts over and cracks the window to help air it out. She tosses the bundle of clothes onto the counter and hurries over to the tub, pulling back the curtain a bit.
“Will, honey?” She asks, looking down to see him sitting on the floor of the tub, letting the water pour directly over his body, his head slumped against the wall.
“Mm, sorry, just… got tired,” he mumbles, blinking blearily up at her, too sleepy to even pretend to be embarrassed about her seeing him naked.
Joyce just huffs a laugh and reaches in to turn the water off, soothing, “Well, let’s get you dried off and into bed then, okay?” She leaves him just long enough to go over to the closet to grab a towel, draping it over him when she returns. She turns her back while he dries and pulls the borrowed pajamas on, leading him out of the bathroom by his hand.
Joyce helps him climb into the big soft bed that she’s been using, when she doesn’t spend the night at Hop’s cabin, and watches him snuggle into the sheets, and realizes she’s been far too distant from Will. She wasn’t there for him and he sought out companionship in this guy, this older man. Part of her hates that she understands, hates that her desire for him to be like her came true. Her boy blinks up at her and gives her the softest smile, drawing the blankets up to his chin, his damp hair leaving wet spots on the pillow case.
“Alright,” she starts warily, as she climbs into bed beside him, snuggling close under the blankets. “I promise that I won’t interfere. That I won’t keep you from seeing this man-” Will’s sleepy face lights up, his eyes brightening in happiness that she rushes to get ahead of. “-but! There needs to be some ground rules. Okay?”
Will squints at her in consideration before nodding, his chin dipping beneath the edge of the comforter with the motion.
“I need to know where you are. If you ditch school, or if you go out to see him- I need to know. It’s too dangerous out there, right now, for no one to have any idea where you are, okay? The military patrols, Vecna…” She watches the way his eyes dart away from her face to stare a hole into the wall over by the window, knowing he must feel guilty for the fear he’s caused her.
“I-I’ll let you know, next time,” he promises, sincerity deepening his tone. He finds her hands under the blanket and holds them, their fingers lacing together. “I won’t sneak out again, I’ll tell you where I’m going first. And I’ll call, if I leave school.” A yawn overtakes him then, his jaw popping as he tucks his face into the pillow until it passes. Joyce laughs quietly, warm love filling her, followed by the worry.
“Thank you, my nervous system appreciates it, I assure you.” He scoffs teasingly, before she continues more seriously, “And… I want you to tell me, if this guy ever does anything to you that you don’t want. Anything, Will. With your dad, I-” She sucks in a fortifying breath as Will winces and stares up at her from under his downturned brows. “By the time he started getting worse… I always felt like it was too late to say anything. To ask for help. I want you to know it’ll never be too late or too much, Will. No matter when, or what, or anything- I will be here for you, and I will help you. Do you understand?”
Will has to sniffle as thin tears well to life in his eyes and drip to the side, chasing gravity down the side of his face and joining the dark spots on the pillowcase from his hair. He nods as Joyce pulls him firmly into her arms, even though she’s smaller than him now, even though he’s almost a grown man.
“I understand, Mom. I love you,” he whimpers, wrapping his own arms around her, her hands petting over his hair as she shushes him gently.
“I love you too, Will. Always will.” She holds him as his tears dry, as his breathing falls into something smooth and slow, as sleep finally takes him and he loses all the tension in his limbs, slumping against her.
Joyce stares up at the ceiling, watching the sun slowly grow brighter, as it climbs its way up the walls. And she listens. To the sound of Will’s little snores, the sound of Mike and Holly bickering in the hallway outside the door, the sounds of life. Her son is alive. She remembers what it felt like when they tried to tell her he was dead, when they pulled the sheet off of that thing in the morgue they tried to tell her was her son. She remembers being the only one that believed he was still out there. She has never abandoned him, and she never will.
She squeezes him tighter against her, and slowly, so slowly lets herself fall into sleep after him, her head coming to rest atop his, her hands never leaving him for a moment.