Will Byers

Will can't stop grinning, in fact, moving to his stomach and army-crawling to the edge of Breakdown's hand, peering down at Sam and kicking his feet a little at how high up he is. "Awww, she's asleep, she won't know," he wheedles, offering Sam his biggest, most beseeching Bambi eyes. How can she resist that face?

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Breakdown chuckled at the kick. He did like ruffling Sam so much, but still... "She's not moved yet." Said to ease Sam's worry. "And I've jammed the cameras and the only security guard is quite a ways down there from here." He points towards the far end of the airport.

But still, she was right that they should hurry things up. So he transforms. Not around Will, as he's done to Sam, but everything but his arm and hand that the boy is in. Once he's transformed he'll set Will in his cab before tucking his arm into the proper place within his alt.

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She can resist that face with a moderate effort, as it's made easier by the self-interest (and nascent paranoia) the occult underground fosters in those who have seen some moving and shaking. Still, she can't quite keep from smiling up at Will as he beams over the side of Breakdown's huge hand... even as she counters with "But she could wake up any minute, now." That said, there's little else she can do---save looking back to Breakdown, considering another kick.

Even if he laughs at the first, he spares himself a second by being good enough to offer some assurance. It's enough to prompt a pause, and then; "You can do that, with the cameras? What else would I like to know, that you've never mentioned?"

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Will's a little disoriented by the whole...shifting thing that happens, squeezing his eyes shut until he's settled into the seat, just so he doesn't get dizzy. He blinks one eye, then the other open, then waves at Sam to join him. "C'mon, you'll get cold!"

Then, to Breakdown, with mild interest: "Can you hack the Pentagon?"

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He chuckled. "Pentagon? Nah, that's out of my scope for basic stuff. Soundwave could though, if he wanted to." If he hasn't already for any reason.

To same his seat gave it's customary wobble as he "shrugged" in his alt. "Probably a lot of things." Now ask if he'll tell her.

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Though Will's concern was thoughtful, Sam let herself laugh at it. "Cold? I can see why you might be, but buddy, we're in California on a fair autumn evening, and you know where I'm from. If it's this side of freezing and dry, I'm okay." Still, she clambered up into the cab and onto its bench-style front seat, shoving her bag over the backrest. She hadn't packed anything too fragile to survive a short fall, or Breakdown breaking suddenly while cruising at 50 klicks.

"I don't think you've mentioned Soundwave before...? But nevermind the Pentagon, can you hack the National Student Loan Service Centre? And, 'a lot'?" She hadn't shut the door behind herself, and now had to regret it; that was the kind of question that could've, should've been punctuated by a full-body gesture, like propping herself up against the windowsill ~~even if that particular action would inevitably end in the door opening at just the right time to ensure she went tumbling out, ass over teakettle~~. "Like what?"

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The "shrug" makes Will squeak a little (an extremely embarrassing sound), but he's still grinning, at least? He scoots over when Sam comes into the cab, tucking himself against the one closed door in a heat-conserving huddle, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Student loans?" Sweet summer child, he has no idea. Then, with more interest: "What's a Soundwave?"

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"Not likely," he says in answer to Sam, "But Soundwave could."

What's a Soundwave? "Soundwave is a who, one of my commanding officers, and you don't want to meet him. He'd squish you like a bug without a second thought."

He gave another "shrug" to the rest of Sam's question. "Dunno. Stuff. Guess we'll both find out when I think of it." He's being such an ass tonight.

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“Government loans specifically for tuition, and, if you're lucky, a portion of your living expenses when you're a university student.” Sam untied the sweater around her waist, leaning forward and twisting a bit awkwardly to free it from behind her body; she pulled it loose and passed it to Will, who (huddled in his corner of the cab) looked like he could use it. She snapped her fingers at Breakdown's initial answer, and frowned at his second shrug, though 'Stuff.' earned the big brawler a slightly less serious Look.

It was then that Sam decided the next time Breakdown asked her about magic, her answer would be obviously bullshit.

“Anyone ever tell you you're a brat?”

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"Oh." College stuff. Will has about a million more years before he has to worry about that. He takes the sweater happily, wiggling into it and letting out a relieved sigh. Sam's by no means huge, but he's basically a stick bug, so it swallows him up.

There's a little bit of alarmed sweater-paw-waving at this comment from Breakdown. Not the squishing part (he's over that). "Wait, there are more of you guys!?"

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He can't help but chuckle at Sam. "It's not like I really think about everything I can do, I don't really think of them as anything special, they're just natural things I can do. It's not like your magic, when you learn new things, it's just a part of me."

The boy's blurted question got an outright laugh out of him. "Of course there are, Runt, you didn't think I was the only alien robot on this planet, did you? Never look at a car the same, will ya?" Now, he's a brat.

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It takes some doing, but Sam manages to tamp down the 'aw,' that almost escapes at the sight of Will swimming in her hoodie. He's a cute kid---and cuter still for that energetic, totally unaffected reaction. Committed, now, to being a brat right back at Breakdown, she leans over, as if conspiring, to tell the boy, “Nine that I know of, though he won't tell me the total number. Why that is, I don't know... but I guess there's no help for it now.” She'd punctuate this statement by blowing a very brief raspberry, again looking to the rearview mirror.

“How about you ask yourself 'what could I not do, if I were a little meat person?' and start from there?”

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"I...kinda did think you were the only alien robot on the planet," Will admits a little sheepishly. Like ET, honestly. Breakdown phone home, that kinda thing.

Then, looking very serious, to Sam: "Probably top-secret. Can't compromise their cover."

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He hasn't bothered to give a number because that number keeps changing...dropping as casualties added up.

"Somethin' like that, Runt."

Same's comment made him chuckle. "That'd be pretty much everything, or haven't you noticed yet?"

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The possibility of compromised cover got an exagerrated (if affectionate) eye-roll, though it wasn't exactly aimed at Will. More like the turn the conversation had taken. “Between the two of us, cover's about as compromised as a quilt with every second square gone. But hey---” She flicked both hands out, mock-indignant at the chuckle.

“That's unfair, but I'm not going to get into this now because we'll be bickering for like, an hour, and this kid should be back to his mom sooner rather than later.” Sam glanced back at Will, offering the boy an apologetic smile. “Last couple of questions?”

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"Awwww." Will's protest is very soft, like he almost doesn't want Sam to hear, but his shoulders slump like a balloon with the air let out. He huddles down in the sweater for a moment, a meditative bundled-up lump, before piping up: "Can you fly?"

It's...not entirely clear which of them the question is addressed to.

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He'd let it go, for now, he knew they'd likely "discuss" it more later.

"No. My partner and I both chose vehicle alts. Knock Out likes to race."

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"Sure." The word is out before Sam can really stop herself from saying it, since it's late and she's tired and she has a bad sense of humour that has not improved in any way, shape, or form, with Breakdown's influence. "You saw my boarding pass."

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Will stares at Sam for a long moment while the pun sets in, then he turns to the rearview mirror and gives Breakdown a perfect you seein' this BS? look.

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That look. Oh, Runt, that look. He can't help the guffaw that comes out of him that that. "Yeah, she's a bit crazy, huh Runt?"

Sorry, not sorry, Sam.

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Sam pressed a hand to her mouth, but despite her best efforts, a snigger escaped. A full laugh followed, and she forced a “Sorry,” out for Will before pointing at the rearview mirror to admonish Breakdown as firmly as she could: “Don't you get him started, here.”

Feeling, perhaps, a pang of conscience, she looked to the boy as she moved to open Breakdown's driver's-side door. “I couldn't resist, alright? But to tell you the truth, no. I drive this beat-out old suburban, and sometimes a skidoo, but 'broom' and 'vacuum' are not, and will probably never be, among my options. Next question?”

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"That was a terrible joke," Will informs Sam with grave seriousness. Then his shoulders droop a little, because he knows what that opened door means. Back to real life. He tucks a little snugger inside the sweater.

"What's a skidoo?" He's definitely stalling now.

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They kid isn't moving fast, but he's still got another question after this one is answered, so Breakdown just chuckles, amused. "Aww, why not? He's perfect to influence. Young and impressionable."

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"Most of my jokes are bad. Sorry." As she answered, Sam stepped down to the parking lot pavement. Resting a hand against the doorframe, she watched Will expectantly, knowing a stall when she saw one. "Ah, snowmobile? Skis in the front, treads under the body, seat and handlebars like a motorcycle. I don't know that they're called anything else, except by brand names; I don't know if you'd get enough snow to see 'em in use."

She shook her head, looking upwards (as if for an answer to 'what did I do to deserve this') even as she drummed her fingers on the doorframe---affectionately enough. "Because he's young and impressionable, and you're already a bad influence on me." It was a bold assertion from someone who had been a bad influence back, but it sounded good; better for being delivered with offhand ease.

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