#but first.

There's none of that same boy now. None of the spitting fire and spiky rage that had made her think of Lonnie. Now when she looks at him, Joyce can't help but think about how different he seems. As faded and limp as his over-washed hospital gown. How small. How young. How like Will. She tries to shake the thought, turning back to the machine, as it gives a final gurgle and spits out the last creamy brown froth of cocoa. She knows Hopper will complain about it, he always does, but Joyce also knows that he's been told not to have too much caffeine with his meds, so she won't be swayed. Someone's got to be grown up about all this.  She's about to head back to the waiting room when she hears it. A soft, barely there sound coming from Billy's room.  A whimper. She waits, just for a moment. Maybe it's nothing.  A quirk of one of the monitors or a mouse in the walls or something. Nothing to do with her.  But it comes again, followed by another sound. A hitch of breath familiar to her from countless nights spent soothing one son or another after a nightmare, and Joyce steps closer to his room, one foot on the threshold, looking desperately around for a nurse, a doctor, even a friendly porter. Anyone in a uniform. Anyone that isn't her.

But the corridor remains empty. No one's coming. Billy's breath hitches again, and again, and then he's begging. Desperate, choked out pleas in a voice hoarse with fear.  Joyce steps even closer. She's in the room now and she can see how Billy's trembling, the thin blanket twisted in his hands as he shakes his head, begging forgiveness from someone that only he can see. And Joyce can't leave him. Not like that. Can't walk away. Because Billy saved the kids. Saved them all. And he's the same age as Jonathan. He's a kid. He's just a kid and he's scared and alone and Joyce won't leave him like that. 

She steps quickly into the room, kneeling down at Billy's bedside to whisper soft words of comfort into his ear, "You're OK, honey, you're OK. It's just a bad dream."

Billy quietens a little, but he doesn't wake, so Joyce places the cups down on the table and rests a hand on his shoulder, giving the slightest shake, "Hey there, honey, wake up now. It's a dream, a bad dream, come on, come on back."

The begging has stopped, at least, no more tiny, heart wrenching whispers of please and no and don’t, but Billy's still whimpering. Tiny, bitten down noises that escape with the first spill of tears, so Joyce keeps going. She strokes a gentle thumb over his cheek to wipe away the wetness, then moves her hand carefully to his hair, fingers carding through sweaty, tangled curls and lightly brushing them away from his forehead, 

"You're safe, sweetie, everyone's safe. It's just a bad dream, that's all. I've got you. C'mon, Billy, I'm here, I've got you, I promise I’ve got you, I'm here."

The words slip out naturally. It's what she says to Will when he's trapped in his head, scared to wake up in case it's all been real. She thinks Billy might need to hear them. Might be feeling the same. She's right. She's a little startled when Billy sucks in a sudden, rattling gasp, and she almost moves away, out of his reach, but then his eyes fly open and the expression in them has her heart clenching. He's terrified. Lost and scared but also seemingly surprised that there's someone else there, and Joyce wonders how many times he's woken up like this and been left to deal with it alone.Something deep down inside her, something maternal, makes her adamant it's not happening again.

"That's it honey, there we go. That's good, that's better, you're doing good." Joyce soothes. She keeps on stroking his hair, aware that Billy's leaning into her touch now, waiting until his breath evens out before she says any more.  "Bad dream?" she asks softly, and Billy pauses for a moment before he nods, eyes cast down, looking ashamed. "Oh honey, that makes sense," Joyce keeps her voice calm, "You went through a lot, huh? And you had to be so brave. It's OK if you're scared. But it's over now, it's done. You're safe now, Billy. Everyone's OK." 

There's another broken gasp, and then Billy's crying again. More tears spilling over long lashes, and those soft little hitching breaths as he curls in on himself, his hands twisting at the sheets like he's forcing himself not to reach out, and Joyce can't stop herself from pulling him towards her completely, wrapping him in her arms and letting him sob against her shoulder as she murmurs more and more words, the same reassurances over and over until Billy's stops shaking. It takes a while. Her shirt is damp when he pulls away, and Billy's eyes are red and puffy and he winces as he swallows and Joyce notices the way he looks at the cup of cocoa on the side, glancing at it and then looking away as if he's worried he's been caught. Her heart pangs for him again.  He's just a kid. A kid who needs some comfort after a nightmare. And it's not like Hop ever drinks the stuff anyway.