quietplacelogs | you can color my world with sunshine every day

Entry tags:

the dark tower: jake chambers

you can color my world with sunshine every day

Featuring: Will Byers

deadboywalking and you~
What's happening: General March catch-all business
Day/s: Throughout March (3/02-3/31)
Content warning: panic attacks, ptsd, mentions of self-harm, possession, death, suicidal ideation (all in prompt 3)

i. casa de wheeler-byer

[So Will and Mike have a house now, which is an excellent thing for two eighth-graders to have. It's small, just enough for the two of them, and Will is obsessed with it. He's barely left it since the first day it appeared, busy painting every single wall with the variety of art supplies he got from Eddie.

One wall is a forest, one is a lake, another is a field with the sun shining and the sky a brilliant blue (and a rainbow ofc), and another is a literal castle. Will's working on this last one now, in the living room, sitting cross-legged so he can work on the details of every single stone in the outer wall, the links in the chain of the drawbridge, the sprigs of bright green grass along the moat. He's got paint all over him, in his hair, smudged on his face, on his clothes.

He hasn't been this happy in weeks. Since before coming to Reims. Since before the Upside-Down. He's in a focused, intent trance, but he's calm and happy enough that any visitors would be welcomed.]

ii. do you take commissions?

[Now that Will has his art supplies back, he's on a roll. He's already helped Kara and Faith redecorate, as well as made a sign for Majima, so why not offer his services to more people who might need it?

Hence:] un: willthewise - if anyone needs anything drawn or painted or any signs or anything done, let me or mike know. it's really grey and sad here, so i wanna help it be a little more colorful, if i can. mike's usually at fight club, and i'm at castle wheeler-byers. it's got a sign, you can't miss it.

i'll also be doing illustrations for mike's book of monsters thing, so if you gave him anything for that and want to make sure i did it right, come by.

iii. because a vision softly creeping left it's seeds while i was sleeping; open to close CR

[Most days are good ones. Will has settled in to a routine here in Reims -- go to Fight Club with Mike, visit his friends, draw or paint or sketch late into the night. Try and stay out of trouble -- nothing stupid or risky, stay away from the monsters. Help out where-ever he can. It's not perfect, it's not home, but Will's sort of happy here.

On the good days.

But then there are the bad ones. Sometimes it's a nightmare, sometimes it's a smell or a sight or a barely-audible sound. Sometimes Will just wakes up and he knows already it's going to be one of the bad days. He'll try to go through his routine like normal, try to pretend that everything's okay, but then there'll be that one tiny thing that flips the switch in his brain and --

-- and he's back, he's riding home from mike's and something is chasing him, he's in the shed with the rifle, no he's in the shed tied to a chair, no he's not in the shed he's in castle byers and there's something growingfesteringliving in his lungs and his throat and his stomach, no he's in the field behind school and it's in his ears in his eyes in his mouth and arms and legs and mind and bones and it's walking for him talking for him killing for him, he's in the upside-down and he's so so cold, he's in the lab and there are needles in his arms, he's in the lab and bob is dying bleeding screaming and he's happy he's so happy it's exactly as he planned, he's in the shed and tapping out C L O S E G A T E C L O S E G A T E K I L L I T K I L L M E K I L L M E --

and in reality Will is sitting hunched over on the front steps of his house in Reims, doubled almost in half, absolutely still, absolutely silent, because he has his wrist shoved into his mouth and he's biting down as hard as he can to keep from screaming.

Because he has to be quiet.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He was an honest kid -- still hadn't lost the ability to feel without pretending he didn't. Majima glanced up at the door to the house. At the very least, they'd be less likely to be overheard by the Sound Eaters inside.

He lowered one arm to Will's back, and used the other to indicate: ]

I'll carry you inside. Don't be surprised.

[ As long as Will didn't object, he'd swing his right arm under Will's knees and simply lift and carry him back into the house, swinging the door closed behind them with his foot. The sofa seemed a logical place to deposit him. ]

What happened?

[Initially Will shrinks back, tensing up at the idea of being moved. But then he slowly leans forward, lets himself be scooped up. He's tiny, less than eighty pounds, so carrying him is probably fairly easy.

Once they're settled on the couch, Will wipes hard at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to get his breathing under control.]

Nightmare.

Must've been one hell of a nightmare.

[ Majima sat down beside Will, leaned forward a little to be closer to eye level. ]

Knew you had pretty bad ones. Didn't think they were that bad.

[ But that was just like Will, wasn't it? Worried about other people, even at the cost of neglecting himself. ]

[Will shrinks in on himself, becoming even smaller, if such a thing is possible. He avoid eye contact, mostly out of embarrassment, since his eyes are red-rimmed and more than a little teary. He just wants to curl up into a ball and cry himself out, still trembly all over from the nightmare.

Finally he nods.] Really bad.

Sorry. I shoulda realized, since we both stayed up nights.

[ Majima let out a silent sigh. ]

You cry if ya want to, you know -- looks like Tetora's been by. Probably feel better if ya did.

I know I would.

[Will shakes his head hard, gritting his teeth together and holding his head as high as he can, even though his eyes are wet and teary. He types the words with so much self-loathing it's practically tangible.]

crying's for queers.

The hell,

[ Majima mouthed as he read this message. You only had to take a look at this kid's face to see how much he hated himself typing it. ]

Who told ya that? Your old man? That's a bunch of bullshit.

[Got it in one, Majima. Will looks upwards for a moment more, warring with himself. He wants to cry, he wants to let it all out, but he doesn't want anyone to SEE.

So he solves that by inching closer, bit by bit, until he can lean his forehead against Majima's chest, bowing over on himself, curling up tight and safe against the man's side. The faint hitch of his shoulders and the quick sudden breaths are the only visible sign that he is, in fact, crying.]

[ Wordlessly, Majima put his arms around Will. He'd seen some shitty father figures in his day, but for a kid like this -- gentle, curious, an open book from all that Majima had seen thus far -- it was evident that cruel words had cut deep.

That was the hell of having a kind heart; there were more than enough people in the world who thought nothing of breaking it. ]

[Will can count on one hand the number of times someone who isn't his mom has held onto him like this. And those few times definitely don't include his dad. He can't remember his dad ever touching him, unless it was to shove or grab or shake him. Lonnie wasn't a hitter, he didn't have the guts to face down Joyce's wrath in that way. But he yelled and he insulted and that's more insidious. That lingers.

Still, it's an instinctive reaction -- he's a sad kid, and Majima's a good hugger. So Will burrows closer against the man's side, hiding his face and clutching both shaky hands into his shirt, a tiny lump of misery.]

[ Majima was coming to just abut the same conclusion at nearly the same time. A man who'd sneer at his own son's misery didn't strike him as one that would be particularly affectionate. And though Majima didn't exactly have a lot of positive role models in this regard, either, he could at least try to make things a little better. What could it hurt?

He patted Will gently on the back, trying to comfort as best he could. ]

Listen,

[ he said quietly. ]

It was wrong of your dad to say that. He probably only did it 'cause his old man said it to him, and he didn't know how else to deal.

That's on him, though, not you.

[Will lets out one of those embarrassingly shaky, choked-off sobbing sounds that you make when you're trying to stop crying. He's probably getting tears and snot all over your shirt. Sorry, Majima.

But at least he isn't arguing. He's not insisting that what's been said is right, that it's the truth. Maybe he's too tired, maybe he's too distracted by everything else that's wrong. Whatever the reason, all he does is snuggle closer and wipe furiously at his eyes.]

S-Sorry.

[ Majima didn't complain, though all the tears and snot had the unfortunate side effect of making his white collared shirt semi-transparent; it revealed what appeared to be the edges of a dark bruise on his chest, under the fabric.

What's he apologizin' for...?

Like any of this was Will's fault... including the nightmares. It was a miracle he was even here.

This had to be the longest Majima had ever comforted anyone, and the way Will just seemed to trust him was so... well, nice, but also strange. He didn't know what to say -- if there was even something to say to fix any of this, and thus he tried distracting Will a bit instead. ]

G... good thing I stopped by, huh? I was bringin' by some wood for you to practice on.

Edited 2018-03-07 06:33 (UTC)

[Will manages a watery laugh, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to compose himself. He knows Majima's trying to make him feel better and he appreciates it, really.]

Th-thanks. [He pauses, noting the splotchy, bruise-like mark and immediately going right back to concerned, looking up at Majima with big anxious eyes.] Are you okay? Are you hurt?

[ Whoops. He adjusted his collar to make the mark a little less visible. No wet T-shirt contests for this guy. ]

Uh, no. Don't worry about it.

[ The last thing he wanted to do right now was give Will something else to worry about. It wasn't the smoothest segue, but -- ]

Listen, you hungry? Bet you'd feel better if ya ate something.

[ Plan A: Attempt to feed smol child. ]

[Will sees your attempt to change the subject, and he is Not Having It. He sits up a little straighter, brow furrowed, eyes still red and a little teary.]

Please don't lie to me.

[ Ughhhhh don't look at him like this, Will!!! ]

I ain't lyin'.

...it's a tattoo. It doesn't hurt.

[Will relaxes moderately at this, scrubbing at his eyes with his bruised wrist.]

Promise?

[ Majima smiled ever so slightly. ]

Promise. Now let's get ya cleaned up, alright?

[ He stood up, walked over to the kitchen, and returned with a bunch of paper towels. ]

Here. They're not tissues, but this'll work better than yer sleeve.

[ Or Will's wrist, which did not seem like it had a hell of a lot of absorbency potential. ]

Edited 2018-03-10 00:06 (UTC)

[Will snuffles again, sheepishly, but accepts the paper towels and smushes his face into them, breathing in slowly. He's good, he's fine, he's okay.]

Sorry. [Again. Muffled, this time.]

[ This time there was something more complicated to Majima's smile. For better or worse, Will at present reminded him of someone from his past -- slight, dark-haired, constantly apologizing for something that wasn't her fault. ]

It's all right, really.

You wanna talk about it? Your nightmare.

[Have a slowly raised and lowered shoulder, Majima. That likely means "yes but I don't know if you really want to hear it."]

[ Majima sat down beside Will. Yep. He wanted to hear about it. ]

Then go ahead. I'll listen.

[Will keeps his head down for a moment more, alternating between twisting his fingers together and poking absently at the bruise on his arm. When he speaks, his voice is very soft.]

Remember how I told you...there was a thing that got inside my head? And it made me do things? It...made me kill people. A lot of people. Some soldiers and some scientists and...my mom's boyfriend, Bob.

I remember.

[ Mostly what he did was listen to Will's story, though, at least until that bit at the end. He propped his wrists on his knees and leaned forward, as seemed to be customary when engaged in conversation with someone shorter than himself. ]

Beginning to see why your nightmares are so bad. Killing anyone changes you, let alone someone ya know.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw slurs

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

do they have kitchen supplies, we just don't know

it's a magic house with magic paper towels

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject