deadboywalking | for @10_20_15_5

for @10_20_15_5_50

It was supposed to help.

They'd sold the Pinto for this -- Joyce white-knuckled and tight-lipped at the car dealership, trying to get the most money possible, because tickets from Indianapolis to Sacramento weren't cheap, even if, at 12, Will could still get a child's seat. They'd spent all this money, because Joyce had heard from a doctor who'd heard from a nurse from an orderly from another nurse that this guy in California was supposed to be the best.

But hundreds of dollars and an exhausting all-night flight later, they had nothing to show for it. The doctor had done all the same tests, EKG and blood tests, so many that Will felt shaky and dizzy afterwards. He'd asked a thousand questions and Will had talked until his throat was sore about the episodes, about the things he could see, about the place he sometimes went. And all the doctor had been able to say was, "Probably PTSD. You said he was lost in the woods for a week?"

She wasn't talking, but Will could tell his mother was starting to lose hope. She had that blank, faraway look in her eyes, she kept spacing out and didn't seem to hear Will when he spoke. Even worse, she'd missed the turn to get to the airport, so they'd missed their flight and had to rebook for another one, early in the morning.

So there they were, sitting in the Sacramento airport at three in the morning, waiting for their flight to begin boarding. Joyce had a now-stone-cold cup of coffee in front of her, untouched, and she kept nodding off where she sat. Will was on the other side of their luggage, just as exhausted, but unable to let himself sleep.

Instead he glanced down at where his long sleeves rode up, displaying the numerous bandages on his lower arms. It had taken the nurse multiple tries to find a vein for the IV, or to draw from, and Will sort of felt like one big pincushion. He absently tugged at the sleeves, looking around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. People liked to assume, after all.

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It took a while for Sam to return; though chatting with Will had done wonders for her morale (what with the absolute worst part of waiting in an airport being being bored) she was still tired, moving slower than she otherwise would. She hoped her second coffee would help with that; the cup was still hot in her hand when she settled onto her seat, separated from Will by one empty chair. After a moment, she tipped her bag over the arms and onto that unoccupied seat, leaning over to try and eye the boy's book.

“Whatcha drawing? Couldn't spot my friend, so it looks like I'll be waiting a while yet... and bugging you, unless you mind.”

In the time she's gone, Will makes a trip to the vending machine (because she got that part right, he's hungry and he needs sugar), adjusts the coat draped over his sleeping mother's shoulders so she doesn't get cold, settles back into his seat and is deeply involved in drawing the individual hairs on the Beartruck Bear's shoulders and back. He's definitely a child artist, but there's an attention to detail that most other children Will's age don't possess -- he's taken the time to outline every one of the treads on the car's wheels, the clods of dirt being kicked up, the aforementioned hairs. All his drawings are like that, intricate and detailed and focused.

He jumps a little at Sam's return, blinking a couple times as he's brought out of his artsy reverie. Automatically, he hides the book. "Um, nothing. It's nothing. Hi."

“Hi to you, too.” The adept shifted to lean away, her free hand held up. “Sorry I interrupted you; sorry I got snoopy. May I see what you're drawing, even if it's 'nothing'? I promise I won't say anything mean.”

She settled again, both hands wrapped around her coffee. “If you want to work in peace, I'll let you be and read or something.”

Honestly, even the fact that she's asking permission is enough to have Will relaxing a little, though he keeps the notebook angled towards his chest for a moment. Words are all well and good, but he's only willingly shown two whole adults (his mother and Mr. Clarke) his drawings.

Still, she hasn't made fun of him yet...

So Will carefully lowers the notebook, offering it with the tips of his ears red with preemptive embarrassment. "It's not very good."

“You're kidding, right?” As Will angled the book so that she could see it, Sam set her coffee aside and pushed herself over to peer at his art, both hands on the nearer armrest so that she could lift herself to see a bit better (without actually standing). She wasn't sure what she'd expected, exactly, but Beartruck had been illustrated with great care and an attentive eye. “That's great! Look; I especially appreciate how monster that monster truck is and this bear being so visibly mad with horse-power. Look at that bristle. But can you answer one question for me?”

Sam settled back, tilting her head as if the question she wanted to ask was a serious one.

“We're gonna take it that this is a werebear, right? If for no other reason, giving the bear pants pockets for a place to put its keys?”

"...really?" Will doesn't really need to ask it, not with the utter sincerity in Sam's voice. He asks anyways, sitting a little straighter in his seat, holding his head a little bit higher. He'd hardly realized he'd been slumping. Her question makes him laugh a little, quickly erasing a couple lines, drawing a couple more, a few creases in fabric, a pocket, then a tiny key handing out of it. "Like that?"

“Yeah, really.” Sam straightened too, nodding once, emphatically. “I wouldn't yank your chain, kiddo.”

As Will worked at altering his illustration, Sam opened her bag and began pawing through the contents at one end. She paused when Will spoke up, looking over and---barely!---keeping a bark of laughter back. “Yes! Just like that.” She stood to better see the things in her bag, and soon found a paperback with a folded paper saving her spot. She pulled out and opened the bookmark (which was a blank sheet of airport stationary,) before offering it to the boy, both hopeful and amused.

“Don't suppose I could have one original Will What's-yer-face Beartruck for my bookmark? Please.”

"Byers," Will says, very shyly, ducking back and hiding behind that fluffy fringe of hair. But he's beaming, bless his little heart, and the fact that he's trying so hard to hide that is some new kind of heartbreaking. He slowly reaches out and takes the paper, only hesitating a moment before putting the pencil lead to it.

The bear he doodles is tiny and rounded, more like a cub than a bear, fluffy and toothy. It's pretty darn adorable. "Um. Is that okay?"

“Patchowski,” Sam answered, pleasantly. Fair was fair, even if she often took an 'all's fair' approach to a great many things. She couldn't help but soften and smile at the reaction to her request, even as she tried (with some success) to resist the temptation to watch Will at work. She'd glance at his doodling now and then, but mostly let her eyes wander across the window her back had been to before. At 'um,' she took paper back to examine the art, and shot Will one of her sunniest smiles. “Better than okay.”

She folded the paper carefully so that the bear wouldn't be blurred before she could find a piece of packing tape or somesuch to preserve it, and then tucked it back into her book. “Lucky for me that you work as quick as you do; my ride's here, and he might've been waiting a bit already.” She shoved her book back into her bag and zipped it, then slid the strap onto her shoulder. She considered the coffee she'd started and braced before drinking the remaining three-quartes-cup in a breath.

“I should go. It was nice to meet you, though.” Once more, she offered her hand to shake; it seemed the thing to do. “Good luck, safe travels, and all that jazz.”

Edited 2017-12-21 16:06 (UTC)

"Nice to meet you," Will says promptly, politely. He watches her tuck the bookmark drawing away, shoulders squaring with a quiet, pleased pride. The disappointment that wells up when she sees something outside the window is acute, as much as it had been moments before, but Will nods slowly, clearly resigned.

"Okay. You too." The handshake he gives is very serious, more suitable for someone about five times his age.

Sam wouldn't've believed it if somebody---anybody---had told her that by the time Breakdown arrived, she'd want to loiter a little longer... but Will's obvious dismay made it tempting. Poor kid! She might've stayed a few more minutes, but didn't want to keep her ride waiting, or wait much longer to see the key he'd brought for her to trade for... well, whatever it was she was going to get in exchange.

“G'night, Will.” The skin-witch walked away with that, though she slowed to turn around and wave once. It wasn't a dramatic exit, but it wasn't as if there was no sign she'd been by; she'd forgotten to toss her first coffee cup, and a strip of glossy paper had fallen to the floor beside the chair her bag had been on.

Will almost doesn't notice the paper. He's ready to settle back into his seat and go back to doodling -- he has a couple excellent ideas for snow castles and potato-nosed snowmen -- while waiting for his mother to wake up. It's just by chance that he looks over and sees the coffee cup, then his eyes are instantly drawn to the paper. By the time he scrambles to his feet, Sam's nearly at the door, and Will's tripping over his feet to scoop up the glossy paper and hurry across the length of the waiting area.

"Hey, Sam, wai--" And this time he really trips, over his untied shoelace, landing heavily on his knees and skidding a few inches on the rough airport carpet. The threadbare knee of his jeans tears like tissue paper and the breath leaves him with an audible oof!, and his palms and knees are stinging, rug-burned and maybe it's the late hour, but Will's startled enough that his eyes flood teary before he can stop himself.

And that's humiliating, so he stays on his hands and knees, staring at the carpet and willing the tears away, even though he's pretty sure his knee is bleeding.

After twelve hours in transit, two hours of waiting, and a regrettable goodbye, Sam was in a world of her own, mind only on hassling her ~~ancient~~ old friend. If she were more awake, more alert, Will's words might have registered; as it was, he'd called out quietly (as his mother still slept) and Sam hadn't really heard him. She'd swept out the door to the extent she could sweep, striding down the sidewalk and offering a fond “My guy,” as she approached.

“Glad you could make it.”

It's the thunk of the door closing that prompts Will to get up again, hissing softly at the pain in his left knee -- the one where the fabric of his jeans had torn, where the rugburn had become a proper scrape, dripping a slow trickle of blood. But he stumbles to the door, pushing it open with all his tiny strength. "H-Hey, you dropped..."

He trails off, looking at the mostly deserted sidewalk. There's a truck there, and that's it, and he can't see anyone inside. So who's Sam talking to...?

That 'hey' caught Sam's attention, since she hadn't expected a third party present. She pivoted, surprise plain on her face, but relaxed upon seeing who it was---until she saw he was hurt. (Even in the poor light of the parking lot, it was easy to see; the injury showed in Will's aura, like a smudged line of lead, or a streak of ink.) She tilted her head, regarding the boy with mixed curiousity and concern. “What happened?” Something had to have---besides her having dropped something? Eyes still on the boy, Sam frowned a little as she patted at her pockets. Passport, debit card, rabbit's foot, button, one tightly-folded $20 bill, etc, etc---everything present and accounted for, apparently.

Breakdown had been about to greet Sam when a gangly little boy came out after her. For a moment he hesitated. It's not that he cared who knew of him, but he also didn't need to cause trouble when trouble wasn't warranted. He scanned the area really quick noting that aside from Sam and the boy, there was another person just inside (who he could see from here and they seemed to be in recharge), and another sitting in an area far down the way who he knew to be a security guard that wasn't likely to head this way.

With that determined he figured there was no trouble to be had if he frightened this boy.

"Who's the kid? Need me to take care of him?" He was partially joking. He'd not really have ~~much of~~ an issue with smashing the small human if Sam asked him too, but mostly he was thinking of the first meeting with that detective guy and Sam's assurance that she'd "take care" of him. Probably a poor joke to make, but it still made him grin to himself.

He'd been about to explain, reaching down towards his bleeding knee with one hand and holding out the glossy strip of paper with the other, when the sudden rumbling voice sounds. Considering that the only people he can actually see are him and Sam, Will has no idea what's going on, and his legs lock up in fear, shoulders tensing up, eyes going wide.

"...Sam?" His voice is itty-bitty, nervous. He does not want to get taken care of, please.

Will would get a wordless and not exactly ideal reassurance almost immediately, as even with her back to Breakdown, Sam couldn't quite keep from snorting, or smiling. “He says he's Will, so that's probably who he is, and no, thanks.” She half-turned, enough to give the Con a Look which telegraphed an amused, if incredulous 'really?'

“I'll take care of him. And,” she turned back to Will, expression softening, though something of her smile remained, now markedly more sympathetic. “not like that. More like 'get you back to your mom in a minute.' Don't be afraid. My friend is just obnoxious for fun. And because he's been that way ages and ages and ages.”

She flashed a grin over her shoulder, then took a step closer to the boy and dropped onto a knee. The movement was as graceless as her crouch had been before, her bad leg again at an awkward angle. “You'd started to say...?”

He barked a laugh. "Yeah, and yet you keep lookin' to hang out with me. I'd call ya crazy again, but I already know you'd just tell me to get bent, so..." There's a clear shrug in his tone, even if the vehicle itself doesn't move at all.

Really, though, he only felt mildly bad for scaring the boy. The kid reminded Breakdown of some of the more timid Vehicons, a trait he'd had to beat out of them one way or another to help them stay alive in battle. He wasn't sure how to do that with a lanky, human boy who could be so easily crushed though, nor was he sure he really should.

Will still stays perfectly still, even when Sam comes forward and crouches down in front of him. His knee isn't that bad, but he reaches up a hand anyway, rubs the lingering dampness out of his eyes. "Fell down," he manages in a mumble, still giving the (seemingly empty) truck a suspicious look.

Finally, very slowly: "Is your...friend...invisible?" Well. He's seen stranger things.

Again, Sam twisted to address the truck. “Yeah, cause I also am obnoxious for fun, and it's more fun being obnoxious when you've got someone to be obnoxious with. As you know. See, I'm really not unreasonable.” She clapped a hand onto her free knee, as if to punctuate the assertion, attention returning to Will.

“That's the shits. Better your knee than your tailbone, though---trust me. And, ah, no. But I can understand why you would ask. C'mon.” Sam stood, but paused once she'd straightened. She'd spotted the paper in Will's hand, and although she'd seen it before, saw it for what it was for the first time. “Is that one of my boarding passes?”

He chuckles. "Yeah, yeah."

He watched the kid, marginally sorry he'd scared the boy. "Relax, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."

Will's looking very carefully between the truck and Sam, trying to sort all this out. He's no adept, but he's been...messed with by things, altered in a way that maybe makes him more perceptive to...weird stuff. So, standing on his good leg and bending the bleeding one (which makes him totter uncontrollably), he offers the boarding pass to Sam without looking away from the truck.

"...is the truck talking, Sam?" Will feels like this needs to be established before he continues with any other subject. Because the truck. Is talking.

Sam reached out to steady Will without a second thought, taking hold of his upper arm---gently!---before taking her pass, too. “Shit. I'd need this if I had to claim insurance or anything. Y'might've saved my bacon.” Though she'd sworn in a low, talking-to-myself tone, gratitude warmed everything else the skin-witch said, and she gave Will's arm a soft, friendly squeeze. Even once the boy stood on both feet, stable once more, Sam kept her hand on his arm. She didn't shrug at his question, though she'd've been tempted to if almost anyone else had asked it; instead, she only answered.

“Yeah. His name is Breakdown, by the way.”

"Hey." The word is a greeting.

He rocks on his wheels a little. "Relax kid, I was just joking around before." Mostly anyway, and with Sam's answer it had turned into just a tease.

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i'm sorry this is so short

all good <3

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My turn for short tag.

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