It never stops. Joyce is barely conscious before she's reaching out for Will and, finding him not within arm's reach, she's on her feet with her heart in her throat and her chest seizing. She's never not afraid for him, about him. It doesn't matter that he's there, hurrying towards her, smiling and sheepish and pink-cheeked and wearing someone's sweatshirt. All that matters is he wasn't there for a second.
So Joyce's breath rushes out and she clutches Will to her, muffling his sheepishly grumbled protests, arms like iron around him. "Honey, don't do that! Where were you? Whose is this? Who's that?" She peppers him with questions, glancing over at Sam with a quick, immediately mistrustful look.
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Date: 2018-02-25 11:27 pm (UTC)So Joyce's breath rushes out and she clutches Will to her, muffling his sheepishly grumbled protests, arms like iron around him. "Honey, don't do that! Where were you? Whose is this? Who's that?" She peppers him with questions, glancing over at Sam with a quick, immediately mistrustful look.