Chapter Text
September 8th, 2006
“‘Yello.”
“Hey,” Will mumbled, cell phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. “I don’t know if the school called you too.”
“I haven’t been checking my phone.” Will shrugged his jacket on the rest of the way, hurrying down the steps. He could hear voices on the other end of the call, muffled by distance. They got a little quieter as Mike must have stepped out of his classroom. “What’s going on?”
“Jackson,” Will said, fishing his keys out of his pocket. His car was parked right out front of the building in his own special spot, marked with a sign that made sure nobody stole it. Employees only. “I’m leaving my studio now. He’s okay, but there was-“
“Hey, sorry honey, I’m on the phone,” Mike interrupted, a little muffled as he spoke to somebody else. There was a response, the high pitched voice of one of his kids, before his husband spoke again. “Yeah, it’s important. You can go if you take a buddy. I’m gonna grab somebody to watch the room for a bit.”
“Don’t,” Will insisted, already halfway into his car. “It’s fine. I’ve got it handled. Go back in and finish the day.”
“But Jackson-“
“Is gonna be fine,” Will assured him. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening.”
“I don’t know what’s happening,” Mike admitted, sounding just a little exasperated.
Will let himself sit still for a moment once the door was shut, leaning back in his seat and sighing into the phone.
“Our kid got into a fight.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Will echoed, huffing out a dry laugh. “Probably should’ve seen that one coming.”
“Jesus,” Mike muttered, and there was a frantic energy building there, simmering under the surface. “He’s a good kid. He doesn’t do that. He- is he okay??”
“He’s fine,” Will insisted. “The nurse was who called. No bumps, no bruises, just a little nosebleed. The other kid fell and twisted his ankle. I think he was pushing him around.”
“I’ll push him around,” Mike threatened, sounding an awful lot like he meant it.
“Watch it,” Will warned, resting a hand on the steering wheel and tapping his fingers along the edge. “You’re on school property. You could get fired for threatening to push a middle schooler.”
“Then he shouldn’t push our middle schooler,” Mike protested. “If the kid’s parents are there, I’m gonna have some words.”
“You won’t,” Will said, twisting the key in the ignition, and the engine sputtered to life. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as he started to back out of his spot. “You’re not coming. I can handle this, Mike.”
“I’m not saying you can’t-“
“Good,” he hummed. “Besides, somebody has to pick up Ceci, and I’ve got a feeling this might take a bit. This isn’t my first trip to the principal’s office.”
“It is as a parent.”
Will pressed his lips together.
He wasn’t wrong. They’d been lucky so far. Their kid was a pretty amazing kid. Certainly less of a trouble maker than either of them (mostly Mike) had been at his age.
“Jesus, just-“ He heard Mike take a breath, and he could picture it in his mind, the face his husband made when he was trying to reel himself back in. The pinched brow, the squinched eyes, whole face contorted like he was pouring all his effort into winding himself back onto a spool of thread. The way his shoulders would rise, stiff, then fall as he released that breath, whole body sagging. He’d been focusing a whole lot on his breathing, lately, as the two of them had started to try and truly work through the bullshit they’d gone through as kids.
They were trying to be better, so they could be better for their kids.
“Just tell him I love him,” Mike said finally, a little defeated but no less fond. “And I’m proud of him. And that I’ll totally take him out for ice cream.”
“Mike,” Will huffed, lips twitching up at the ends, spreading in a toothy smile. “I don’t think we should be rewarding this sort of thing. Pretty sure that’s, like, parenting 101.”
“Yeah, well, screw that,” Mike scoffed, and Will laughed, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “If he got a punch in, I’ll get him two scoops.”
Will barked out another laugh, surprised and just a little delighted (privately for the latter, because come on, that was really not something good parents were supposed to do).
“Oh my god,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”
“You like it.”
“Go,” he ordered, taking the left towards the middle school. “School day isn’t over yet, Michael. They don’t pay you to be a nuisance.”
“They don’t pay me enough to not be a nuisance,” Mike quipped, and Will could hear the smile in his voice too. “It’s quiet reading time, anyway.” He lowered his voice, mumbling right into the phone. “I can flirt with my husband as much as I want.”
“Your husband just got to our kid’s school,” Will said loudly, cutting off whatever attempts he’d been plotting to do more of that. “So he’s gonna have to call you back. Not that this isn’t incredible timing, really-“
“I think any timing is good timing.”
“-but I have to go try to set a good example and not get into a fight with a middle schooler,” Will pressed on, pulling into the lot. “So, uh, goodbye.”
“I love you, bye.”
“I love you too.”
“Trip the little twerp for me on the way out.”
Having a twelve year old was kind of terrifying, mostly due to the fact that most days Will still felt like one himself.
If he was being completely honest, he’d never really been the biggest fan of Monroe Middle School, not when they toured it nor any time they’d visited since. The walls were all painted the same color, a sharp contrast to the elementary school’s vibrantly decorated hallways. It felt lifeless. Will had sort of hoped Jackson might want to transfer to Mike’s school once he’d aged out of elementary, but the boy had shaken his head with a stubborn look, every bit his father’s son.
‘I don’t want any special treatment.’
If they’d had that special treatment, Will thought to himself, staring up at the speckled ceiling tiles. They wouldn’t be in this situation right now.
Jackson was sitting in the chair to his right, a quiet, shameful look on his face. To Will’s left sat a woman dressed in prim office attire, huffing and puffing to herself. A stark contrast to Will, with graphite stuck under his nails and paint splattered across his shirt. Her own twelve year old was tucked into her side, sniffling into her blazer and shooting the occasional glare in Jackson’s direction.
Will glanced his way, found the accusatory stare of the boy’s mother, and wound an arm around his son’s shoulders, tucking him in closer and out of their view.
“Now, I’d like to resolve this as simply as possible,” the principal said, safely tucked away behind his desk. Maynard Ross. Another thing Will had never cared for about this school. The man had a reputation for being a bit of a spineless coward, always bending to the will of parents who pushed just a little too hard. Will hadn’t really cared for the comments he’d made about their living situation when they were signing Jackson up last school year, either.
Unique.
Will had endured enough masked comments in his life to understand when something seemingly harmless had hateful intentions behind it.
“I agree,” Betsy Miller agreed, turning her nose up and winding her arm tighter around her son, who winced. “Detention is the bare minimum. I think a suspension would be more suitable.”
“With all due respect,” Will piped up, which was none, really. “Jackson didn’t mean to hurt him. It was self-defense.” Betsy scoffed, and Will sat taller, losing a bit of his cool. “It was. My son’s never been a violent person. He has a little sister, and he is just the gentlest kid around her. He would never hurt anybody.”
“So it’s Bobby’s fault?” She snapped, glaring daggers through his head. “Your son just can’t do any wrong, so surely he has to be the victim, right?” She scoffed again, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”
“He said he was sorry,” Will insisted, hand braced protectively on Jackson’s shoulder. “I haven’t heard Bobby say anything.”
“Because I’m not,” Bobby provided helpfully, sneering at Jackson across their modest distance, separated by their parents. “He did it on purpose. Mom-” And he tugged at her sleeve, here, peering up at her with sad, desperate eyes. “Something’s wrong with him, Mom. He’s crazy.”
Jackson’s hands curled into fists in his lap, but he said nothing, staring down at the floor. Will watched him for a moment, a slight pinch between his eyebrows.
“I mean, honestly,” Betsy huffed, turning back to the principal for help. “What could you expect? With the way he’s being raised, he was barely given a chance. It’s sad, really.”
Will’s head whipped around to face her.
“I’ve taught my kid not to shove other kids around and call them names,” he snapped, tightening his grip on Jackson like he was worried he might slip through his fingers. “Clearly, that’s more than you’ve bothered to do.”
“William,” Mr Ross interrupted, and Will wanted to scoff. With Betsy, it was Mrs Miller, all respectful and polite, but with Will, it was like he was just another student. God forbid he call him Mr Byers, just like how he never called Mike anything other than Michael. Because that would require acknowledging that they were both Mr Byers. That Mike had taken his name, and that Will wasn’t Mrs Wheeler, the way adults used to tease when they were kids, when it was something to coo over instead of something to turn up their noses and scoff at.
With the way he’s being raised.
Jackson curled further into himself, eyes glued to his lap, and Will deflated some, forcing himself to calm down. Jackson didn’t want this. He didn’t want a scene. It was why Will had insisted he’d cover this, because he knew how much Mike hated dealing with asshole parents.
Maybe he should have let him take this one. Mike had practice dealing with this sort of thing, even if it was usually from the other side of the desk. Will had dealt with plenty of rude comments about how he was raising his son, sure, but it hadn’t given him thicker skin. It had worn away at him until he was sharp and angry, whirling around in supermarkets and snapping at the old ladies who’d mumble under their breath.
He was just- he was so tired. He was sick and tired of everybody else thinking they were entitled to saying this shit, just because he didn’t fit into some cookie cutter mold. He was tired of Jackson having to hear it, and Ceci. They shouldn’t have to.
Sometimes, Will wished he was normal, just so they could be too.
“Let’s not act like children,” Ross suggested, a pointed look in Will’s direction. He felt it like a spotlight, burning his skin. “I think detention is an appropriate course of action.” Will’s heart plummeted, and the man continued on, unfazed. “For both boys. Encouraging this sort of violence is a dangerous game, and it’s best to nip it in the bud here and now.”
Betsy scoffed again.
“This is ridiculous,” she seethed, holding her son so tightly that he yelped, protesting weakly into her side. She wagged an accusatory finger at Mr Ross, eyes narrowed. “My husband will be calling, and he’ll have quite a few words for you about how you let these- these people off the hook like this. It’s sick. Sick.” She pushed her chair back, nearly knocking it over, and she stood. Her eyes landed on Will before she made her exit, and they lingered, eyeing him like he’d just spat on her shoe. She said nothing, but he could hear her clear as day.
She spun on her heels, and her son was dragged along behind her, wincing with every step.
Will rose the moment she was out the door, and Jackson wordlessly followed his lead, keeping his eyes down.
“Thank you for your time,” Will offered, and it was forced through gritted teeth, staring somewhere to the left of the principal’s head. The man offered his own nod, already moved onto some other paper sitting on his desk. He’d tuned out the moment the Millers left the room, like Will and his son were just… nothing.
He reached for Jackson’s hand, and the boy wrapped his arms around himself, dodging out of the way.
Will took a sharp breath through his nose.
Oh.
The walk to the car was silent, Jackson trailing quietly behind him as they trekked through the halls. Classes weren’t out yet, but Will certainly wasn’t sending him back, and he doubted that good for nothing principal would give a damn either way. He just needed to- Will needed to-
He needed to scream, honestly, in a nice, enclosed environment, but he didn’t really have that luxury.
The joys of parenthood, he supposed.
The wind smacked him in the face the moment he stepped outside, and he grimaced, holding the door wide open. Jackson quietly ducked under his arm, slipping out beside him. His childhood growth spurts had leveled out when he was nine or ten, and he was quite a bit shorter than the other boys in his grade, now, but Will knew that was only for the time being. He remembered watching Mike sprout up in the eighth grade well enough to know that he was going to be watching his little boy pass him up within the next couple of years. The days of tucking him into his side, hiding him away from the world, were numbered.
Will held the car door open for him, too, and then he walked around to the other side, slipping into the driver’s side. It was only once they were alone in the car, both doors shut, that his son finally spoke.
“Are you gonna tell Papa?”
Will turned to look at his son, almost surprised to hear his voice. He’d assumed this was just going to be one of those days where he didn’t talk. Some days were like that, mostly the bad ones, where Jackson would walk in off the school bus and he wouldn’t say a word the rest of the night. There were ways they could salvage it, putting on his favorite movies and curling up on the couch, carding fingers through his hair to get a tiny smile out of him, but it was like he just got so tired, like he just didn’t have any words left in him.
In their attempts to work through their own issues, he and Mike had been trying to figure out ways to help their son, too. They’d been looking into some words lately. Some terms for things. Throwing things at the wall to see what stuck.
Mike had figured some things out about himself, too.
‘I think it’s my fault,’ he’d said one night, curled up in their bed with his eyes on the ceiling. ‘I think he gets it from me.’
They hadn’t had the words for this stuff when they were kids. No terms in textbooks. There’d just been cruel words on playgrounds and mean names written on lockers, and dirty looks aimed at the backs of their heads.
Will had taken one look at Mike’s guilty, tear-streaked face, and he’d pulled him into his arms.
“Papa already knows, baby,” Will admitted, turning to face him properly. “I called before I came.”
Jackson’s expression wilted, and he sunk into his seat, eyes falling back to his lap. The shudders were closing. Will was losing him.
“He isn’t mad,” he assured him, resting his elbow against the back of his seat. “At all. I promise. He even said he’d take you for ice cream.” That didn’t get much of a reaction out of him, which only worried Will more. What kid didn’t cheer up when there was ice cream involved? Not his kid. He loved ice cream. “Hey.” Will brushed a hand against Jackson’s seat, not quite touching his arm but getting close enough for him to notice. Will leaned a little closer, tone hushed. “I’ll take you out for a treat too. We don’t have to tell him. That way, you get two.”
Jackson shifted in his seat, eyes flicking his way for a brief moment before falling back to his lap. His small hands curled into fists again.
“I just wanna go home.”
“Oh.” Will deflated some, and he could see the guilty hunch of Jackson’s shoulders that followed, the way the boy thought he was letting him down. He hurried to remedy it. “Hey, that’s okay. Cec should be home soon after we get there. You know she’ll be excited to see you home early. She’s always so antsy waiting for you.”
Something softened in Jackson’s expression at the mention of his little sister, but he remained cloudy, eyes distant.
Will accepted it as as good as he was going to get.
He turned the car on, and turned the radio down so it was just a low hum, just background noise. He glanced at Jackson out of the corner of his eyes, twisted to lean against the window so all Will could see was his mess of curls, then turned back toward the road.
Slowly, he eased his way out of the lot.
“That Bobby kid sucked,” Will said eventually, aiming for casual conversation. If Jackson was talking now, he’d like it if it stayed that way. He didn’t want the poor kid to get lost in his head. “I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before.”
Jackson didn’t reply. Will tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes trained on the road.
“He’s a mouthbreather,” he tacked on after a beat, something fond panging in his chest as he did. Even all these years later, halfway through their thirties, that was still Mike’s go-to insult. Stupid mouthbreathers had turned into fucking mouthbreathers, sure, and Will would have to swat his arm and hiss for him to watch his language around their kids, especially their six year old, but it brought up something wistful in his throat every time. In a lot of ways, Mike had never really changed, and it was one of the things Will loved most about him.
“He’s right.”
Will blinked, slowing to a stop at a red light. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it, some fucked up voice in his head, but his kid was pressing his cheek to the window, breath fogging the glass, and no, he definitely did just hear that.
“What?”
“He’s right,” Jackson repeated, bringing his small fist down on his leg. He did it again, and again, a nervous fidget. “I am crazy.”
“You aren’t,” Will assured him, glancing over at him every chance he got. “At all. You’re sweet, and you’re kind, and you’re so, so smart.”
Jackson unwound his fist, digging his fingers into his pant leg, and started to pick at the denim of his jeans.
“I’m different,” he said quietly, frowning. “And everybody knows it, before they even talk to me.”
“Honey.”
“I’m wrong.”
“You are not wrong,” Will insisted, almost urgent. His heart was pounding in his chest, fluttering like a rabbit’s. “Hey. Look at me. There is nothing wrong with you. Just like-” He took a breath. “Just like there’s nothing wrong with your papa, or Ceci, or me. Okay?”
There was a stormy look on Jackson’s face when he glanced at him again. Will swallowed.
“Okay?” He repeated, desperate for an answer.
Nothing.
They were both quiet for a couple of minutes, and it might’ve been the most agonizing silence of Will’s life. How did he fix this? Mike was the pep talk guy. Mike always knew what to say.
“Maybe,” he started, then faltered, unsure. “Maybe we could look into a diagnosis. Papa’s been thinking about it too. Maybe it could help.”
“No,” Jackson said, suddenly more alert.
“There isn’t anything wrong with it,” Will insisted. “Everybody’s brains work differently. I have one, a diagnosis. I’ve got anxiety like Grammy.” And depression, his mind tacked on. And boatloads of trauma that he wasn’t even technically legally allowed to share with a therapist unless it was one of those government-sanctioned ones. “It’s not bad, it’s just a word I can put to the way I’m feeling. Lots of people have anxiety. It helps me feel less alone.”
“I don’t want to,” Jackson insisted, almost frantic. “It’ll just make me more of a freak.”
“I- honey.” God, he needed Jonathan right now. Jonathan was the person for this conversation. He missed his brother so fucking much. “Baby, being… being a freak isn’t bad. I’m a freak. Your papa’s a freak. Uncle Lucas, and Uncle Dustin, and Aunt El and Aunt Max and even Aunt Suzie. We’re all freaks.”
“Yeah,” Jackson scoffed, averting his eyes. “And you’re together. You have each other. And-” Jackson sniffled, and his face scrunched up. “And Ceci has Rosie. But I don’t have anybody. I don’t have a Mike, Dad.”
Will’s eyes flicked over to Jackson again, just as the radio started to fuzz out, filling the silence with static instead of Billy Joel.
“Sweetheart,” he started, but Jackson was having none of it.
“I don’t have friends,” he huffed, fingers curled into his palms, shoulders set in a stiff line. “So being a freak isn’t a- a cool thing, it’s just lonely. Being a freak alone is bad.”
Something flickered on the dashboard, but Will didn’t pay it any mind. He opened and closed his mouth, floundering, as Jackson’s breathing grew heavier in the passenger seat.
“I hate being a freak,” he hissed, tears welling in his eyes, and Will swore he could hear his own heart breaking. God, he didn’t know what to do. What could he do?
“Baby-”
“Don’t call me that!” Jackson snapped, and Will nearly jumped, hands gripping the wheel. Jackson never yelled. “You call me that, and kids laugh! They laugh, and- and they throw things at me, and they push me. They think I’m a freak because I have two dads that come to every stupid choir concert and science fair. Nobody else does. If they do, they hide it better. I-” Jackson hiccuped, scrubbing at his eyes. “You don’t even try.”
Will pressed his lips together, breathing in through his nose.
“Jackson,” he said, voice only wavering a little bit. “It doesn’t matter, what those kids think. Their parents say hateful things, and they just- they parrot them. They don’t even know what they’re saying. And I am-” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I am so sorry that you have to deal with that. I am. Sweetheart, I-”
“Just stop!”
There was a loud snap, and the whole dashboard went dark. Will’s gaze snapped down to it, startled, before his eyes flicked back up to the road. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, only to find it locked under his hands, no longer connected to any power supply. He couldn’t turn it.
He looked up out the windshield. They were on one of the backroads leading to their house. The traffic out here wasn’t usually all that terrible, and he only found a little relief at the fact that he couldn’t see any other cars in front of or behind them.
He tried the brake, but nothing happened. The radio was off too. The whole thing was down.
“Dad?”
Will twisted the key in the ignition, but nothing spluttered. Nothing flickered. It was dead.
“Dad.” Jackson didn’t sound angry anymore. He sounded startled, scared. The kid didn’t know a thing about cars, but he did know they weren’t supposed to do this.
Will glanced his way, eyes flicking across his face. The pale pallor of his skin. The puffiness around his eyes from crying. The red flush of his cheeks.
The blood dripping from his nose.
“Dad!”
Will’s head snapped back toward the road, and he barely processed the bend they were approaching before the tires had hit grass, bumping off the asphalt and shaking the whole vehicle. Jackson screamed, and Will threw his arm out.
The sound of metal crunching into wood splintered the air, and the birds residing in the tree flew from their nests, taking off in a frenzied burst of movement.
September 17th, 1993
Will liked to think that he was handling the whole Mike and I hooked up thing rather well.
It wasn’t true, of course, but the thought made him feel a little better.
His back hit the wall, lips catching his from an awkward angle before sliding into place together, and he felt dizzy, hands thoughtlessly fluttering midair before settling on the stranger’s waist. He was searching, searching for something, trying to fill some gaping hole in his chest, but nothing was enough. It was like he was starving.
Mike and I hooked up, and all I got was this stupid aching pain in my heart.
The man’s eyes were closed, but Will’s were wide open, scanning his face and nearly going cross-eyed. His features were all sharp, with brown eyes that had pierced through him from across the bar, but he was blonde. He wasn’t a stand-in, wasn’t the same- he wasn’t the same, not even close- and Will… Will probably had a problem.
That thought didn’t bring him any comfort at all, so he closed his eyes and grabbed at whatever he could reach, curling his fingers into the stiff leather of his jacket. He drew in sharp, stuttering breaths through his nose. He could taste the Camels on his breath, could smell it too, and it made his stomach turn.
Will had always preferred Marlboros. They were what his mom had smoked growing up, what she still smoked now. They smelled like home.
He could taste cheap beer, too.
Mike had tasted like pineapple. He’d always hated beer. Any time they went out, he ordered something fruity and sweet. Dustin and Lucas teased him about it relentlessly.
There were hands on his waist, bunching up his shirt and brushing warm skin, and his eyes fluttered, peering up through his lashes. The touch was startling, cold hands on sensitive skin, and it set off a chain reaction. Will felt vaguely nauseated by himself, picturing Mike when he shouldn’t, when he couldn’t, when he’d never been his to think about to begin with, and then he quickly started to feel not so vague about it.
Will drew another sharp breath through his nose, and his hands moved to the man’s chest, giving him a gentle but firm shove. It worked, and he was released, fixed with dazed but worried eyes.
“What’s wrong?” The blonde asked, and his voice was deep, smooth, and not right.
Not right. Will was not right. Will was…
“Sorry,” was all he managed before he quickly shoved past him, making a beeline for the sink on the other side of the room. Suddenly clammy hands curled over the crumbling porcelain, nails slipping across the smooth surface, and Will took one, two more breaths in an attempt to steady himself before he was puking in the sink.
It was dreadfully loud in that empty, echoing bathroom, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He swayed on his feet, knees weak and wobbly, and he retched again, stomach twisting painfully. Oh god.
Footsteps echoed behind him, slow and hesitant, and a careful hand grazed his back. The man he’d been intent on drowning himself in moments ago hovered in the mirror with a well-meaning look, but it was all wrong. Will didn’t want to look at him anymore, didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to be seen like this.
He swallowed, mouth sour and stale, and took a shaky breath.
“Sorry,” he repeated, and he felt sort of pathetic about it. Was that all he knew how to say?
“It’s okay?” It sounded a little too much like a question. The guy was too drunk for this. “Do you want me to uh… get somebody?”
Will shook his head, trying for a few more deep breaths. His stomach was still cramping, something hot and ugly in his throat. What would be worse, throwing up again or crying?
He hung his head over the sink, and he waved a dismissive hand, hoping to god that the man got the idea.
He did. Will stared at the reflection of his belt buckle in the mirror as the footsteps receded, and his gaze flicked up to watch the door close behind him.
It was a shame. He really was cute. Will should’ve asked his name, at least.
Bile climbed his throat, and Will dropped his head back down to puke again.
The lights flickered ominously overhead, pipes groaning from their home within the walls, and Will took another deep breath, holding it in his lungs. He’d always hated throwing up. Nobody liked it, he supposed, but every stomach bug since he was twelve had brought him right back to the bathroom in his childhood home, to choking on the sensation of something climbing up his throat. To slugs in the sink.
He kept his eyes squeezed shut like he always did, terrified that there would be something alive below him if he opened them. When nothing else came up, he blindly reached for the handle, turning the faucet on and letting it run.
When he was fairly confident he wouldn’t hurl again, Will tilted his head to let the stream run between his lips, swishing and spitting a few times until his mouth didn’t taste quite so gross.
He was leaning further into the sink, letting the water wash over his face and soak into his hair, when the door opened again.
There were a few quick, hopping steps in his direction, then another hand on his back, a little more confident than the last. It shifted to his head a beat later, brushing carefully across scalp, and his eyes fluttered open.
He met Robin’s eyes in the mirror.
“This is the men’s room,” he pointed out, and his voice was rough, sort of raspy and choked. His gaze dropped back to his own reflection, to the smudged eyeliner that was now smeared around his eyes like a raccoon and the dripping bangs stuck to his forehead. Robin’s fingers carded through the hair on the top of his head, tugging some of the strands up out of his eyes.
“Yeah, well,” she hummed, and she kept her voice down, careful not to draw too much attention. “I saw your boytoy leave without you, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t, like, murder you or something.”
“He didn’t,” Will confirmed, dropping his eyes to the sink. It was clean, or as clean as any bar bathroom sink could be expected to be. No slugs to be seen.
“Then who did?” Robin joked, but there was something just under her tone, a smidge of worry. The same worry she’d worn when he showed up at her doorstep at the asscrack of dawn last month, numb and shivering despite the heat. “You look like shit.”
Will blinked up at her in the mirror, then turned to meet her eyes for real, bracing his weight against the sink. Robin blinked as well, seemed to process her words properly, and winced.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Will rubbed a hand over the side of his face, and Robin’s dropped from his hair, settling on his shoulder instead. Robin was a lot more casually affectionate than a lot of his friends, not that he’d ever minded in the least. Her lack of personal space was familiar in a way that was comforting to him, even if he wasn’t too keen on thinking about why. On thinking about who she reminded him of.
His stomach twisted, a slight cramping of his muscles like they might force something up again, and he groaned, hanging his head over the sink and leaning further into it. Robin’s grip on his shoulder tightened, keeping a careful hold on him like she didn’t quite trust the old sink to hold his weight.
Smart. He didn’t really either.
“I threw up,” he admitted, staring down the drain like something might come back up at him, might grab his face and drag it down like some horror movie. Like those shrimp hands in Beetlejuice.
“Yuck,” Robin said, and her voice was far more sympathetic than her words. “That’s one way to put a damper on an evening, I guess.”
“I’m cursed,” Will lamented pitifully as Robin shifted her hold on him, grip still tight on his shoulder as she shifted her attention to something in her pocket. She let go of him when she fished something out, fiddling with it, before holding out an unwrapped candy, one of the little golden ones. Granny candy, she liked to call it, always teasing Vickie over how much she liked them.
Yet, she always had a supply on hand.
Gross, Will thought, accepting the candy and popping it in his mouth. They love each other.
Will would do anything for that kind of love.
“You’re not cursed,” Robin assured him, lightly amused as she settled both hands on his shoulders, now, meeting his eyes in the sink as he swished the candy around his mouth. “They pour heavy here. Guarantee your prince charming’s gonna be upchucking before the night’s through.” She squeezed his shoulders, a toothy smile on her lips. “A match made in heaven.”
Will laughed, nearly startling himself with the sound, and he rolled his eyes, leaning back a little to knock her off balance. She took a half step back, not quite stumbling, and fixed him with a teasing glare. He returned it without hesitation.
It was easy, being around Robin. Vickie too. It was easy in a way that he hadn’t really felt anywhere else, not until he’d found his people at college, and not since he’d graduated and parted ways with them. He was a little more free with them than he was anywhere else, just because he knew they got it. They got him.
He could say that he was lonely and desperate, and he wouldn’t get a pitying look from Dustin, or a handful of well-meaning but pointless words from Lucas. Robin would just nod, barely batting an eye, and say they were going out for the night.
Robin was cool.
“Come on,” she said, giving his shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. “Let’s get you home before you go all Exorcist on the floor tiles and they try to charge us for damages.”
“Alright, Mom.”
“Don’t even joke,” Robin warned, wagging a finger as he finally pried himself from the sink, swaying slightly on his feet. Her hand wordlessly caught his arm again, fingers curling into his sleeve. “Not when Joyce is already pissed I’m harboring you like a fugitive. She’d chop my head off with her axe.”
“She should be glad,” he hummed, letting her lead him towards the door. “She gets the house all to herself and Hop. I’m somebody else’s problem this time.”
“You, William, are not a problem,” she said confidently, nudging the door open with her foot and her pinky finger. She caught his eye with a grin. “You are a delight.”
The thumping beat of the music washed over them the moment they were out the door, and Will grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut against the flashing lights. Robin’s grip tightened on his sleeve, loosened, then disappeared, wrapping an arm around his shoulders instead.
“Don’t you pull one of your Byers fainting spells on me right now,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear as they weaved through the clusters of people. Will peeled an eye open to glance at her, frowning.
“There’s no such thing as a Byers fainting spell,” he insisted petulantly, leaning a little closer into her hold. Robin shot him a look, skeptical. A few paces more, and she rolled her eyes into the back of her head, letting it loll to the side like she might dramatically flop over, and he hurried to catch her a beat before realizing it was a joke. She was grinning when he righted the both of them, holding her up by her jacket, and he scoffed, brow knit together. “Okay, fuck you.”
“I’m well familiar,” she hummed, laughing to herself. “You did that one just a couple days ago, you know. When you got up from the couch too fast. Nearly gave Vic a heart attack.”
“I hate you.”
“At least it’s low blood pressure and not, like, Vecna.”
“We’re done talking about this.”
“Or blood sugar, maybe. Which is a shocker, since you’re so sweet.” Will fixed her with a glare, and she laughed again. “Kidding. Sarcasm and pettiness run in your veins. You sure are Jonathan Byers’ brother.”
Will didn’t have a reply for that one. They got past the crowds, out the door, before Robin realized her slip up.
“Shit,” she hissed, and she stopped a few steps from the door, only just thinking ahead enough to stand out of the way so they didn’t get bumped into. Her eyes were wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Will, I really don’t even think sometimes, I know I need to work on it-”
“No,” he interrupted quickly, shaking his head. “It’s okay. It’s cool. I-” He paused, biting his lip. “I think it’s cool that people think we’re alike. I… like it.” If he could grow up to be like anybody, he wanted it to be his brother.
He was older than him, now. He’d only realized after his birthday, that Jon had only been 21 for a handful of weeks before he was gone, and Will had breezed right on past to 22 without a thought. That he’d forgotten. He’d skipped all of his classes that day.
It had been hard, looking in the mirror and watching himself change in little ways after he started testosterone, watching little parts of his brother creep their way into his face and his build. The way they stood, the way they held themselves. The broad shoulders and the sharper jaws. The way his voice had cracked and wobbled halfway through, sounding an awful lot like Jonathan, before dropping lower and settling.
(Sometimes, Will thought about the fact that Jonathan wouldn’t recognize his voice over the phone, if he somehow came back. That he might not recognize him at all. It terrified him.)
But he was better, now. He was trying to be better. He’d wasted too much time letting the mere mention of his brother ruin his day, and with all the other ways he’d let his life go to shit lately, he needed this one thing to go right. He needed to be able to be happy that people thought he resembled the person he looked up to the most.
Robin’s face was a lot softer now.
“Well, that’s good,” she said, still carefully watching for any evidence that Will wasn’t quite comfortable. Will gave her an earnest look, and she relaxed a little, squeezing his arm. “Because you really are a lot like him. Impeccable music taste, although you’re a little less of a bitch if people disagree with your picks.”
“Only on the outside,” he admitted, and her face bloomed with a small smile again.
“Fair,” she said, and they both chuckled, eyes skirting away. Robin’s found the pavement in front of them, and Will’s did too, though they flicked back up to watch her face every once in a while. She seemed thoughtful. “You’re cool to hang out with. When him and Steve weren’t locked in a dick measuring contest over Nancy, he was fun to be around. You’re both a lot gentler than most guys, when it comes to, you know, not bulldozing over people’s feelings. It’s nice.” She glanced up, catching his eyes and holding them with a soft smile. “You’re nice, Will Byers. Don’t let the haters ever tell you otherwise.”
That made him want to cry a little, for some reason. He drew in a sharp breath, holding her eyes for another moment before looking away, because he actually couldn’t look at her if he wanted to hold himself together. There’d been a couple of moments like this lately, where he’d been just a little too sensitive, a little too prone to tears. Like he was on his period or something.
God. Wouldn’t that be horrible?
He should make sure he took his shot when they got back.
“Thanks,” he breathed, and it was a little choked, a little punched out of him. Robin laughed again, soft and warm, and her hand rubbed up and down his arm, a soft, soothing motion.
Sometimes, Robin was the one who reminded him of Jonathan. Sometimes it felt like he was the one in her place, looking after him and giving him a place to crash while he fucked up all of his other relationships. Sometimes, Robin was kind of like the big sister he’d never really realized he needed until he had her, giggling and chatting and wandering the dark city streets together, bonded to one another over their shared inability to ever really fit the term normal.
“I think,” she hummed, kicking the side of her foot against his ankle as they walked. “That we need to put on some stupid, cheesy movie when we get back. And we need to nag Vickie until she watches it with us.”
“You never have to nag her,” Will reminded her, a dull ache in his chest despite the smile on his face. “She’d do anything you asked and you know it.”
“Sure,” Robin hummed, a sly look on her face. “I don’t think it hurts anybody if I beg a little, though. Maybe the opposite, in fact.”
Will pushed away from her hold with a muttered, “Oh my god,” and Robin cackled with laughter, reaching to snatch his sleeve again and keep a close hold on him.
They were latched to one another, Will’s hand fisted in the lapel of her jacket with her arm once again wrapped around his shoulders, when they arrived home. Robin’s pace picked up just a little at the sight of Vickie’s car out front, home from the late shift, and Will let himself be dragged up the front steps to the door.
“Vic?” Robin called, still holding Will close. Sometimes, he felt like their kid. Their overgrown, barely younger than them kid. Will and his two moms.
“Rob?” Came a voice from down the hall, and Robin went to it like a bug to a light, following right into the kitchen. Vickie was in the middle of it, perked up from where she’d been leaning against the table. She was still wearing her nurse’s uniform.
Will was finally released, and Robin crossed the room in a few quick paces, throwing her arms around her girlfriend. He made sure to follow just a few steps behind, brushing past towards the fridge so he had something to do instead of hovering around like a loser. He picked up a packet of cheese to inspect.
It expired last week.
“Hey, baby,” Robin was murmuring, tucked close into Vickie’s personal space, and Will politely averted his eyes, setting the cheese down on the counter and sifting through the other contents of the fridge. There was a tin of peanut butter fudge brownies on one of the lower shelves that Vickie’s sister had dropped off at some point, and he snatched it up, popping it open. Robin was brushing her nose against Vickie’s ear when he accidentally glanced over, and he twisted again, stuffing a brownie in his mouth.
Oh, fuck, they were good. He probably shouldn’t eat this soon after being sick, but fuck that, honestly. He needed something to get him through seeing other people be happy and in love.
“Missed you,” Robin hummed, and Vickie giggled, a soft, twinkling sort of noise. “I thought about you all night, you know. You and that cute hat.”
“Really?” Vickie teased. “Even in a bar full of beautiful women?”
“None more beautiful than you,” Robin assured her. “Besides, it’s usually more guys at the one we went to tonight. You know I never go anywhere with gorgeous lesbians unless we can admire them together.”
Vickie hummed, considering, and Will briefly considered whether he should make his exit. Between Robin’s lack of subtlety and Vickie’s tendency to get caught up in her girlfriend and forget everything else, there had been at least one occasion since he’d moved in with them where they’d, uh, forgotten he was in the room with them.
He had cleared his throat very loudly from his spot on the couch, and they’d jumped apart, red-faced and breathing heavy. He’d excused himself to his room shortly afterward.
“So how’d that go?” She asked, and Will nearly jumped when he realized their attention had shifted his way. Vickie was watching him, standing there with crumbs on his chin and his hand in the tin, with a soft, amused smile. “Any luck?”
“One,” Robin confirmed for him, hands clasped together over Vickie’s waist, looped around from behind so her chin rested against her fiery red curls. “There was some fornicating.”
“There was not,” Will insisted, indignant, his face flushing red. “We kissed. A little.”
“There was fornicating intent,” Robin corrected, pressing her lips into Vickie’s hair. The shorter girl giggled, resting her hands over Robin’s. Will’s eyes tracked the movement with a faint pang of longing.
“Did you get his number?” Vickie asked, hopeful on his behalf. They’d both been subjected to his moping since he’d arrived, even if he hadn’t told either of them who he was moping about. Robin might’ve been able to guess, though she certainly wouldn’t guess the reason. Oh, poor Will. His crush of an embarrassing ten years got engaged to a woman, and now he’s sad.
Not oh, poor Will. He had sex with his best friend, who’s engaged to a woman, and now he has to live with that for the rest of his life while said best friend marries said fucking woman. Fuck his life, honestly. He’ll never be happy again.
“No,” Will admitted, stuffing another brownie in his mouth to dull the pain. His next words were muffled. “I frew up.”
“Not on the guy,” Robin said, tapping her fingers along the belt of Vickie’s dress. She scrunched up her nose. “I think.”
“Not on the guy,” Will confirmed, thoroughly embarrassed. “But it definitely, uh, spoiled the mood.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Vickie assured him, always far too sweet and kind for her own good. Hence the long hours at the hospital, and the complete lack of reluctance to let him move into their guest room, the room that was technically hers if any stranger or landlord came to ask. “There are plenty of guys out there. You’re young. Somebody better always comes along.”
“Excuse me?” Robin interrupted, frowning down at her girlfriend, and Vickie tilted her head up, meeting her eyes where she peered down at her from above. Her lips tugged up into a grin.
“You are my somebody better,” she assured her, resting a hand against her cheek. Robin softened in an instant, leaning into the touch, and Vickie pressed a soft, ruby red kiss to her chin, leaving an imprint in its wake.
Will’s heart skipped in his chest, and another brownie went in his mouth, eyes dropping to the tile floor, tracing the patterns with his eyes. He really liked living with Robin and Vickie. He did.
But sometimes…
Sometimes.
It was a painfully vivid reminder of just how lonely he was.
Like there was just somebody out there for everybody, for Robin and Vickie, Max and Lucas, Dustin and Suzie, Mike and fucking Tiffany, and Will was just… there.
Alone on his own little island.
Will drew in a breath through his nose, once again faded into the background of the moment, and his eyes fluttered, blinking against the sudden sting of tears.
He supposed he’d better get used to it.