Chapter Text
Lester Solace was a surgeon and he was Will’s hero. Every day when he came back from work, Will would run up to him with wide eyes and a smile that was missing his two front teeth and beg his dad to hear about the hospital. His siblings all idolized their dad too, but Michael and Lee weren’t that into science or medicine and Kayla was too young to really get it. His father would sit in the armchair in their living room after he got back from work and Will sat on his knees in front of him, waiting for the stories from that day.
Usually, his father would tell him a watered down version of his day, trying his best to leave out the gore and the trauma and the death. But Will didn’t want the sugarcoated stories about giving kids stitches or the dangers of appendicitis, he wanted the most minute details of organ removal. He wanted to know what bodies looked like on the inside, how much people bled, the texture of someone's liver and stomach. Lester was hesitant to tell him and there was something unnerving about the look in Will’s eyes when he would cave and describe it all to him. There was only one time when he told Will ‘No’ , that he won’t tell him and that he shouldn’t ask.
Will was in his usual position at his father’s feet, looking up at him with wide eyes that should scream innocence and youth but instead glinted coldly. His father was telling him about a gallbladder removal he did that day and Will was bored . He didn’t want to hear another story about a relatively non-invasive surgery, he wanted something good, something serious, something new .
“Dad?” Will asked suddenly, interrupting him.
“Yes?” his dad responded.
“What happens if the ana-” Will scrunched up his nose in frustration as he tried to pronounce the word, “anath-”
“Anaesthesia?” his dad clarified.
Will nodded, smiling, “Yeah! What happens if that,” he paused, “Wears off? Like, before you’re done?”
His dad paused, looking at his son cautiously. “What do you mean, Will?”
Will huffed and frowned, sitting back and crossing his legs criss-cross applesauce, “What do you do if they start to feel it? Do you have to stop or can you keep going?”
The way Will asked the question made Lester’s blood run cold. As if the pain of a patient is an inconvenience, an afterthought to the surgery. His face hardened and he looked at Will sternly, “No more questions today, Will. Go wash your hands for dinner.”
Will’s face crumpled. “What?” he asked, his voice weak.
Lester stood up and stepped past his son on the floor, “You heard me, William. Go wash your hands.” His voice was cold and harsh, leaving no room for any argument.
Will looked at him, his eyes watering slightly at his dad’s tone. He stood up slowly and looked at his dad as he hesitated in the doorway into the kitchen, looking like he wanted to turn around. He didn’t move and after a minute, Will turned away, dragging his feet to the bathroom.
As Lester heard the faucet turn on, he walked quickly into the kitchen where his wife was standing and chopping vegetables.
“Hey, honey,” she said, glancing over at him, “What’s wrong?”
He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, “I’m worried about Will.”
She paused what she was doing and turned to face him, her brows furrowed. “What?” she asked, her voice laced with panic, “What happened?”
“He asked me a question today,” Lester told her.
“A question?” her voice was incredulous, “You’re worried because Will, who waits by the door for you to come home so he can hear every detail of your day, asked you a question?”
“It was different,” he said, “He asked about anaesthesia, about what happens if it wears off during surgery. The look on his face, Naomi. He was so curious but his eyes were just,” he sucked in a breath, “Cold. Like he didn’t care about the person at all.”
Naomi was silent and frowning, studying the look on her husband’s face. “Listen,” she sighed, “I know you’re worried about him. I understand why, that’s,” she paused, “Strange. But he’s only six years old, he probably doesn’t know any better. He reads that anatomy book you bought him every day and he listens to the stories you tell him, neither of which really do much describe the actual experience of the patient, how scary and traumatizing it can be. Not that he should hear that, because he shouldn’t, but he probably doesn’t even register the connection. He sees it all as something new to learn.”
Lester nodded slowly and sighed, “I guess you’re right.”
“Maybe you should take him to work with you someday. So he can meet the people, realize how much of a personal connection based career it is,” she suggests.
“That’s a good idea,” he says, smiling slightly, “I’ll take him with me on Saturday.”
That weekend, Will climbed into the car with his dad, wearing his own white coat and carrying his own stethoscope. At the hospital, Will was introduced to all the doctors and nurses that his dad worked with every day, and even a few patients. They would squat down to his level as they saw him and ask him his name.
“Hi!” he would exclaim, “My name is Will Solace! My daddy’s a surgeon. I’m gonna be one too!”
Everyone got a kick out of the cute little boy grinning from ear to ear and following his dad around like a puppy. They would coo at him as he gasped every time someone showed him a piece of equipment, his eyes widening and shining with reckless joy. Will was charming and adorable and nice to everyone and by the end of the day, Lester’s concern over his son had been soothed. ‘ There is no reason to worry about him ,’ he rationalized, ‘He understands now.’
And yet, on the ride home, Will asked from the back seat, “Do you always have to numb someone before you give them stitches?”
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Will was sitting crouched on the grass, his hands at his sides as he vigilantly surveyed the school playground for any sign of injury. His eyes darted between playsets, monkey bars, and swings. His attention was caught as he spotted his friend Austin. There was another boy standing in front of him, attempting to tower over him intimidatingly. Austin was staring back at him defiantly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides and brows furrowed. Will stood up, placing a hand on the fanny packed strapped around his waist to make sure it was still there. He didn’t run over yet, waiting tensely to see what would happen.
He watched in horror as the bully pulled his arms back and launched them forward, pushing Austin to the ground harshly. Will took off, running over to his friend as fast as he could and skidding to a stop in front of him. He dropped to his knees, digging around in his pack for band aids, alcohol wipes, and antibiotic ointment. Austin met his eyes as he looked up, both of their gazes watery and lips trembling. Will turned around to face the bully, looking up at him. The bully was sneering, his face contorted cruelly as he laughed at the pair of boys at his feet. The anger that twisted in Will’s gut was unexpected and intense. It made tears spill from his eyes, his cheeks flushed with frustration and anger as he heard Austin sniffle beside him.
The bully was still laughing as Will turned his attention away from and tore open an alcohol wipe, looking at Austin’s scraped knees and palms.
“This will sting,” he hiccupped.
“Gonna cry some more?” the bully taunted from above.
Will ground his teeth in fury, moving closer to Austin. His mind was racing, bouncing between the first-aid he knew and an overwhelming urge to hurt the bully, to push him down like he did to Austin, to kick him and hit him and make him cry. His breath was coming rapidly and harshly as he felt sobs bubble in his chest. He heard the teacher come up behind them, immediately asking what happened. Will tuned her out as he wiped the gravel and blood from Austin’s knees, who winced at the action. A sense of satisfaction struck him quickly as Austin recoiled. His flinching made Will feel good , feel something he was too young to understand or give a name to. It scared him, terrified him to the bone and made his hands shake as he tried to smear antibiotic ointment on the bandaid for Austin’s knees. He was sobbing now, barely containing wails as he tried to help his friend but desperately wanted to press hard on the wound, make him flinch. He barely registered the teacher scolding the bully behind him, hearing just enough for him to think that whatever punishment she had in mind for him wouldn’t be enough.
Will smoothed the bandaid over Austin’s knee, taking hiccupping breaths as he sat back. He cowered slightly as the teacher placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him and pull him away from Austin. It just made him cry harder, overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, anger, and fear that felt too big for him to experience, let alone rationalize. He couldn’t swallow the fact that what he wanted to do most in that moment was hurt someone.
Later that night, as him and his family sat at the table eating dinner, he still didn’t feel quite right. He was normally very talkative, rambling about his school day and friends. Instead, he was silent, pushing his food around on his plate and keeping his head down. His family was talking around him hesitantly, all of them casting careful glances at him that he didn’t see. After a few minutes, Will’s mother spoke carefully, “Will, honey?”
Will sniffled, not looking up. She tried again, “Will, your teacher called me today.”
He glanced up, his face paling as he met his mom’s gaze. His lips trembled slightly and eyes watered. Her eyes filled with concern as she watched his face crumple. “No, honey!” she reassured, “It’s nothing bad. She told me about how you helped Austin on the playground today. That was very nice of you.”
A tear escaped his eye as he mumbled a quiet, “Really?”
His mom smiled at him, her eyes warm, “Really,” she paused and looked at him softly, “She said you were very upset, though.”
Will nodded, looking back down at the table. “Why?” his mom asked.
Will mumbled something indiscernible. His mom strained to hear, “What was that?”
“Someone should have pushed the bully,” Will spoke up.
Silverware clattered down onto the table. Naomi turned away from her son, looking at her husband in a panic. Lester’s jaw was tense as he looked at his wife expectantly. She turned back to Will. “We shouldn’t say that, Will. It’s not nice.”
Will stared back disobediently, his cheeks still blotchy. “You just said that I was nice . And it’s true. If it was fair, someone would have pushed him too. He was mean,” he said.
Will’s siblings were watching him at shock, both at his words and the way he spoke defiantly to their parents. “William,” his mom said harshly, “That’s inappropriate. You can’t wish for other people to hurt just because they were mean.”
“Why?” Will asked, his eyes steely.
“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,” his dad jumped in.
Will turned to look at him, “No, it doesn’t. Only the mean people wouldn’t have eyes anymore.”
His parents stared at him in bewilderment, completely unsure of what to do. “Go to your room, William,” his mother said.
“What?” he asked.
“Go to your room!” she said, her voice raising.
Will slammed his fork down on the table and pushed his chair back. He jumped down, his face contorted in anger. “Fine!” he shouted, “But you guys are mean too!”
He stomped away from the table and up the stairs to his room. He slammed his bedroom door shut, climbing onto his bed and grabbing a lion stuffed animal, squeezing tightly to his chest. He felt his eyes water again, tears of frustration spilling down his cheeks. ‘Some people deserve to get pushed, ’ he thought, ‘I will push them.’