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Monday was awful. Will’s mom had asked him that morning if he would be happier staying home another day, but he’d declined. If he stayed home, his mom would probably want to stay home as well to make sure that he didn’t do something to himself, a new worry that he wasn’t at all happy about, and they really couldn’t afford the lack of income.
They especially couldn’t afford it now that they had to pay for his medication. He shuddered at the idea of therapy, which his mom had been prodding him quietly about for the last four days, and how much that would add to the steadily piling bills that all had his name on them in bright red ink.
Jonathan drove him to school, which was only slightly better than if Joyce had.
“You sure you’re good to go in, bud? You look a little tired…” Jonathan trailed off, not wanting to be overbearing in the way he knew their mother could be, though still equally as worried.
Truth be told, Will was tired. Doctor Owens had said that it would probably take two or three weeks for the full effects to take place, but the side effects had wasted no time in taking hold of Will. He’d spent the last few nights unable to sleep, and then, he’d spent the days unusually tired. Yesterday, he’d woken up feeling achy all over and had almost thought he’d developed the flu, before remembering that Owens had said that pain and aches could be a possibility.
He hoped that his body got used to the medication soon and he started feeling the positive effects that Owen’s promised, because apparently he was only on the lowest dosage and was expected to increase his doses over the next few months.
When Jonathan finally pulled into Hawkin’s Middle driveway he turned the stereo - playing DEVO’s “Mongoloid” - down and locked the doors before Will could get out. Despite himself Will felt a spike of panic at being trapped, then forced it down because this was Jonathan, his older brother who had done nothing but try to help him. Still, he thought somewhat aggravated, considering everything that had recently transpired shouldn’t his brother be overly cautious of doing things like that?
Will must’ve shown his discomfort on his face because Jonathan quickly went to placate him.
“Hey, I’m going to let you go in a second, alright? I just need you with me for a minute.” Will nodded his acknowledgement, just to get this round of hovering over with. “I know this is a big change, and I know you’re worried about Mom and I’s feelings as well, but you don’t need to. If you ever feel overwhelmed today - if it’s too much all at once - you call Hawkins High and ask for me. I’ll come get you no questions asked, alright? Mom’ll be understanding, I promise.”
Will didn’t trust himself to speak - despite the new medication he was still having a hard time getting himself to make sense of his words an uncomfortable amount of the time.
He rubbed the palm of his hand, the one not still grabbing onto the door handle, over his eyes as he felt them begin to burn with tears. He did not want to cry on his first day back, especially not when the day hadn’t even really begun. He nodded his assent instead to Jonathan, who reached across the center console to give an awkward hug.
Finally he unlocked the doors and Will was able to make his escape into Hawkins Middle.
—
When he got through the school doors he barely made it halfway to where his locker was located before Mr. Coleman, who had been craning his neck around to find Will before the school day officially began, stalked over to him and gave him a firm - and uncomfortable - pat on the shoulder.
“Mr. Byers. Why don’t you come to my office before class,” he said in a tone that indicated he wasn’t asking, he was demanding.
“Did I- Did I do anything wrong? I know my grades haven’t been… But I thought mom had… they haven’t been very good but I didn’t think they were- Is this about my attendance last week?“ But Mr. Coleman was shaking his head before Will could finish his spiral.
“No, no. You’re not in trouble, Mr. Byers. It’s just that your mother has informed me of some recent developments that I feel would be better discussed privately, if that’s okay with you?”
He still hadn’t taken his hand off Will's shoulder, which was making him decidedly uncomfortable. Lonnie used to do similar things when he was trying to be nice, but it just as easily turned to rage if he didn’t get exactly the answer he wanted. Will began to imagine Mr. Coleman’s hand going from gentle to bruising. He could probably get away with it if he really wanted to. He was the principle of the school after all…
“Mr. Byers? Would you be okay with discussing these issues further in private?” Oh, Will had lost his train of thought again. He looked back up at Mr. Coleman, from where he had previously been focused on the connection of hand and shoulder, trying and failing to look into his eyes to show his listening.
“Mmm, Yes. That would be. Good.” Will managed to get out. Mr. Coleman gave him a wane smile before steering him - his damned hand was still on Will’s shoulder - in the direction of his office.
When they arrived, Will noticed that both the school nurse and the school counselor were present as well. The nurse, Will noted, looked rather put out that she had to be attending a meeting at 7:30 in the morning.
Mr. Coleman continued to steer Will until he was sat between the two women, front and center facing the principal's desk.
Mr. Coleman clapped both of his hands together and gave the nurse and counselor dry smiles that did not indicate much friendliness or appreciation - although that could have been Will reading into things. The worst part about this he’d discovered, aside from the actual symptoms and diagnosis itself, was how it made him second guess everything he thought in ways he’d never done before - before turning to Will.
“Why don’t we get started, shall we?” Mr. Coleman took out a small folder which he flipped through quickly. “On Wednesday of last week we received a call from your mother as well as a fax from a Dr. Owens about a certain - diagnosis assigned.” Will looked at the women he sat between, the counselor looking at least more alert at the information, before nodding along.
Mr. Coleman cleared his throat before continuing. “Ms. Barnel, the nurse here, I’m sure you’ve met, and Ms. Dolin, our counselor, have had the information shared with them at the approval of your mother. I’m sure you understand that this is a rather unorthodox situation we’ve been put in, Mr. Byers,” Will nodded again at this, “so we want to give you the best support that we can while balancing the limitations we’re faced with right now. Does that make sense?”
Will, if he was being honest, didn’t know if it made sense at all. He hadn’t thought much about how the school would become involved, other than the fact that they’d need to be informed that he was going to be seeing a doctor more often and would need to be excused. He had no idea what them “supporting” him looked like, nor what the limitations to that support would be.
They certainly hadn’t supported him when Troy and his friends were calling him a faggot in the lunch room or during recess, but then, Will supposed being marked queer and being marked crazy were two different things.
No one in Hawkins, as far as he could tell, liked queers; but, despite the disdain he heard thrown in their direction, he also got the impression that they were generally considered weak, or at the very least Will was considered weak for being perceived as queer. Threatening by merely existing, but easily extinguished.
Being crazy, he was certain, wouldn’t afford him a higher level of kindness than being queer (although he still liked to think he had time to prove them wrong about that, as much as his hope was slipping by the day). Still, he also had read how people described serial killers and other dangerous people in the news, often labeled with some sort of mental illness. Often labeled with the very illness he was having tacked on to his insurance.
Maybe being schizophrenic - having symptoms of schizophrenia he corrected, because nothing was set in stone - wouldn’t afford him any kindness, but perhaps if people saw him as dangerous like the serial killers he heard about when his mom thought he wasn’t listening in to the radio he would be left alone.
“That makes sense,” Will finally replied. It was possible he had waited to long, because Mr. Coleman’s eyes were squished, staring intensely, but it wasn’t as if he could go back in time to respond quicker.
Mr. Coleman reached into one of the drawers on his desk, which Will was just now noting didn’t look nearly as sturdy or expensive as Doctor Owens’, and pulled a few slips of colored paper out of his desk. Will peered over to see what they said.
He saw a yellow one first, which had “Personal Pass,” written across the top, then a pink one titled “Nurses Office,” and a light blue one which said “Counselor’s Office.” Mr. Coleman was sliding the pink one towards Ms. Barnel, and the blue one towards Ms. Dolin as he began speaking.
“I’m giving you these passes to keep on you at all times. This yellow one right here you only need to show to your teacher and they’ll let you leave as needed. The pink one,” which Ms. Barnel had signed and returned next to the yellow one, “means that you can stop by the nurse’s office any time as needed. If you get stopped in the hallways you only need to show it to the teacher and they’ll let you go. The blue one,” which Ms. Dolin had returned next to the other two with her own signature on it, “works the same way. Now, hopefully when you have a - need - to leave you will go to one of these two ladies for help, but we will be accommodating if you would prefer to work it out on your own in the restroom or somewhere else.”
When Will looked at the two women besides him he got the impression that really, really hoped that he would work things out on his own, but he nodded along regardless. Well, it wasn’t like he particularly wanted someone else to be in his business anyways.
“I hope that you’ll be responsible with these, Mr. Byers. I understand that you’re going through a difficult time, but these are not to be used to skip class just because you don’t feel like it. These can be revoked, you understand?”
“Yes,” Will said, unable to get anything else out despite him wanting to say “yes sir,” or “yes, Mr. Coleman.” The principal nodded before signing the yellow slip himself and gathering the three together to hand to Will. Ms. Barnel and Ms. Dolin, seeing that their presence was no longer needed, got up and left, making sure to shut the door behind them. Mr. Coleman gave Will one of his dry, not actually that comforting, smiles.
“Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk about future attendance, and what we’re willing to excuse…”