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Joyce drums her fingers against the check-out counter. Normally she doesn't mind a lull between customers at Melvald's. There is always that feeling that she could be doing something more important—checking to make sure Will is still okay—but mostly it's almost like having a break. It doesn't feel that way today, though. Her co-worker for today is on their lunch and that means Joyce is the only person in the store. Has been for ten minutes. There are only so many ways she can rearrange the candy up front while she waits for someone to come in.
Finally, the bell over the door dings. She pushes herself off her elbows, standing straight as she greets them automatically before recognizing who it is. Her next greeting is warmer as she says, "Oh, hello, Steve."
"Uh, hey, Mrs. Byers."
Hands in his pockets, he waves with a brief smile that falls back into a frown as he makes his way further into the store. It probably hurts less, but she gets the feeling that's not why he's frowning. His poor face is still a mess of bruises, though they've taken on a yellowish tint as they heal.
It's good to see him again—to see that he really is all right. She's heard through Will, and Dustin because all of his friends have been practically living at her house since the start of the month, that Steve was doing okay. He's the only one of them that she hasn't seen for herself, though. It weighed on her, knowing he'd gotten hurt protecting the kids and then gone home after to—from what she'd gathered from Dustin—an empty house. She hopes his parents got him checked out when they came home.
He doesn't take long, coming up to the counter with an armful of snacks.
"The kids," he says, and ah, that explains why she sees so many familiar favorites in the small pile. She smiles as she begins ringing him up. His lips tip up in what might generously be called an answering smile, but his heart doesn't seem to be in it. He can't seem to meet her eyes, either. Instead, he focuses on the countertop, where he taps his thumb while he waits.
As she finishes up, she notices a lack of something she's gotten used to seeing him pick up while he's here. Wondering if he'd forgotten in his rush to pick up everything else, she asks lightly, "No trail mix today?"
The last thing she expects is for his face to fall.
"No, uh," his voice cracks, sounding strained. The shine of water building in his eyes explains what exactly he's straining against. "Nancy is the one who—but we uh."
Oh, oh. She knows Jonathan started dating Nancy Wheeler shortly after they got Will back. In all of the chaos of trying to get life back to normal after, she hadn't considered that also meant Nancy was no longer in a relationship with someone else. Given Steve's reaction now, he hadn't been the one to suggest it.
"Oh, sweetie." She reaches out, resting her hand on his. Joyce is probably one of the last people he wants comforting him, but she's the only one here. If only the counter weren't in her way, she would pull him in for the hug he so clearly needs.
"It's fine," he says, clearing his throat, but he doesn't move his hand out from under hers. She squeezes, giving him what she hopes is an encouraging look. "She's not stuck with a shitty boyfriend anymore and I don't have to keep buying trail mix even though I fucking...hate...raisins."
His breath hitches and he seems to finally lose the battle he'd been having at keeping from crying. It breaks Joyce's heart. She might not know him, not like she does her boys or their friends, but she knows enough. Maybe he wasn't a great boyfriend—she can't say she paid them much mind, though he'd always seemed fairly attentive when he and Nancy did stop in together—but he's a good kid who helped protect Jonathan last year and the rest of the kids this year.
She lets go of his hand and he grapples for it back. The way he curls in on himself when he can't hurts to see almost as much as how he tries to pull himself back together. But it's only for a second before she's out from behind the counter and wrapping her arms around him. He freezes at first. She wonders whether this is too much; it probably doesn't help very much to have the mom of the boy his ex is now dating trying to make him feel better.
Then he seems to fold, his hands gripping the back of her shirt. His face is hot against her shoulder. Her shirt is going to be a mess after this, but that hardly matters when there's a kid who needs this right now. She rubs his back, rocking him gently side to side and lets him cry. It hasn't been very long since that night; she wonders if he's had a moment to just do this before now.
"It doesn't feel like it right now," she says quietly, raising one of her hands to pet the back of his head, "but it's going to be okay."
Calmer now, he sniffles against her shoulder instead of crying. He doesn't move to let go yet, so Joyce stays where she is.
"Are you sure?" he asks, the words coming out muffled. His tone is so small, quiet. It reminds her of how her youngest sounds when he needs reassurance. She doesn't know Steve's life, doesn't know what his support system looks like, but the longer he lets her—someone he barely knows—hold him, the less she believes he has much of one. She holds him tighter, wishing there was something more she could do.
"Very sure." Joyce does not miss being a teenager, when something like this felt like the end of the world—even after they stopped what might have been an actual world-ending event. "It's going to suck for a while first"—his laugh is wet, but it's still a laugh—"but it gets easier after a while. Unfortunately, it can take some time."
He sighs and it isn't nearly as shaky as he'd sounded before. When he loosens his grip on her shirt, she does the same. She keeps petting his head even when he's finished straightening up. The yellow of his bruises helps hide some of the pink, but his eyes are still puffier looking than they'd been when he walked in.
Joyce glances at the door. As far as she can tell, there isn't anyone outside the windows ready to come in. There are probably still ten more minutes before her co-worker will be back from his lunch.
"Come on," she says, sliding her hand out of his hair to squeeze the top of his arm instead. "Let's get you cleaned up before you go deal with a bunch of hungry thirteen year olds."
He laughs again, swiping the back of his hand against one of his eyes. "Sounds good."
Wrapping one of her arms back around him, she walks with him pulled close to her side. Eventually the embarrassment of it will probably catch up to him, but he doesn't seem to mind just yet. As she leads him into the break room—no one is there to know—he leans into her side.
"Thanks," he says, finally meeting her eyes when she looks up at him. Joyce smiles, rubbing his arm.
"Anytime, sweetheart." After all, this is not the first time she's helped a crying kid—it's not even the first time helping one who isn't her own. And, she thinks as she wets a paper towel and helps to carefully wipe the tear tracks from Steve's cheeks, she's sure that it won't be the last time, either.