Will Byers

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...?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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...?”

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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.

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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.

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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?”

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He chuckles. "Yeah, yeah."

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

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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.

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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.”

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"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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Will only twitches a little at the touch to his arm, leaning his (very slight, he doesn't even hit 75 pounds soaking wet) weight into Sam and keeping his injured knee bent a little. It's starting to sting now, throbbing the way minor injuries do, turning from an annoyance to something painful.

"Breakdown," he repeats slowly, twitching like a startled rabbit when the truck rocks back and forth. "Um. I'm Will. Sam...already said that, but. Nice to meet you?" He shoots Sam a quick look, brow furrowed. Is that the polite way to introduce yourself to a truck?

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Catching that glance, Sam nodded. She gave Will's arm another soft squeeze, this time, to reassure; she would've lifted her hand to pat his shoulder, instead, but for the boy accepting the support she'd offered. “C'mon, let's have a look at that leg. Be a bit easier if you sit on his steps.” She urged him towards Breakdown but didn't step towards him herself, not wanting Will to forced forward. He was having a rough enough night as it was, and while startling was ~~almost inevitable, given the witchcraft she wanted to work~~ one thing, she didn't want to scare the kid.

“Want to open up? We could use your cab light.”

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Breakdown popped open the driver side door. "Take a seat, kid. She'll fix you up." He wasn't sure how she was going to do that, or to what extent, thought he did wonder briefly if magic would be involved.

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"It's really not a big deal..." Will doesn't have it in him to disobey anyone -- much less an adult and a (presumably also adult) talking truck -- so he hops over to sit on the lowest step, gingerly. Is this like sitting on someone's foot? Maybe? Probably. Either way, he keeps very good posture, even though he's tiny enough that his feet swing above the ground.

"I promise it just looks bad. It'll stop bleeding in a second."

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“Thanks.” It might've been aimed at Breakdown's acquiescence, or his assurance, or both, but anyway, it was aimed at Breakdown. Sam's next remark---an 'eh,'---was aimed at Will, like the shallow shrug which went with it, and after that, an amused assertion: “You don't know how right you are.”

Sam didn't sit beside Will, but knelt on the pavement in front of him, mildly surprised to feel the lot's surface was still slightly warm. She wasn't surprised to see the jeans Will wore were a bit big for him---thin little thing that he was!---but she was glad for the fact, since it meant she could easily roll the leg up enough to uncover his scraped knee. She looked the injury over, then folded her hands, watching Will's face until she could make eye contact. “Okay. You've had some dealings with doctors, and I'd bet enough you don't believe anyone who tells you 'this isn't going to hurt,' anymore. Now, I'm going to fix your knee, and what I'm going to do is going to feel really, really weird, but I promise it isn't going to hurt. Okay? Cool.” Turning her eyes back to the scrape, she paused very briefly before reaching out and taking hold of the wound at its edge, as if she were trying to grip a splinter with her fingernails. It was a small pinch (not hard enough to hurt) and felt 'normal' enough, until she pulled. That didn't hurt, either, though there was some resistance; the scrape came away, came off, like skin peeling after a sunburn, the noise it made a little like tape coming off its roll. In four or five seconds, the wound was free, hanging wet and limp in Sam's hand and looking like a latex scar that came unstuck an hour into trick-or-treating. In contrast, the new skin on Will's knee was exactly that---pink and a little shiny, still, but intact and with no other sign of having been bleeding only a minute before.

Edited Date: 2017-12-26 04:41 pm (UTC)

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Will has both hands knotted in the hem of his sweater, resisting the urge to reach out and push Sam's hands away. He always feels that impulse when people get near him, even the doctors. Especially the doctors. His brow is knitted in anxiety, and he's watching her intently, looking for any sign that she's lying to him. They always lie to him.

But he still nods, slowly, watching Sam's face rather than her hands -- at least until he hears the sound, accompanied by exactly zero pain. Then his eyes flick down to his knee, fixed on whatever it is that's happening. Something strange. For a moment after the wound -- the whole thing -- is removed, he just sort of stares at his knee. Waiting for the punchline.

When it doesn't come, Will looks back up at Sam, eyes very wide. "...are you a cleric?" he asks finally. Not a wizard because that's not specific enough, of course.

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Breakdown watches all of this in a mix of fascination and disgust. It was always interesting and strange to watch Sam use magic, especially when he was aware of her using magic.

"...Frag, Sam, that's gross." Sorry if he ruins your moment of awe at all, Will. "You're not going to use that in some spell now, are ya?" It wouldn't surprise him if she did, which is exactly why he just had to ask. The real question was, if she said yes, then...did he really want to know what she'd use it for?

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That Will kept both hands to himself was something of a surprise; Sam had half-expected him to stop her, seeing something like a shimmer of intent in his aura, in and out of what was probably worry. She looked up from her handiwork to see Will staring at his healed knee, and offered a relieved smile when he looked to her---though it lasted only until he asked if she were a cleric, which surprising her into a soft, uncertain laugh. “No? You could maybe call me a witch, since that's close enough to the truth... but I'm not, like, a gingerbread house witch, or a 'I'll get you, my pretty,' witch. I'm more of a 'put the lime in the coconut,' witch. If you've maybe seen that movie.” With that, her smile returned, as crooked as it had ever been. She stood, brushing her knee off with her free hand; the other still held the scrap of bloodied skin. When Breakdown spoke up, she snorted.

“It's not that gross. And I deserve your asking that, but no.” She considered at the stubby strip in her hand; though it was still quite red, even in the poor light, it didn't look like much. “I'm... probably gonna burn it or run it through the first garburator I come across. Unless Will wants it back.”

She tilted her head, regarding the boy with some curiousity, but otherwise nearly neutral. “You don't, do you?”

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"I haven't...seen any coconut movies," Will says faintly, reaching out to gently poke at his knee. It's a little sore, but it's nothing near what it had been mere seconds before. He gently thumbs over the pink, shiny skin, eyes flicking up to stare at Sam. It's more or less the same expression one might wear looking at their personal hero, so...do with that what you will, Sam.

The question gets a reflexive nose-scrunch. "No, thank you."

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He hadn't planned on speaking up again, but that clear, grossed out look makes him laugh. "See Sam? Even the kid thinks that's gross."

Breakdown had to admit, if only to himself, that the runt was kind of cute, looking at Sam like some kind of hero. It was highly amusing, if nothing else.

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“Never you mind, then.” Sam's tone was amiable enough, though her free hand came to her hip with an audible clap; more or less a piece of punctuation. “I'm not a bubbles-and-ballgown witch, either, but the bottom line is I'm not a bad witch. If 'witch' is the word you want to use.”

She heaved a long-suffering and utterly insincere sigh at Breakdown's laughter, patting through her pockets until she found a few coarse brown foodcourt napkins to wad the skin up in. A bit of blood got on her hand in the process, but she didn't much mind; just wiped it off, indifferent, and answered, “I didn't say it wasn't gross. It's just not that gross. I will spare you the 'compared to,' though, since there is a child present.” She pocketed the little ball of paper and skin as if it were a receipt to be re-read and thrown away, then offered Will her hand.

“We should get you back to your mom soon. Anything you wanna ask, kiddo, you oughtta ask quick.”

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Will's still poking at his knee, but he grins a little at the fact that the enormous talking truck thinks a bit of human blood is "gross". He glances over his shoulder, at the open door, like he's debating the merits of climbing inside. Is that rude? That's probably rude.

Still, even though it's still only early September, and he's been outside for mere minutes, he's waifish enough that he's starting to shiver, huddling down where he sits. Sam's voice has him looking back up at her, brow furrowing for a moment before he speaks.

"Can you do other things? Fix...bigger things?"

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