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“Ouch!” Will whines, flinching away from the press of Joyce’s fingers over the bite mark on his neck. They’re standing in the upstairs bathroom of the Wheeler’s, shoulder to shoulder in front of the big mirror over the sink, the afternoon sun slanting in through the gauzy curtains over the windows. Joyce scoffs and shoots him a flat look, fingers stilling.
“Oh, so it hurts now, but was fine when you got it?” She asks dryly, rolling her eyes as he blushes and pouts, eyeing up the deeply purple, rounded bruise under his jaw.
“It- It’s different. I don’t know how to explain it- I don’t want to explain it!” He drops his face into his hands with a muffled groan.
“If you don’t want to explain it, then you need to let me cover it!” She cries, trying to smother her laugh. Part of her still doesn’t find it funny at all, but it feels like her and Will are closer than ever after their fight, closer than they’ve been since he was little and came to her about any and everything- so she’s trying, for him. She watches from his side as he grumbles into his palms for a moment, jerking his head back up straight to turn his jaw, glaring at the mark.
“I’m gonna kill him,” he mumbles, getting a genuine snort from Joyce in response. She’s said that to herself plenty about a few men over the years.
“Here, let me just-” Joyce grabs the biggest bandaid she can find from the first aid kit on the counter and peels the backing off, leaning up to smooth it firmly over Will’s neck, covering the entire bruise. She inspects it and then shrugs. It’ll do. Will glares at it in the mirror some more before shrugging the exact same way she does. His lips quirk and he smiles at her in the mirror, letting his head fall to nudge against hers. She ignores the faint red marks around the front of his throat, ignores the faded bruises at his hips, and smiles back.
“So if someone asks…?” She prompts, resting a soothing band between his shoulder blades. Will straightens up and blows a breath out, nodding along.
“I fell in the shower- that's what the marks on my neck are from. I had a fever. And if the guys ask about the bruises I had before the fight, I-” He falters for a moment, thinking. “Ugh, I don't know! Nothing seems believable! If I tell them I got into a different fight before school, they'll all freak out and try to find out who it was, and I can't just say it was from falling, again…”
He watches the emotions play out on his mom's face, the way she's trying to be supportive and help him here, the way it's eating at her. She must've spent hours in her own bathroom when they were all younger, before Lonnie left… hours spent staring into the mirror at her own bruises, trying to come up with believable ways to explain them, even after people stopped believing.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sighs, wiggling forward to wrap her in his arms, her own coming up to squeeze him back gently.
“No,” she insists, patting him before stepping back to eye him up through the mirror in assessment. “It's okay. You're happy, right? That's all I've ever wanted for you, honey. So it isn't your typical relationship- what ever is typical around here?” She shrugs and pokes at his side until he smiles too, batting her cold fingers away. “We’ll figure something out, alright? If they pester you about it, just come find me.”
Will nods, so beyond grateful that the woman beside him is who he got for a mother that for a moment he can't even speak. After another few minutes of holding each other, Joyce sighs and shoos him out, tutting about how the later they are the more questions they'll be asked.
Will leaves her upstairs to get ready to head to the radio station for the rest of the day, hurrying downstairs and then down again into the basement. There, he strips off his mom’s pajamas and pulls on a set of his own fresh, clean clothes. All the others are already at the Squawk, training or researching or planning a crawl. When he finally woke up a little under an hour ago, cuddled up in his mom’s arms like a kid, she had whispered the plan to him. She’s going to lie for him, help him figure out what to say if any of the guys ask about the bruises they must have seen when he wasn’t careful enough yesterday. She’s going to lie to Hopper for him. It cracks something in his chest open, that she’s willing to do that for him. He loves her so much it aches. He doesn’t deserve her.
He makes sure he grabs his bag from last night from where he discarded it by the door, checking inside for Brenner’s notebook, blushing at the sight of the cum-and-blood-stained white button up of Henry’s, making sure it's still wrapped protectively around the knife at the bottom. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he bounds up the steps to meet with Joyce at the top, already spinning her key ring on her finger, standing by the garage door in her baggy jeans and a worn-in jacket layered over another of Hopper’s flannels she’s stolen. With a shared, secretive smile, they head right out to the Pinto, clambering inside without another word.
He fiddles with the radio dial as they pull out of the drive and head off for the Squawk, way out of town, nestled in a wide grassy field, the station tower piercing the sky like a needle marking the spot.
“Good afternoon, Hawkins! That was Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears! You wanna know a fear I have, guys? Rabies! Don't laugh, don't laugh! It's a serious business and who knows what kind of nasty junk could be coming up from those earthquake cracks, infecting the animals! So make sure you stay away and stay safe!” Will laughs out the cracked window as Robin’s scratchy voice is interrupted by a cartoonish wolf howl, just picturing Steve frantically switching out the sound effect tapes. “Next up is Father Figure by George Michael!”
They cruise through town, past the edge of the towering metal walls of the Mac-Z, pausing at a red light with the rest of the afternoon traffic, waiting for the caravan of military trucks to roll through the briefly opened gates. Once the bumper of the last truck rumbles through, the green-suited men with guns rush to roll the chainlink gate back shut, the rattle of metal loud over their shouted orders and the hum of idling motors at the light, the music playing over the radio. Will blinks as the light flicks to green and the line of cars inches forward, Joyce pressing the gas calmly and smoothly, both of them staring straight ahead and not speaking again until they’re a few miles down the road.
“God, I can’t wait for them to be out of here,” she mutters, glancing into the rearview on instinct, sighing when the only car that had followed them out of town- a beige Toyota- makes a turn onto a side road and disappears.
“Yeah, if they ever actually leave,” Will adds, brushing a hand through his hair as they approach the turn off for the WSQK station, eyeing the top spike of the tower that peaks over the hill. It grows taller and taller the closer they get, and then he can see the building itself as the Pinto bobbles down the gravel drive to squeak to a stop in between Nancy’s station wagon and the big blue station van. The big angry bird painted on the side glares over at Will like prey as he drags himself up and out of the passenger seat, his nerves ratcheting as he gets closer and closer to seeing everyone.
“They’ll leave,” Joyce says firmly, giving him a patented hopeful-Mom look that makes him grin wryly, rounding the back of the car to lean against the side of it next to her, both of them tilting their heads back to soak in the sunlight. “We’ll get all this figured out. We’ll find Vecna and kill him, and everything will be okay again, Will. I promise.” Joyce reaches out to him and pats his hand comfortingly, misunderstanding his sudden cough and wince. “Then maybe you can introduce me to this mystery man, huh?”
Will clears the lump from his throat and nods shakily, wheezing, “Yeah- Yeah, maybe.” Joyce smiles warmly at him and pushes away from the car, her footsteps crunching over the gravel as she heads for the main doors of the building, passing by the pile of bikes the guys have left next to the steps.
He sucks in as deep a breath as he can manage, feeling no small amount of guilt well up into his belly. He’s told her the truth, and he’s still lying to her. And he’s going to have to keep lying for quite a while, at the very least until he and Henry can figure out a way to rescue Max from the Mind Flayer, until they have that to fall back on when the Party insists he’s evil- insists that he needs to die. Will won’t let them kill Henry, no matter what. Brenner’s notebook in his bookbag seems to laugh at him, muffled through the fabric. He needs to find a way to present it to them, to give it to Dustin to decipher before it’s too late, but he can’t think of how to do it without admitting that he went into the Upside Down alone and unsanctioned. Joyce would probably have a heart attack, Hopper would freak out, everyone would lose their minds.
Will sighs and trudges after his mom in defeat, glad to at least have the excuse of getting over a fake fever to explain away his strange mood.
The station’s main floor is relatively quiet, the music pumping through the speakers lower than Robin usually cranks it to, probably courtesy of Steve, who likes to scold her for potentially giving them all hearing damage. She and Steve are inside the sound booth, visibly bickering with wide smiles on their faces, their voices unable to be heard through the glass. As he strides around the side of the booth for the storage closet, she spots him and waves animatedly, Steve whirling to wave as well, Will shyly waving back. He’s still not very close with the two of them, still a little scared of Steve’s old persona, the reputation he used to have when he was in high school, the fight he knows he and Jon got into once a few years ago- even though Dustin readily makes fun of him right to his face and Steve just happily takes it and mocks him back lovingly. Even if Jon just rolls his eyes at Steve most of the time, clearly unafraid. Robin is less scary but no less intimidating, her boisterousness and uniquely herself personality honestly making Will… jealous. He likes her pins and opinions and drawn-on sneakers and customized clothing. He wishes he could do that for himself, wishes he could… express himself like she does.
It hits him, then, that… he could. He’s almost grown, he’s got a lover that he knows would never begrudge him his desire to… show people how different he is, he’s not hung up on his love for Mike anymore- doesn’t need to so desperately cling to normality or conformity in the hopes that Mike would someday find him appealing enough to… to be with. Henry loves him for who he is, would probably delight in Will making efforts to be more… himself. And now he’s proven to himself that in the worst case scenario, he can defend himself if he needs to. It’s something he chews on in his mind as he ducks into the small room and behind the big metal shelf that they rigged up to hide the entrance to the downstairs room of the station. He eases it shut behind him the way Hopper ingrained in all of them, and turns to make his way down the metal steps, his footsteps ringing out under the voices of the entire Party.
The conversation dries up as he reaches the bottom, and he feels his jaw clench uncomfortably, keeping his eyes dropped towards the floor, the cables and carpets and mismatched chairs and couches spread out across the room, instead of looking up and meeting any of the eyes he knows are scanning him over.
“Hey, kid,” rumbles Hopper’s low voice from off to the side of the room, over by the door to the storage closet they keep all of their weapons in. Will spins to look at him, the way the huge man is gazing at him with something like pride shining openly in his eyes, concern underneath it but hidden well. Conversion quietly picks back up, stilted and unsure, as Will grimaces a smile and hurries over to the safety of the man who has become his dad in everything but name and blood. Hopper eyes the bandaid on his neck but still draws Will into a half-awkward hug, both of them somewhat unsure of how to behave around each other, how far would be too far, even though they both crave the familial contact.
“Hey, Hop,” Will mumbles into his chest, as Hop squeezes him once and then retreats, patting a big hand on his shoulder. Will clears his throat and steps back, shoving his hands into his back pockets before pulling them back to his front and fiddling with his fingers in front of himself. He knows they all know about the fight, about the punches he threw, the fact that he won. He can see it in Hop’s eyes, the way he’s so proud he wants to hoot and high five, but knows Will isn’t the type to respond well to that.
Hop leans close to ask, “How’s your hand? Didn’t tuck your thumb, right?” Will laughs and offers up his hand, not even flinching when Hopper reaches up to inspect his knuckles efficiently, nodding at the already-fading bruising there, the purple nearly gone, replaced by a sallow blue-ish green, helped along by the tingly, minty cream Joyce had rubbed in earlier.
“No, I didn’t tuck my thumb. I remembered what you said and just… did it. I think I may have broken his nose, actually- I mean, I- I felt a crunch but-” Hop lowers his hand to shoot him an appraising, pleased look, Will hurrying to continue, “But I don’t actually know! I- I ran away after.”
“You did everything right, kid. Running was the right move, especially in a crowded hallway like that. Knowing when to retreat is half the battle… I’m proud of you,” Hop says earnestly, awkward and making both of them cringe a little, even as they share soft, laughing smiles. Will kind of loves Hopper, he realizes. He’s glad his mom has him in her life, glad that Jane has her dad back, glad that he has Hop in his life. That they feel like a real family, somehow. Cobbled together and smushed into horrible circumstances but here for each other nonetheless.
“Thanks, Hop,” he mumbles shyly, grateful when the older man takes pity on him and just ruffles his hair and nods, ambling back into the weapon’s room to keep cleaning their guns and checking over their ammo stores meticulously. Will sighs in relief, keeping his back to the wider room, to the burning gazes of eyes he can feel on the back of his head.
“Will,” a soft, feminine voice sighs from behind him, and he’s moving before he even thinks to, spinning on his heel and stumbling towards her. Jane and he fall into each other desperately. He holds his sister to his chest and she holds him back, arms wrapped tight around his neck, just breathing each other in, rocking back and forth slightly. Hugging Jane feels like coming home, feels like he has the other other-half of himself nestled into the spot he didn’t know was empty until he had her back beside him. She may not be related by blood, but she is his twin, is part of him the same way Jonathan and his mom are, if not more, in some small way that he feels ashamed to admit. He doesn’t understand it and doesn’t need to. It just is.
“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair, swept back into a messy bun. She was so happy when it finally got long enough again to style, for her to express herself with it. Anytime she isn’t training, when they’re able to spend more than a few short minutes together, she typically asks him to braid it for her in some overly-complicated way that he struggles to accomplish.
“Me too, Will,” she breathes into his shoulder, neither of them letting go or loosening their holds. “I was so worried about you yesterday. You did not tell anyone where you were. They said there was a fight?” Finally, she pulls back just enough to stare at him, their eyes perfectly aligned, since her little growth spurt over the summer left her at the exact same height as him.
He shrugs a little, fingers twitching against her sweater sleeves, the two of them holding onto each other’s forearms, perfectly mirrored stances.
“Yeah, but I won,” he tells her, unable to help smirking a little as her eyes light up in glee.
“Like Angela?” She asks, her own smirk growing. He nods as she pulls him a bit closer eagerly.
“Exactly like Angela.” They giggle together, bumping foreheads and holding hands, and he feels so, so happy to have his sister with him. Eventually Jane leans back, her eyes dropping down to his neck, her eyebrows coming together, putting a little wrinkle between them.
“Fight?” She asks simply and he knows she’s asking about the faint red marks, the bandaid that’s covering the bruise. Will blushes, tilting his head back and forth in consideration. He wants to tell her so badly but, as he casts a glance around the room, he watches as Mike, Lucas, and Dustin all snap their heads in opposite directions, trying to act like they weren’t eavesdropping. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Jane, pulling her in close in another hug.
“I’ll tell you soon, okay?” He whispers to her, feeling her nod eagerly in return. She's always been good with him about this- they've always been good with each other- with not pushing to know, with not demanding answers before the other is ready.
They separate at last, and Will turns to see Jonathan and Joyce whispering agitatedly in the corner, his brother throwing one hand out in Will’s direction repeatedly as Joyce just shakes her head and holds her own hands out placatingly. He mentally adds Jon to the long list of people he needs to have difficult conversations with.
Instead of facing any of them, he lets Jane drag him over to a table by one of the wayward couches to show him the study sheets she’s been working on that Hopper got for her to keep up with her education while she isn’t able to attend school. He helps her work through history and English, the subjects she struggles with, while she works circles around him on her math sheets.
He feels the stares on him, notices the way the guys will occasionally nudge into each other and lower their heads to whisper back and forth, their faces hard and serious, speculative when he glances over. They know something, and they’re not going to buy whatever bullshit story he’s going to have to come up with anyway. They aren’t going to accept a ‘later’ like Jane did. So, he ignores them, even when Jane starts glaring at them when she catches them. It's not the best plan- it’s not even a good one, really. He knows that. But they’re his best friends and he’s lying to them by keeping this from them- but he… he just doesn’t know how to tell them. They’re all straight, they're all dating age-appropriate girls, they all have relatively normal relationships. They won’t even take it as well as his mom did. He knows how they’ll react and he just can’t deal with it now, or maybe ever.
Ignoring them goes about as well as can be expected. He sketches on some scrap papers- discarded notes from previous crawls, maps and plots and charts- catching himself and scribbling it out every time he starts getting a little too close to rendering Henry's eyes or the curve of his lips. All around him, everyone is trying to act normal, for his sake. They blink away from staring at his neck when he turns his face towards them, they talk about school and work and lots of meaningless nothing.
The hours tick by and eventually, Dustin suggests a sleepover at the station, everyone happily agreeing. It won't be the first time they've done it, but it has been a few weeks, and it's always a good time. Even Will gets a little excited, knowing he’ll be able to spend more time with Jane.
Tensions loosen as the day wears on, as the conversation becomes more communal, the separate groups merging together until it's just all of them. The Party. Their weird, mismatched, family of outcasts, jocks, freaks, and weirdly self-actualized people that somehow found their way together. Laughter rings out as jokes are cracked, as they settle into a more comfortable atmosphere.
Around seven at night, Robin signs off the air with a rambling speech, her voice crackling over the speakers before she rounds off her goodbye and sets the station to play through the night. Once they're done, she and Steve both come down the stairs to join them, hopping into the fray like they were here the whole time.
He's not shocked when someone eventually brings up the fight, and honestly he doesn't blame them. It is kind of crazy to think about… him winning a fight.
“So, Steve, with Baby Byers here winning a fight does that put you two on an equal ranking? One fight won, who knows how many more to go?” Robin's laughing as she asks so Will laughs too, along with everyone else, though his is more subdued. Steve rolls his eyes and shoves lightly at her shoulder but he doesn't actually seem offended, so Will tries to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders.
“Oh, please, Steve won that fight on a technicality!” Dustin crows from his spot between Mike and Lucas on the couch. “He had a melee weapon! According to reports, Will won that fight with his bare hands! Unequivocally! Stacey Graham said that you totally broke Lewis's nose, by the way.” He directs the last part directly to Will- the first direct words he's gotten from any of them all day.
“According to reports?” Will repeats in question, trying to hide his blush behind his hand, avoiding the chuckles rounding the group, the way Jane smirks and grabs his arm to shake it in support.
“Yeah, well, it's not like any of us actually saw the fight,” Mike grumbles, leaning his head against his hand, his tone immediately shifting the energy of the room, setting a few jaws tense and eyes wary. Jane's hand tightens minutely on Will's arm, as he watches Joyce and Hopper both lift their heads up to look over from where they've been whispering to each other on the other side of the room. Even Dustin slowly shuts his mouth, his eyes darting between Mike and Will regretfully.
“And you took off without saying anything,” Mike continues, either unnoticing or uncaring of the way most of the room is shifting uncomfortably now. “So, yeah, we had to go off of reports. What everyone was gossiping about in class after it happened.”
Will tries not to let his frustration show on his face, but he can't help the hot, embarrassed flush that floods his cheeks, feeling everyone's eyes on him.
“I had a fever, Mike,” he starts carefully, hiding his wince when his voice cracks. “I had just been in a fight for the first time, I- I just wanted to go home, you know? …I didn't think I needed to ask permission.” It's a mistake to let that tone creep into his voice, as he watches Mike's eyes snap up and lock onto his.
They've been doing this new thing lately- bickering and arguing more than normal, more than they ever have. Will doesn't know if it's their forced proximity from having to live in the same house, or just part of growing up, or the fact that Will no longer blindly trails after Mike like a lost puppy.
Mike scoffs, ignoring the little sound Lucas makes in his throat in warning, his dark eyes flashing over to Hop, who has risen from his seat to take a single, slow step forward.
“I never said you needed to ask,” Mike clips, sitting forward on the couch. “It just would've been nice to hear about it from you- I mean you disappeared, Will! No one knew where you were. People were saying you snapped, that you threw the first punch. That you hit him again and again, that you screamed at him.”
Will feels hot, overheated, as his face burns with embarrassment, as his teeth grind in anger. But he can't look away from Mike, at the way he looks so self righteous. He wonders how he could've ever been so obsessed with him, how he used to just nod and agree and follow just because he thought someday Mike would love him back for it. He finds himself sitting forward too, Jane's hand slipping from his arm. He doesn't notice the look that passes between everyone else in the room, silently debating if they should step in or not.
“W-What was I supposed to do, Mike? Not defend myself? Let him swing first, just in case he didn't really mean it when he called me a fag?” Everyone flinches but he doesn't notice. Neither does Mike, who automatically starts shaking his head, sputtering to defend himself.
“That's not what I meant! You know better than that, Will-”
“Oh, I know better?!” Will demands, feeling his temper get the better of him, staring over at the guy that used to be his best friend in disbelief. He loves Mike, he always will. But he can't believe he ever used to be in love with him.
“Guys-” Lucas tries, sharply cut off by Mike throwing himself to his feet.
“That's not what I meant!”
Will rises too, refusing to let Mike talk over him, to make him feel the same way he made Jane feel when she finally defended herself from Angela. He refuses to let Mike make him feel small. He vaguely feels his sister stand too, her hand resting against his back gently, so soft in comparison to the sharpness of the argument.
“Then say what you mean! What should I have done, Mike?! Let him push me into the lockers a few more times in front of everyone? Maybe give him a minute to come up with some fun new slur- was fag not good enough?” He thinks of Henry then, the way he said he was proud of him, the way he delighted in the fact that Will had drawn blood from the boy that insulted him. He wants to launch himself over the coffee table, wants to throw his hands out and squeeze, wants to use his new powers to pin Mike to the wall until he admits he's a boneheaded idiot.
“Stop saying that! You shouldn't have drawn attention to yourself by fighting! Isn't the whole point of all of this to keep a low profile? To keep El safe?! So that we can end this and move on?!”
“Do not make this about me, Mike-” Jane tries, but the two of them are too wound up, too into it now that they’ve finally let loose on something that must've been simmering under the surface for months.
“I’m not!” Mike steamrolls on, pulling his arm out of Dustin's grasp when he tries to grab at him to pull him back down to the couch. Hopper takes two more steps forward. Nancy grabs Jon’s hand firmly in her own, practically holding him in place. Steve and Robin both take two steps back, hands clenched together between them, her other hand pressed over her deep frown.
“It's about Will! About the lying and the secrets! There was no fever,” Mike seethes, pointing a finger at Will in accusation, and Will hates him for being right, for noticing, the way he always has. “I’m not an idiot, and I'm not blind. None of us are. You were covered in bruises before you even came to school yesterday.”
Everything is quiet now. Everything except for Mike and his heavy breathing. So the hitch in Will's breath is obvious- loud, in the relative silence. He doesn't notice the furious, disbelieving look that Jonathan levels their mom with, knowing that she knows something she won’t tell him. But he does see the way Dustin and Lucas lock up, the way they guiltily avert their eyes from his. So, they must have all seen then.
“According to every single person we asked, you threw three punches. And Lewis didn't touch you other than a shove.” Mike slows down now, as he stacks up the inconsistencies like pieces of evidence. “Then you disappear. And when I get home, your mom asks me if Lewis choked you? Which he didn’t. And you waltz in here with that shit on your neck, and expect me not to be confused? To not want to know what the fuck is going on with my best friend?!”
“Best friend,” Will scoffs, suddenly finding this entire thing hilarious. It's funny, so he laughs, ignoring the way it finally makes Mike flinch back, finally makes him look unsure of himself. “That's funny, Mike. You're funny.”
“You're avoiding the question,” Mike says quietly, seeming to all at once remember where they are, the fact that they're surrounded by their friends and family. It makes Will remember it too, the mortification so sudden and overwhelming that he feels the blood drain from his face as his eyes dart around the room, everyone too stunned to even lower their gazes and pretend they haven't been locked onto their argument like a tennis match. He watches as their eyes dip onto his neck, onto the marks that Henry left, the marks he loved just last night, that now he wishes he could scrub from his skin just so they'd stop looking at them. Thank God Joyce helped him cover the teeth marks, or he just knows this conversation would have been a thousand times worse. It was bad enough as is. Will suddenly needs to not be here.
“Believe it or not, Mike,” Will mutters, his lips wobbling as he forces himself not to cry. “I don't have to answer to you.”
Mike groans into a sigh, immediately retorting, “You're not hearing me. You're not even trying. We're worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, don't be,” Will snaps at him, finally breaking out of his fawn state, moving to dart around the coffee table, to hurry away from everyone and their sad eyes, heading straight for the stairs. “Clearly I don't need you to fight my battles for me anymore, Mike, so just stop!”
It's the moment that Mike whirls around and tries to grab Will's sleeve to stop his escape that the others finally step in. Lucas and Dustin both have a hand on Mike before Hopper can even move the last few feet forward and do it himself. Jane has her own hand tossed out and the squeal of the metal feet of the couch sliding across the floor is loud, as she moves it in between Mike and Will as a barrier. Jonathan is set loose as Nancy strides over to grab a fistful of the back of Mike’s sweater, his footsteps quick as he comes to stand near Will, but doesn't touch, knowing his brother would panic even worse.
“Clearly?! You win one fight at school and show up today looking like you lost two more! Just tell us who the fuck is hurting you!” Mike snaps back, eyes locked hard on Will, not even trying to wriggle free of the three separate holds on him.
“Who I spend my time with is none of your damn business, Mike!”
“-spend your time with?” Jon repeats incredulously.
“Why are you protecting the person that's doing this to you?! This is crazy, Will!” Mike shouts, truly raising his voice for the first time, his own face flushed red from adrenaline and emotion.
“Mike!” Joyce and Nancy bark together, hard with warning.
Will doesn't see them or hear them at all. His focus is solely on the boy in front of him, separated by a couch and a few feet of space. The boy who swore they'd be best friends forever, that he'd always understand him, always be there to support him. He understands that Mike is worried, that they all are, but it was always supposed to be Mike that he never had to doubt. Then the summer of ‘85 happened, when Will spent months third wheeling and feeling miserable, being ignored. Then California happened, the exact same pattern emerging during Mike's visit. He thought they might get close again, living in the same house, some childish hope that they'd learn how to be better friends without his crush getting in the way. How naive, he thinks, just as he completely boils over.
“Crazy together, Mike!” Will yells right back, not even flinching when his voice cracks sharply, even when everyone else does. He doesn't notice his mom as she covers her mouth to keep herself from interrupting, or the way Hopper wraps his arms around her to help keep her upright.
“What?” Mike whispers, but it isn't hard to hear over the dreadful, tense silence underneath their panting.
“Isn't that what you told me- that we'd go crazy together? When I said I was going insane, when I said I was losing my goddamn mind?! Well where the fuck have you been, Mike? You're just mad that someone else kept the promise you couldn't! That I finally found someone that doesn't care that I'm crazy, because he's right there with me!” Will finishes loud, practically screaming, his own angry hand jabbing into the air between them like punctuation, breathless upset laughter bubbling up in his throat.
Then he sees the look on Mike's face, the realization. The way it travels through the crowd around them, as they register his words, the pronouns used, the heavy implication. And his heart sinks. He may not have given them a name, but he's given them enough to know… something. Dustin and Lucas both drop their hands from Mike's arms in shock, blinking over at him as they visibly think through what they saw the other day and what they're hearing now.
Will's jaw works helplessly as he stumbles a step back, his mind blanking. He just outed himself. He just… revealed his secret to a room full of people that… he doesn't… he's not safe. He needs to run, needs to hide somewhere but he can't, can't get his legs to work or his brain to think.
“Come on,” a scratchy feminine voice orders, right by his head. Hands grab softly at his elbows and pull him towards the stairs, even as he tries to flinch away.
“Robin…” Someone warns, but she doesn't listen, just keeps herding the shaking boy towards the stairs.
Will blinks over at her, sees her face, sees the lack of judgement, the look of concern. She's still trying to get him to move, to help him get away. He jolts back into his body all at once, his own hands flying up to grasp hers, and together they stumble-sprint for the wall and up the stairs, leaving the tense, silent crowd below.
He hears the shouting start before they even make it to the top, but before he can register what the voices are saying, Robin is practically carrying him out of the secret entrance and straight over to the private office.
“You're alright, Will, you're okay,” she keeps repeating, calling him by his name instead of ‘Baby Byers’ for what must be the first time, because he actually notices the change through his panic. She pulls him into the room and shuts the door behind them, locking it with a loud click, something soft, slow pop song warbling over the speakers at a low volume. Will blinks into the room, at the shelves stuffed full of radio paraphernalia, awards and microphones, dust-covered old vinyls of stuff that no one wants to hear on the radio anymore. The carpet below his feet is shaggy and worn down in a clear path from the door to the chair at the big old wooden desk, piled high with papers and clutter, discarded pens and a set of big, bulky black headphones still plugged into the record player nestled on the corner. It smells like dust and old carpet and paper, warm and musky.
“Here,” Robin whispers, taking him by the shoulders to help him into the corner of the room, to sit in the big papasan chair with the overstuffed cushion, the one with the blue glass bong half-hidden behind it that he’s pretty sure belongs to his brother. Robin settles herself onto the edge of the low, coffee-ring stained table in front of it, keeping her hands on him the whole time to ground him. “Everything is gonna be okay-”
“N-No,” he moans, dropping his head into his hands, just trying to keep pulling air into his lungs, the breaths stuttering through his sticking throat. “I fucked up, I can’t- I messed up-”
“No, Will- You didn’t,” she insists, emotion bleeding into her voice, wetness building into her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He shouldn’t have cornered you- He fucked up, not you, okay?” He shakes his head in his hands, his knee shaking, his foot bouncing upon the floor with muffled thumps.
“They all know,” he whispers, choking on the words, feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth, feeling like he might throw up. Robin pauses, just breathing and thinking, her heart breaking for the poor kid in front of her. “They know and they- they’re going to hate me-”
“They will not hate you, Will, I promise. And if anyone says anything, Steve and I will beat them up, alright? We’ll toss Wheeler right out of this building on his ass if we need to.” A nervous laugh bubbles out of her, as she decides to tell him about herself. “I don’t hate you, Will. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, okay? You want to know why?”
She waits until he actually manages to look up at her through his tear-clumped lashes to continue, “Because I’m like you. You know Vickie, from the hospital? Red-headed, looks incredibly cute in those stupid little candy-striper dresses? She’s… She’s my girlfriend.”
Will drops his hands to his lap, resting right on top of hers, which have never left him, not once since she grabbed him downstairs.
“What… You- You’re…” He whispers shakily, hazel eyes so wide and wet and hesitantly hopeful that Robin feels a pang in her chest. She laughs then, feeling a few tears of her own slip free to roll down her cheek. She leans back and thrusts her hand out, offering a hand-shake.
“Robin Buckley. Resident lesbian, at your service.” Will looks shocked for a moment before he’s laughing too, wet and coughing but laughing and smiling. He takes her hand in his own and they shake firmly between them.
“Will Byers… Resident- uh… Resident gay, I guess. At your service.” They let go and Will blows a huge sigh out, leaning back to rest his shoulders into the thick cushion behind him, blinking at her in wonder. She’s… like him. He’s not alone. They all know- they’re all downstairs arguing right now, but she’s up here with him because… because she knows what it’s like.
“Was that…” She starts warily, unsure of how comfortable he’ll be speaking with her about everything. “Did no one know yet?” She settles on. Will breathes deeply, smoothly for the first time since that fight began downstairs, and twitches his brows as he thinks.
“I told my mom last night,” he admits, a shaky grin flashing on his face. “She caught me sneaking back in from-” He clears his throat and hesitates, before deciding to go all in, at least as far as he can for now. “From seeing my- my boyfriend.” It feels like a juvenile way of describing the relationship he has with Henry, but calling him his lover or admitting that he’s pretty sure they’re soulmates seems like the type of thing he should keep to himself.
Robin grins back at him and teases, “Boyfriend, huh? When did it start?” Will feels something crack free in his chest, that someone is asking without glaring, that someone is genuinely interested in hearing about it- not because they’re interrogating but because they can speak about it freely with each other, without judgement. Even talking about it with his mom last night didn’t feel like this, because she just couldn’t understand the way Robin can.
“The beginning of September,” he answers, thinking back on that first night, when Henry saved him from his nightmares and drew him into his arms, a heat creeping into his cheeks. “We, uh, hooked up. And then it became more. We love each other,” he tells her, a warmth building as he remembers the way they’d repeated it to each other last night so many times, as if neither of them could really believe it, like they needed to make sure the other understood.
Robin smiles brightly at him, happy for him, but then he sees her eyes slip down his neck to the marks there, sees her recall Mike’s words, about the bruises underneath his clothes. He tenses but she doesn’t slip into judgement, just careful consideration.
Hesitantly, she asks, “And all of that… It’s consensual?” He knows why she's asking, and he appreciates it- her concern, the way she asks mostly without emotion.
So he levels her with his most even expression, with tired honesty, and answers, “Yes. I know it seems crazy- seems like abuse, but it isn't. I… I don't know why I like it, I just-”
“You don't have to explain it to me if you don't want to. It's not exactly my cup of tea but you're not crazy for it, and you're definitely not alone. There's a whole wide world of kinks and fetishes out there, kid. You just fell into it before you knew what it was called, there's nothing wrong with that. Happens to the best of us,” she laughs. “As long as you're comfortable and it stays consensual, no one else's opinion matters.”
“I… Thank you. Do you… Do you know what it is called?” He asks hesitantly, reaching up to press his fingers against the bandaid on his throat, feeling along the edges, thinking of Henry. He wonders what he’s doing right now, if the older man could feel his distress somehow.
“In my- admittedly- limited experience, it’s a part of BDSM. Which stands for Bondage, Domination, Submission, and Masochism. I know that’s a lot of big scary words but that definitely seems to be what you and your mystery guy are engaging in. And Will, plenty of couples are into it, okay? Gay and straight. You’re not crazy or broken. You’re just kinky.”
Will laughs, covering his smile with his hand, blushing and grinning and so completely turned around from where he was emotionally just a few minutes ago.
“But,” Robin goes on, “If it does ever become unconsensual, you go to someone, okay? Rule number one with any of this; if you’re not having fun anymore, you’re done. Got it?”
“Got it,” Will nods firmly, knowing she’s right, even while knowing Henry would never hurt him the way they all assume he is. “That’s what mom said last night, too. She’ll help me keep it secret for now, until me and He- me and him figure out a way to… tell people.”
“So, he isn’t out? Is that why you have to be so secretive?” She asks, genuine curiosity in her voice, as she leans back to rest her psalm behind her on the table, stretching her legs out in between his.
Will sighs and answers, “It’s not about being out- especially now that I am, apparently- I don’t think he really cares about what anyone would think of him in that regard, it’s just-” He pauses to suck a fortifying breath in, squinting at her. “He’s kind of… a few years older than me?”
“Ooooh, an older man? Baby Byers, you shock me! How scandalous!” She’s teasing him, jaw dropped and fanning herself with one hand while he giggles, nudging her leg with his and shaking his head. It feels so good to joke around about it, for someone to be so accepting of him and his situation that he can find the humor in it at all, rather than being terrified of their reaction. “Well, if you guys are keeping it a secret for now, then I won’t pester you with anymore questions,” Robin sighs, patting her hands on her knees and moving to get up to her feet. “I should probably go make sure they’re not actually killing Little Wheeler down there- if you’re alright?”
Will winces and nods, waving her off, explaining, “Please do. I don’t hate Mike, I just- We’ve had a weird few years and… I know he means well, that he’s just worried about me but-”
“He’s a complete asshole when it comes to anything remotely emotional?”
“Exactly,” Will laughs, shaking his head. Robin chuckles and ruffles his hair as she stands, groaning as she stretches her back out, making her way around the table.
“Stay up here as long as you need, kiddo. Bathroom is through that door there.” She points to a dark wooden door tucked between two towering, overloaded bookshelves as she passes it for the main office door. “Do you want me to send anyone up? Joyce or Jane or Jon- wow, a lot of ‘J’ names in the Byers family- oh wait, Jim, too! That’s crazy, what’re the odds!” Will smiles helplessly at her rambling, enjoying the way she’s just so effortlessly herself.
“No, I just… I need a little bit to myself, I think. I’ll come back down then. Eventually.”
Robin nods and makes her way out of the room, pulling the door shut softly behind her.
She sighs into the wood of the door, letting her head thunk against the smooth surface as she thinks. What happened downstairs was a disaster, a train wreck of mythical proportions. Mike Wheeler is at the very tippy top of her shit list, and probably will be for a very long time. He cornered Will, put him on the spot in front of everyone and refused to back down even when they tried to step in- tried to keep him from potentially ruining whatever he had left of the weirdly intimate relationship he had with Will Byers.
Robin drags herself away from the office and trudges back over to the secret entrance to the basement, the raised voices still echoing up from below, the argument clearly still churning even with Will removed from the situation.
There's a lull in the yelling as she makes her way down the stairs, eyes turning to stare at her expectantly, but she only acknowledges Joyce.
“He's okay,” Robin tells the older woman, knowing that's the most important thing to her at this moment. But hurries to add, when Joyce starts to spring into motion toward the stairs, “But! He said he'd like some time alone.”
Joyce stills and nods shakily, retreating back under Hopper’s protective arm. Robin scans the room, trying to get a feel for the resulting factions, to see who agrees with Mike and who agrees with Will. To her delight, everyone but Jon is standing on the opposite side as Mike, but even he has himself distanced by a few feet, his support wavering and unsure.
“He shouldn't be left alone right now- he's probably just gonna call the guy that's abusing him-”
“Mike!” Several people snap at once, cutting him off sharply.
“Well it's not like he's wrong,” Jon croaks, throwing his hands up, eyes burning into Joyce. “He's been sneaking out to see this person, and don't tell me you didn't know-”
“I didn't know!” Joyce fires back. “I- I caught him coming in last night and-”
“And then what? Decided to help him lie about it? How is that helping him, Mom?!”
“Yes! Because he's happy, Jonathan! For the first time in years, he has something that's his! And I'm not going to take that from him, as long as he stays happy!”
“The guy is hurting him, Mom! His arm was bleeding the other day, did he tell you that?”
“What?!” Mike explodes, rocketing up from the couch where he had just collapsed.
“Sit. Down.” Hop orders, cold and hard. Mike's ass is back on the couch within a heartbeat, glaring up at the man. “Now, we are all going to sit down. We're going to get the facts straight. And then we are going to shut up about it, so that when Will comes back down here, he doesn't feel like he's being attacked. Do you understand me?”
Everyone nods immediately. Robin grabs Steve’s hand and drags him over to the couch to throw herself and him down beside Dustin and Lucas, all four of them looking contrite, passing glances to each other. Nancy takes Jon by the sleeve and guides him into one of the loveseats, nestling herself in beside him, not even flinching when he takes her hand so hard it looks like it hurts, supporting him silently. Joyce and Jane find a spot on the couch that Mike occupies but keep their distance, sitting hip to hip and holding onto each other.
“No, I don't understand,” Mike mutters, volume growing as he glares harder up at Hop in defiance. “I don't understand how you can be okay with any of this!” Jane blanches in shock, her eyes darting from her boyfriend to her dad.
“How I can be okay with what, Mike?” Hop begins, so slow and so deep that everyone unconsciously leans back and braces for the impact. “Okay with my kid being gay, or with the fact that you backed him into a corner and made him tell everyone before he was ready?” Joyce looks at him with so much love in her eyes that Robin can hardly stand to look at it, so she looks at Mike, whose face has gone pale.
“That’s not- it's not about him being- I didn't mean to-”
“Yeah, you seem to do a lot of things without meaning to.” Hopper slowly makes his way over to the last empty spot, the armchair in the middle, at the head of their grouping, and sits, eyes never leaving Mike, watching as the boy seems to rapidly work through why everyone is so mad at him.
“Now. From the beginning. What has been going on.” Hop looks at Jon first, knowing if he doesn't he's just going to have to settle them all down from an argument again.
“Yesterday morning,” Jon starts, glancing at Joyce, who looks like she really doesn't want to be hashing everything out like this. “When we woke up, he had lost his voice and was just acting weird, I- I didn't really think anything of it until I saw the blood on his shirt, at his elbow.”
Mike crosses his arms hard, his knee bouncing.
“Okay, what then?” Now, Hop turns to eye each of the boys in turn, waiting for one of them to start speaking. Lucas and Dustin both glance at each other, whispering back and forth sharply, until Hop clears his throat pointedly.
Dustin twitches and hesitantly answers, “He was quiet, in the morning. Kinda seemed out of it for most of the day, which isn't, you know, that unusual for him… he can be kind of…”
“-spacey,” Lucas supplies.
“Yeah, spacey! You know, like, lost in his head. We watched him through lunch, he didn't eat anything-”
“He ate half an orange,” Mike interjects, tone flat with repressed anger, his eyes locked onto the surface of the coffee table.
“...Yeah,” Lucas pitches in, sending a look at the side of Mike's head. “So we followed him down the hall to his locker and I noticed…”
“Noticed what?” Hopper leads Lucas, who is shaking his head and sighing, his jaw clenching. Robin really looks at him and realizes Lucas doesn't want to do this either, doesn't want to give up Will’s secrets. Steve reaches over silently and takes her hand in his, squeezing.
“Just some- some bruises.”
“Handprints,” Mike corrects.
Lucas snaps quietly, “Mike. Come on, man.”
“What? He's asking, Lucas! The least you could do is not lie about it!”
“It's not my business, Mike! It's not any of our business!” Lucas blows up, pointing an accusatory hand across the table towards Mike.
“Lucas is right,” Dustin adds, pinching his finger over the ridge of his nose, grimacing. Robin nods eagerly, her hair bouncing.
“He is. If Will says he's happy then that's what matters, especially right now,” she piles on, watching as Joyce and Jane both start nodding along.
“Not if he's being hurt!” Mike insists, looking around at them like they're all insane. “Why is everyone acting like this is fine?! I’m the only one being normal here, I'm the only one that seems to care about Will!”
“Mike,” Joyce speaks up, quieting the boisterous arguments that were rising up around the room. “I know you care about Will, I know you mean well. But you are not the only one that cares about him. If he says he's happy, that he's not being abused, that he's okay with what's going on- then… I trust him. I trust him to know what's best for himself.”
“But what if-” Mike chokes on his words and buries his head in his hands for a second before snapping it back up to look into her eyes. “What if he gets hurt? What if this person- this guy- seriously hurts him?”
“Then we will deal with that, if it happens,” Hopper assures, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, looking aged beyond his years.
“Deal with it how?” Jon demands, looking from Hop to his mom. “Do we even know who this guy is?”
Joyce bites at her lip and looks to the ceiling for strength before shaking her head weakly, answering, “He wouldn't tell me. He said they're not ready yet. B-but they have a plan- it's not like he was planning on keeping it a secret forever!”
“Oh, a plan! Perfect then, that solves everything,” Jon gripes.
“Why even the need for a plan?” Nancy adds more calmly, the tone creeping into her voice that she gets when she's caught the scent of something. Robin looks between all the faces in the room, the mix of emotions. She watches as Joyce’s mouth opens and shuts as she frantically tries to think. “It's not just that the guy isn't out, is it?” Nancy surmises, shrewd eyes squinting as she thinks. “There's something more, something that would keep Will from saying anything to anyone- other than just the nature of the relationship…” Her eyes cut over to Joyce, who is grimacing already.
“He's older,” Nancy realizes. “Enough to make it a problem for them to be together.”
“Mom,” Jon sighs like he's just been hit by a truck. “Tell me you didn't know. Tell me that you aren't letting him see some creep that likes to put his hands on him!”
“No, Jonathan, of course not! Will said he's only a few years older-”
“He could be lying, Mom! You have no idea who this person is-”
“How much is a few years?”
“Mike, stay out of it, you've done enough!”
“What, and you guys aren't worried about him?! What happened to ‘friends don't lie’?! He's been lying to us for weeks-”
“Alright, enough!” Hopper roars over the chaos, cutting off every single one of them, leaving the room in utter silence. He stands and rounds the back of his chair, his booted footsteps thudding on the concrete floor. He leans down and clenches his hands on the back of the chair, dropping his head down to shake it slowly before finally looking back up.
“We drop it. Now,” he orders simply.
“But-”
“You drop it, Wheeler. Now. There's only two people that get a say in this- Will, because it is his life, and Joyce because she's his mother. Do I make myself clear?”
Hopper watches as everyone nods, some eagerly, others reluctantly, then pins Mike beneath his gaze, waiting.
“Do I make myself… clear?”
Mike finally nods too, a short jerk of his chin that clearly shows how he feels about being told to stand down.
Robin watches as Hopper stands tall once more, towering over them- watches as Mike tries to have some silent conversation with Lucas and Dustin, who pointedly ignore him. Jonathan looks viscerally upset, but Nancy is rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, leaning in close to placate him with soft murmurs.
“Now, everyone keep their opinions to themselves, and get ready for the sleepover, alright? It's already past curfew so, unfortunately, none of you are going home tonight. Joyce, a word?” He jerks his head over to the weapons room and waits for Joyce to rocket up from the couch and stride straight into the private room, trailing after her with one last glare over his shoulder at them all.
“Well that was… insane,” Steve leans over to whisper into Robin's ear immediately after the door shuts behind Hop and Joyce, muffled voices almost instantly bursting to life from inside the room. Robin groans and drops her head into her hands, letting her body fall to the side and into Steve who catches her happily.
“God, I know,” she whispers back into her hands, thinking of the poor kid upstairs that just wants to be happy, wants to make his own choices for the first time in his life. Obviously, she doesn't love the idea of some older guy that likes to leave bruises like that on one of the younger teens but… Will doesn't have the same options as Dustin and Mike and Lucas- it's just not the same for people like her and him. And he was earnest when he explained it to her, he was honest about liking it, about the fact that this guy isn't forcing him into anything. So she'll trust him, she'll back him, and she'll help Joyce do the same.
Robin finally pulls her hands away and lets Steve play with her hair as she watches the others with a sharp eye, waiting for Mike to start up again without Hopper mediating, waiting for Jon to try to storm upstairs to demand answers from his baby brother, but to her relief, everyone stays put. Dustin and Lucas shuffle even closer to herself and Steve in the resulting awkward atmosphere, while Jane levels Mike with a cool glare and staunchly ignores his attempts to whisper at her. Jon and Nancy bend their heads together in the loveseat and start up their own near-silent conversation.
The peace won't last, Robin knows, but if they can just get through the night without taking any more autonomy away from Will, she'll be happy.
They all break away from the couches, after a few long minutes of working through the shock of the last hour or so. Robin and Steve happily help Dustin and Lucas set up their cots and sleeping bags under the projector screen, away from Mike, who has now seemingly given up on trying to quietly convince Jane that she should be just as concerned as him. The girl just ignores him as she sets up her own cot and blankets with an almost military focus that she most definitely learned from Hopper.
“Today was a disaster,” Lucas sighs quietly, so that only their grouping can hear, dropping onto his cot with a groan. Dustin follows after to collapse beside him in a similar state. Nodding wearily, Steve takes a seat for himself on the other cot, shooting Robin a look that she just shrugs at. Hopper told them not to talk about it but… that's kind of an impossible request.
“He really does seem happy,” she whispers in between the four of them, heads bent low and close. “When I talked to him earlier, ya know? It isn't- I mean, he's not being abused.”
“Yeah, but older?” Steve whispers, not arguing, just debating. “How much older? Joyce said it's just a few years but Jon’s not wrong, he could be lying.”
Lucas scoffs, “Will might be a little out there, but he's still got taste, it's definitely not some nasty old man. That's not his type-”
“His type?” Dustin whispers incredulously, his head snapping over to his friend. “How do you know what Will’s type is?” Lucas rolls his eyes and huffs a reluctant laugh.
“Not to quote Mike right now but… I'm not blind. I've seen the guys Will checks out when he thinks no one's looking. He wouldn't be into some creepy old guy, trust me,” Lucas levels with them, his eyebrows jumping up. Dustin's jaw hangs open as he looks in between them all.
“Well what's his type?” Dustin demands to know, curiosity flaring to life and drowning everything else out, the way it always does for him. Robin can't help but snort and drop her head onto Steve's shoulder to muffle the sound, feeling his body shake with smothered laughter too. The chaos and adrenaline of this entire evening are starting to wear off, leaving them all sleepy and giggly.
“I’m not telling you that, dude! Why do you even wanna know so bad? Mad that he didn't pick you?” Lucas teases, and Robin lifts her head back up to lightly glare, nervous about where the joke is going, not willing to let them mock Will. To her delight, Dustin actually seems to pause and think about his answer for a beat.
“Maybe I am!” He whisper-shouts, his eyes wide. “Will’s like, objectively, the prettiest person in town-”
“Woah, woah, woah-” Lucas interjects, offended, and Robin tenses right back up. “He’s the second prettiest person in town- Max is number one, obviously.” She blows a breath out and Steve’s shoulders shake with repressed chuckles.
Dustin acquiesces with a deep nod, “Fine, fine. Alright, prettiest boy-”
“-agreed.”
“-Anyone would be lucky to date him! I’m straight, so him not liking me really worked out for the better, but still… It’s good that we can safely assume Will wouldn’t date some loser, middle-aged dud, right?” Dustin looks around at them for confirmation, pouting at the sight of Robin and Steve clutching at each other and trying to swallow their wheezes, Lucas grinning brightly at them.
Like that, they settle into the insanity that was the evening at the Squawk, sending jokes back and forth that never feel harmful, never dip into any kind of malicious territory. Nancy and Jon even come around to the more relaxed atmosphere eventually, the older Byers sibling even ducking his head and rolling his eyes at a few ‘protective big brother’ quips he gets from the boys. Before too long, Hopper and Joyce emerge from the weapons room and wander over to the couches to sit and join with the rest of them, Jane wedging herself in between them like she was meant to be there, laughing softly as the conversion steers away from anything serious and into the regular topics- the ridiculous small-town spats they witness, the calls Robin gets to the station complaining about the military presence or the music she plays, the way the basketball team has had to resort to splitting up and playing against themselves for something to do. All through it, Mike sits off by himself in one of the arm chairs, knees drawn up to his chest, fingers picking at a fray in his jeans, watching them but not joining in, never laughing.
He only really reacts when the conversation stumbles for a moment, just as they register Will’s footsteps at the top of the stairs, before smoothly picking it back up, the unspoken agreement to help him feel as normal as possible thrumming to life in between them all.
Robin absently laughs at something Steve has said about the point guard on the basketball team along with the others, but her eyes are on Mike, his own eyes locked onto Will, from the moment his sneakers come into view. He watches Will like a hawk as the boy comes down the steps, a wary look in his eye as he scans over the room to take in the energy. He looks settled, more calm, his face no longer flushed, his breathing smooth and steady, and Robin feels a part of herself relax, even as she darts her eyes back over to Mike, and watches his eyebrows twitch. This isn’t over, she realizes. He’s up to something, she just doesn’t know what yet.
She’ll need to keep an eye on him. Protecting Will means more to her now than ever before.