Will Byers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadboywalking) wrote2017-11-30 07:45 pm
deadboywalking) wrote2017-11-30 07:45 pm
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.
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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Unconsciously, Will reaches out, rests his hand on one of Breakdown's fingers. For reassurance, which is hilarious out of context, and impossibly sweet in-context. "Sort of. When I was in...the other place and the...monster caught me, it was...it put a..." He falters, trails off, gesturing helplessly at his throat, his chest. "Inside." At this point he looks -- embarrassed, almost. Again, like it was something he could control.
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"It got inside you? Or put something inside you? Is it still there?" He's... not going to think about how gross that is. Organic bodies are so strange and gross. His concern outweighs any disgust, and he clearly doesn't think this is anything to be embarrassed about.
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Her tone hadn't been accusatory, not at all, but there was the way the boy had reacted to her shaking her head, to her frowning, and to his own accidentally dropping a couple of quarters. With those moments in mind, Sam reached out again, this time cupping her hand around Will's upper arm. “Like he said, we're not going to blame you. But we'd like to know whatever you can tell us about this monster, too.”
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But Sam's hand on his arm makes him relax (minutely), swallowing tightly. "I don't think it's...still in there. I...coughed things up for a while. Gross things. But now I can just...see where I was. Where it took me. We called it the Upside Down. It was like...this world, but...different. Wrong." He pauses, glancing around the airport for a moment, like he's waiting for something. "...I saw it earlier. Before you came by, Sam. Just for a second, I could see it."
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Honestly, he doesn't have enough details about Starscream's experience or Will's to say for sure, but it sounded similar at the moment.
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“The fuck are your people even up to?”
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It's Will's question that pulls Breakdown's focus back to the present issue. "I dunno, Runt. Sounds like you need a medic, but I only know medical stuff for my own kind. Point me at this monster and I'd be happy to smash it to pulp, but with you back here I don't know that I can help you with anything." He looks at Sam. "If either of us can do anything, it'll be her." He nods at Sam, then looks back to Will. "But that's for her to say. I know only some of what she can do."
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Releasing Will's arm, Sam shifted enough to sit back. “I'll... ask around a bit. I've heard a few things about otherspaces, but the ones I've heard about don't really mirror here. What we can do, I dunno, but we'll try to help.” It may have been more-or-less established already, but it couldn't hurt the kid to hear it.
Leaning back to better see Breakdown, Sam couldn't help but think gods' blood, zombiebots, and now otherspace shit; I should shout collin da bin. “Asking around, did the Autobots get their people back? And what's the scoop on your CO?”
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Clearing his throat, Will looks up at Breakdown, just as curious. "Was it cold there? Did he tell you?"
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Plan B wasn't exactly easy---bottling a message took time and some effort---but it was definitely doable.
“How cold? And, c'mon name names. Don't leave me hanging.”
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Totally BSing a reason for canon inconsistencies dealing with the cold
He looks at Will again, a wry smirk on his face. "I don't know that anyone would describe Starscream as 'okay', or as a friend. But he seems as much like himself as I've ever heard." Treacherous, treasonous, egotistical, and an irredeemable aft.
[count von count voice] ten! ten tin cans, ah-ah-ah
Though the big 'Con was speaking to Will, Sam couldn't quite keep from smirking herself at hearing Starscream's name. She learned over to Will, and in a low, conspiratorial tone, remarked, “That's ten, now.”
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Hey, only the Autobots are "tin cans".
Well, with it established that he can't currently help the kid, he'll shift his hand back to the ground so the two can get back to their own feet.
it had a good ring alright
She climbed off of his huge hand a little awkwardly, but easily enough, and immediately turned to offer Will her her own so he'd have an easier time, despite being so small. “Doesn't matter. What matters is this: I'll know 'em if I see 'em. Doesn't mean I don't want to know more, but I can take the consolation prize. I'll just bitch a bit about it.” The last remark was, again, aimed at Will, though this time the words were in a sort of stage-whisper.
“High time I got you back to your mom. Breakdown, I'll try to be quick. Ish.”
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"Okay. Is she awake? Can you tell?
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Suspecting Will wouldn't've appreciated being lowered by both armpits (again, being made to feel small was the last thing he needed) Sam simply steadied him until he had both feet back on the blacktop. She moved her hand to his back after that, urging the boy along as patiently as she could. She understood that walking away from a real live alien robot when you could ask questions was probably one of the most difficult things a twelve-year-old kid could do, but their conversation had already gone on a little too long.
If we're hooped, we're hooped. Here's hoping it's not another shitshow. Sighing herself, Sam raised her free hand briefly, without looking back.
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