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#i apologise for the lack of nursey in this part
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(You Are) Wanted
Part II | Part I | Tag
There’s a crash, and when Will glances up, Nursey’s standing in the kitchen doorway, mouth open, shards from a broken plate on the floor around his feet. “What the fuck, Dex?”
“Nursey!” Chowder gasps, looking scandalised. “Not in front of the baby!”
It’s a nice sentiment, and so very Chowder that Will can’t help but smile fondly, but it’s probably a lost cause, anyway. No matter where Will and the baby will end up living, pretty much his entire circle of friends consists of hockey players who regularly fund Bitty’s baking adventures with their swearing.
And Will really isn’t any better himself, either.
“I don’t think he understands just yet,” he points out, and turns a little when Chowder approaches so Chowder can see the baby’s blotchy red face. “He’s under a week old. All he does is sleep, cry, and shit himself.”
Yeah, so much for that. Oops.
“He’s so cute,” Chowder coos softly, and strokes a gentle finger over the baby’s hair. “Can I hold him?”
Will has no idea what his face is doing, but it must be telling. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Chowder—there are very few people he trusts more, in fact—but the thought of handing the baby over just doesn’t sit right with him, for some reason. It’s stupid, he’s aware of that, but he just—he doesn’t want to let him go. Not just yet.
[more under the cut]
“Maybe later,” Chowder says, easy as that, and smiles at Will’s apologetic look. He gives Will’s shoulder a supportive squeeze before stepping back. “It’s probably better that way, right? Like, he only stopped crying a second ago, I don’t want to upset him again.”
Will nudges his foot against Chowder’s, murmuring a quiet, relieved, “Thanks, C.”
Ransom, in the meantime, has apparently recovered from his initial shock, or enough so, at least, to say, “Congrats, man. Your kid’s adorable.”
“Must be the mom’s genes,” Holster teases, on automatic. Then he frowns, clearly not sure what’s off limits when it comes to the baby.
Will isn’t either, but the chirping is normal, familiar. And he can definitely do with some normality right about now.
Bitty’s mouth twists at the mention of the mother. Will shoots him a look he hopes is enough to convey that they’ll talk about it later, in private. He has zero desire to explain his fucked up family situation right now, and he is nowhere near ready to tell everyone why he isn't on speaking terms with them anymore.
“There isn't a mom,” Will says, and then, when Tango makes a confused noise and opens his mouth, he corrects, “There isn't one willing to be a part of his life. It’s just me.”
“That sucks, bro,” Holster says, and Ransom winces in sympathy. “Maybe she’ll come around?”
Will snorts. “Fat chance.”
It comes out hissed, more bitter than he intended, and makes everyone fall uncomfortably silent. Ransom and Holster turn towards each other, doing their weird eyebrow communication thing, probably trying to figure out all the things Will isn’t telling them, while Lardo watches Will intently, in that way that never fails to make Will feel like she knows more than she lets on. Chowder goes to help Nursey pick up the plate shards, with Bitty hovering close by, ready to jump in in case one of them—meaning Nursey—manages to hurt themselves.
Tango still has a somewhat perplexed expression on his face, but Will can never really tell when he actually has no idea what’s going on, and when it’s just his regular face. Or if he’s really just fucking with them all. Whiskey’s the one who makes an effort to actually meet Will’s eyes, one eyebrow raised in question. He’s the only one, apart from Bitty, who’s found out about Will, but they’ve so far had an unspoken agreement to not talk about running into each other in one of the close by gay bars on occasion. He jerks his chin minutely when Will shakes his head at him, before giving Tango a not so gentle push towards the door, muttering at him in rapid Spanish when Tango starts complaining about being manhandled.
“Uh.” Will hitches the baby a little higher, and starts rubbing his back, mostly to have something to do with his hands. Good thing the baby’s too young to realise he’s being used as a security blanket. “I’ll just,” he says, awkward, inching closer to the stairs. “Yeah.”
With that, Will makes his escape upstairs to Bitty’s room. As promised, there’s a portable crib leaning against one wall, and at least a dozen bags from Babies-R-Us sitting next to it. They look like they definitely contain more than the few emergency diapers and onesies Will’d asked for, and he makes a mental note to send Jack a thank you text later.
“Okay, buddy, here you go,” Will tells the baby as he carefully places him in the middle of Bitty’s bed. He arranges a few pillows around him, even though he’s learned last night that the baby isn’t really moving much yet. Safe’s safe, though. “There. Good?”
He has the crib set up, and is halfway through the bags when Bitty knocks on the door, before poking his head in. “How’s it going?”
“Baby’s asleep. Again,” Will says, pulling a tiny Falconers jersey out of one of the bags.
Bitty smiles innocently when Will holds it up. Will doesn’t buy it for a second.
They unpack in easy silence for a while, Bitty joining Will on the floor to un- and then refold all the clothes to his satisfaction, arranging them in a complicated pile system Will doesn’t even try to memorise. Bitty bats at him when he sees Will try and fail to hide a grin. “Babies are messy. You better get on top of everything right away, otherwise you’ll be lost in no time.”
“Too late for that,” Will sighs, absently playing with the foot of a pair of tiny snowflake tights. Knowing Bitty, there’s a whole outfit to go with them, too, for Haus Christmas. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“But you’re trying anyway,” Bitty says, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s what counts.”
Will grimaces. “Tell that to the kid when he hates me in a couple of years because I was too selfish to let him be adopted by some nice people who wouldn’t have screwed this whole thing up completely.”
“William Jacob Poindexter!” Bitty is glaring, and it’s so reminiscent of a Disappointed Parent Look that Will flushes, feeling chastised. Bitty grabs Will by the chin, forcing him to look over at him. “Do not run yourself down like this, I won’t have it.”
“Bitty, c’mon,” Will mumbles, embarrassed. He goes to turn his head away, but Bitty doesn’t let go, and raises an expectant eyebrow instead. Will grunts. “Fine, whatever.”
The way Bitty purses his lips, still scowling a little, tells Will they’ll be coming back to this eventually. Chowder has perfect timing, though, and chooses that moment to peek in through the door that’s still slightly ajar. “Do you need help with anything?”
“Want to help me change the baby for the night?” Will asks, getting up, and has to laugh when Chowder nods enthusiastically. “All right, come here. Fair warning, though, it’s going to be pretty gross.”
Chowder waves dismissively. “I have baby cousins, it’s fine. Like, this one time Vivian had some sort of stomach bug, and I swear, for a solid week, her poop looked like that time Wicks threw up after only eating Cheetos and drinking tub juice all weekend.”
They all simultaneously wrinkle their noses at the memory. Bitty’s the first to recover, reaching into yet another unpacked bag, and pulling out a foldable changing pad. “Here.” He hands it to Chowder, who hands it over to Will to spread out on the bed. “It wasn’t on your list, I know, but I thought it would come in handy.”
“At least 80% of the stuff you bought wasn’t on my list,” Will points out as he unclasps the baby’s onesie. “Tell Jack I’ll pay him back for all of it, by the way.”
Bitty’s, “Sure, honey,” is entirely unconvincing, and Will resigns himself to sneaking cash into Jack’s pockets whenever he comes to visit for the foreseeable future. Bitty narrows his eyes at Will as if he can tell what Will’s thinking, making Will look away quickly, biting back a smile.
“Okay,” he says, once he’s got the baby down to his diaper, gesturing from the baby to Chowder. “You want to do the honors?”
Chowder clearly knows what he’s doing, working fast and efficient, and doesn’t lose his cool when the baby, grumpy about being woken up, starts fussing. Will hovers by his shoulder nonetheless, ignoring the knowing, amused looks Bitty keeps levelling at him.
When he’s done, the baby all dressed again, Chowder throws his arms up in the air, waving them around, and cheers quietly. “There,” he says, grinning down at the baby, “that’s better, isn’t it?”
The baby kicks his legs, still making small, distressed sounds that aren’t quite cries. Yet. Chowder rubs his tummy, which seems to help somewhat, but Will can tell it’s not enough.
“He wants you to pick him up. I mean,” he rubs at the back of his neck, mouth quirked sheepishly, “you can. If you still want to.”
Chowder doesn’t need to be told twice. He climbs up on the bed, and scoots back so he’s reclined against the pillows, then carefully lifts the baby up to lie against his chest. He cups the back of the baby’s head with one hand, and his diapered butt with the other, talking quietly, telling the baby, all earnest and serious, “I know,” and “Yeah, being tired is no fun,” when the baby scrunches up his face.
It makes something in Will’s chest loosen, to see one of his best friends so easily accept this huge—and, as much as Will already loves that baby, inconvenient—turn Will’s life has taken over the last 24 hours. It also gives Will the courage needed to say what he’s wanted to tell Chowder for months, now.
“He’s my nephew, technically,” he blurts, and then, before he loses his nerve, continues explaining, “My older sister’s kid. She didn’t want him, because my parents would throw a fucking fit if she came home with a illegitimate kid. Especially a black one. They’re—shit, C, they’re fucked up, you know? Like, the kind of people who’d make their daughter choose between her kid, and being allowed to come back home again. Or kick out their son for being gay.”
Chowder’s eyes widen in surprise, and he looks distraught when he says, “Dex, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Will shrugs, jaw clenched, and averts his eyes. It’s been nearly six months, and he’d known, before doing it, what coming out would mean, what would most likely happen. It had been a conscious, planned decision after years of insecurity and fear, in the hope that it would, somehow, make it easier to be honest with himself about what he is, about who he is. And it had helped, in a lot of ways, but the tiny, dumb, foolish part of Will’s heart that had believed that his family might react differently, might love him anyway, is fucking devastated nonetheless.
Bitty knee-walks across the room, hugging Will from behind. “We love you, hon, you know that, right?” he asks, and Chowder immediately agrees, adding, “We all support Bitty and Jack, and we’ll do the same for you. You’re team. And our friend.”
Will nods, but doesn’t trust himself to say anything without doing something horrifying. Like bursting into tears. He leans into Bitty instead, lets Bitty tuck him under his chin, and closes his eyes, breathing slow and deep. Bitty starts asking Chowder about his cousins, arms still tight around Will, and neither of them mentions the way Will’s breath hitches every few seconds.
He only disentangles himself from Bitty once the baby’s fallen back asleep to lay him down in the crib. If having his back turned also gives him the opportunity to discreetly wipe at his eyes, well. He’ll take it.
Chowder makes a quick run to his own room to change into his PJs while Will’s putting the baby down, and Bitty grabs his laptop from his desk, setting it up at the foot of his bed instead, putting on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine with the volume down low. Will gets a pair of sweats from his own bag, before he flops down next to Bitty on the bed. Chowder joins them a moment later, squishing Will between himself and Bitty.
Will gets choked up all over again over the fact that Chowder doesn’t even hesitate before cuddling up to Will, like he always does when they have sleepovers or team movie nights. Then he grunts, effectively distracted, when Bitty presses his icicle feet against his legs. Which is also pretty par for the course.
“So,” Chowder asks, once he has burrito-wrapped himself in one of the blankets, “like, does the baby have a name yet? Because I feel kind of bad just calling him the baby.”
“According to my MooMaw, my parents couldn’t agree on a name until I was almost two months old,” Bitty tisks, laughing a little. “And then they named me Eric Richard Bittle Jr.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Will says immediately. When Bitty and Chowder both look at him quizzically, he elaborates, “Name the baby after someone. My parents named me after my grandfather and my uncle, and there were always expectations that came with that, you know? I don’t want that, for the baby. He should,” he gestures a little helplessly, then shrugs, “just grow up to be himself.”
Chowder nods, thoughtful. “That makes sense.”
“It really does,” Bitty agrees, folding his arms on Will’s chest, and resting his chin on them. “Lord knows I could do without my aunties and uncles and cousins constantly comparing me to my Daddy.”
“I thought maybe Theodore?” Will half-asks. “There’s no Theo in my family, no one I know is called Theo, and I kind of like it? Just, like, the sound of it. And I don’t want anything too edgy that’ll embarrass him when he’s older.”
“I like it,” Chowder decides. “Theodore Poindexter.”
Bitty pokes Will in the side, smiling proudly. “See? You got this. One step at a time.”
“Yeah,” Will says, and can’t help but smile back. “One step at a time.”
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