Disclaimer: not mine. I take better care of my things.

Title from Bon Jovi's "It's My Life"

Hello, long time no write. Sorry for the long absence. I've had a terrible 2017, to be honest. So much so that it zapped me of any desire or time to write. I was not in a good place mentally. I ignored just about everyone and everything and I apologize for that. To everyone that sent me messages over the months I'm quite sorry. I am trying to return all of them. Please know it wasn't personal.

A few weeks ago, I was doing the dishes at my 80-year-old grandmother's house while she watched TV. Her sink has a direct line of sight to her massive television. It was a few minutes to three o'clock (almost time for her to watch Ellen!) and she put it on NBC and who did I see on the screen for the Friday cliffhanger on DOOL?

For the first time in months, I looked on Twitter to see what was happening. It was terrifying. I have no idea about most of the show and I don't care either. But I love Will Horton. I love all the actors that portrayed him. I love Chandler, I love Guy, and I even loved that giant-eared baby. I don't care who plays the part as long as it means Will's alive.

Unfortunately, I don't trust the show not to entirely fuck Will or his fans over again. I don't trust them not to vomit their homophobic, misogynistic crap all over my favorite character.

I don't know if this will be any good. As I said, I haven't written anything since January. But this was the first thing that came to mind when I saw Will on screen.

So, I present to you a Will-positive mixture of headcanon, crack, and something serious. Also, if you're here for Will pining and entering another useless, directionless love triangle with the Hardy Boys, this is not the story for you.

October 31, 2017. Memphis, Tennessee

Halloween felt important to William Roberts. Or, at least, he thought it did. He couldn't remember, though. He wasn't even sure his name was William Roberts.

Rubbing his temples, Will took a break from his work. He wished his shift at the bookstore was over already. He felt a headache bubbling behind his eyes.

A quick glance at the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall behind him disappointed him. Two more hours until quitting time.

A haggard-looking customer stood near Will at the front desk of the bookstore.

"Can I help you?" Will questioned, adjusting his name tag on his crisp uniform shirt.

"Do you have any Halloween books for kids left?" the woman asked, glancing between Will and her phone.

Will held in a sigh. The woman was two feet from a display table covered in Halloween books. Flipping on a bright grin, Will stood up.

"Right this way, please."

Will led her to the table, listening to her rambles. He didn't care about her mundane problems with last minute parties. Instead of listening, Will organized the display. There were various children's characters Will thought he recognized. A big red dog dressed as a ghost. Odd, anthropomorphic animals called "Little Critters". As well as strange mermaid type creatures called "Bubble Guppies".

One book, in particular, set off a ping inside of Will's whole being. A weird book with a misshapen pumpkin. Every time Will saw it, he swore he heard a song in the back of his head.

("Spookley the square pump-kin!")

Will got the impression he had nightmares about the book.

(movie? Must be, how else would he know the song?)

Will didn't know for sure, though. He didn't know anything for sure. At least, nothing before the last two years. Because William Roberts

(was that his name?)

had retrograde amnesia. Or so his doctors said. Will figured they must be right since he didn't remember anything about his life.

Although, Will got the sneaking suspicion he didn't always agree with doctors. Or liked hospitals in general. In fact, those months spent at Cobalt Rehabilitation Hospital were some of the worst of his life. Or, at least, he thought they were. Everything was confusing.

Head throbbing, Will helped the customer checkout. After, he took a well-deserved break at the store's café.

Will worked five days a week at a second-hand bookstore. Attached to the store was a coffee shop. Bright, modern, and full of delicious and comforting coffee. While at the hospital, they never let him have more than a cup at a time. Out here in the real world, on his own, Will indulged every chance he could.

Sitting by himself Will let the caffeine take effect, ease the throbbing in his head. As he focused, he noticed the song playing over the speakers for the first time.

("Ooh, look what you made me do, look what you made me do, look what you just made me do")

Will shuddered, clapping his hands over his ears, beginning to shake.

(Taylor Swift induced PTSD. He'd reached a new low.)

It wasn't until the song ended that the panic clawing inside of him receded. It clung to his skin, though, left him unsteady.

Ever since he woke in the hospital, the slightest thing could set Will off. Certain sounds or topics caused Will's heart to race and his breath to quicken.

(blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girls brought tears to his eyes)

His myriad of doctors insisted it was his memories ramming against his skull, begging him to remember. Will wasn't sure he wanted to remember his past life.

Over a year ago, Will woke up alone. A tube shoved down his throat, neck in a brace, and with little musculature after months in a coma. There were wires everywhere and not a single visitor, ever. No one knew who he was including Will himself. He didn't know his name, age, anything.

(he searched through lists of baby names. Only William and Robert resonated with him. Robert William? William Robert? Robert Williams? William Roberts?)

No one ever came looking for Will. He wasn't a missing person as far as anyone knew. His name wasn't in any system. His fingerprints didn't match any archives. The state of Tennessee had no record of him at all. Will didn't know what kind of life he left behind. Other than believing he didn't need anyone from his past. Not if they abandoned him.

But, it was fine. Will was fine. He worked at the rehabilitation hospital with a physical, occupational, and regular therapist. Regained his strength, worked his body as hard as he could until he didn't need the hospital at all.

The hospital staff helped him establish everything he needed out in the real world.

(who knew not existing took so much paperwork?)

The hospital helped him find a job and an apartment. Good thing for Will too since he wouldn't know the first thing about any of it.

Life moved on and so did Will. He didn't obsess over memories that might never come back. Instead, Will focused on making new ones. He excelled at work. Furthered the friendships he gained inside the hospital and made new ones.

(even if he didn't know his own age he was younger than every other resident at the hospital. He'd spend his days at the nurses' station, laughing and talking. Flirting with his favorite male nurse for hours on end.)

His new friendships felt unusual as if he hadn't had a real one in a long time. But, like everything else in life, Will had no way of knowing if it were true. He found himself in situations that weren't comfortable either.

("This is my life now. I've conquered this hill and now I'll die here."

"We've only been hiking for twenty minutes, Will.")

Will didn't know anything about his old life but he liked his new one. Sure, he had his issues.

(running the opposite direction every time he saw a black garbage bag was normal. Shut up.)

For the most part, Will felt fine. He had friends. He liked where he worked. Sometimes he wondered if there wasn't more he had to offer to the world. With no idea of his schooling, he didn't know if he had any options.

(wondered if he ever worked with kids. Got the impression he spent a lot of time with them.)

Either way, Will felt content. As soon as his headache left, he'd feel even better. Besides, he planned to meet his friends for a game of softball that evening. Something he looked forward to all week. Or, rather, someone he looked forward to seeing all week.

The whole gang made the plans weeks ago. Enjoy a game before taking part in some Halloween revelry.

(in the beginning, softball made Will nauseous. Which made no sense since he was so good at it.)

Finishing the rest of his coffee, Will walked back to his post at the front desk. Only an hour and a half until quitting time.

After every game, the softball team flocked to their usual bar and restaurant. The same place Will met most of the guys on the softball team. One day he joined his favorite nurse for a drink with the man's friends

(Xavier Morales, the nurse he spent months flirting with at the hospital. Brown skin and eyes and a tongue that did so much more than roll R's.)

The man in question was more than a nurse to Will now. They'd only been out on a few official dates.

(and several unofficial nights)

Will enjoyed their time together with or without their friends. He wasn't in any rush to make things too serious too fast, though.

(something told him he'd done it before. Jumped into things without taking his time.)

Xavier understood. He knew all about Will's missing memories and the bouts of trauma-induced panic.

(every now and again Will thought about past lovers. He's young and hot. Of course, he had them. But what type of partner wouldn't even look for Will?)

Collapsing on a barstool, Will tossed a sweat-soaked baseball cap on the table. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and laughed. His cheeks flushed a bright red. Blue and white baseball tee streaked with grass stains.

Their team didn't win tonight but Will had an awesome game.

(he got the feeling in his other life he would have hated losing. But he didn't mind it so much now.)

Xavier plopped in the next seat, as sweaty and grass stained as Will. They shared a grin. He reached over to rub along the apple of Will's cheek.

"You're covered in dirt, Papi," Xavier teased. He showed off a clump of grass and dirt stuck to Will's face.

"Slide was worth it," Will said. He hopped off the barstool and called over his shoulder, "get me a drink."

Will walked along the half-wall separating the restaurant from the bar. The establishment was off the beaten track from Memphis' usual tourist traps. Which meant it wasn't as crowded on a Tuesday evening even if it was Halloween.

While Will walked to the bathroom, he overheard an argument between customers. The lighting was too dim to make out much of anyone but the scene seemed familiar.

(three blonde women, all demanding attention. Five men standing about not sure if they should interfere.)

Shaking off the sense of déjà vu, Will hurried into the bathroom. He ducked his head under the whole faucet and scrubbed himself clean. Droplets of water ran down his face and neck, soaking his shirt.

After rubbing the back of his neck with a paper towel, Will shouldered his way out of the bathroom. Eyes on the ground, Will didn't pay much attention to his surroundings. He knew the path from the bathroom to the bar by heart. He didn't need to pay attention.

Will jostled off balance when someone collided with him instead of moving aside.

"Watch where you're going," a feminine voice demanded.

"Watch where you're going," Will countered with a scoff.

Before Will could take another step, the same woman let out an overdramatic gasp. It grated on Will's nerves yet, somehow, sounded comforting.

Weirded out, Will turned back to the bar only for a small but strong hand to clamp onto his bicep.

"Will?" the woman questioned, half-disbelief, half-awe.

"Yeah?" Will frowned, taking a good look at the woman for the first time.

It was one of the blonde women Will saw arguing earlier. Petite and freckled, blue eyes swimming with tears.

Will, half-formed words caught in his throat, stopped with his mouth open. He took a moment to stare. Something about her looked familiar.

(crying, lots of crying, and screaming. A stinging on his cheek and rare, yet perfect hugs. Endless rage and disappointment and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. And love, so much love.)

Brushing the feelings aside, Will winced when the woman grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug. His arms limp at his sides, a pronounced frown on his face.

He looked over his shoulder to the bar area catching an amused Xavier's eye.

(not the first time a drunken woman threw herself at Will.)

"Uh," Will said as the woman began to cry against his shoulder.

"Oh my god," the woman sobbed, clutching Will in a death grip. "I can't believe after all this time. I didn't even-I can't-how did-but you're here. Oh, my sweet, sweet, beautiful angel."

The people the woman argued with earlier approached them. They spread around him causing Will's heart to race and throat to close up.

Will was fine with crowds and total strangers. He thrived off them. Enjoyed attention and praise.

(most of the time it led to warm, masculine hands on his skin. Teeth biting at the meat of his shoulders)

But something about this group felt off. Their slack-jawed expressions and gasps made him squirm.

Several voices overlapped, confusing Will even more than usual.

(perpetual state of obliviousness, Xavier called it. Asshole.)

This was not how Will planned to spend his Halloween. He wanted to play some softball. Use his uniform as a ready-made costume and finish the night in privacy with Xavier.

(climbing the man like a fucking redwood.)

This weird, suffocating group didn't look keen on letting it happen.

As a man with a goatee flung himself at Will, arms wrapping around his neck, Will flinched away.

(no, get off, no, bad, not the neck, never his neck. No. No. No. No. No.)

Will flung both the man and the woman away from him. He took several steps backward, hands rubbing at the back of his still wet hair.

Will cleared his throat, fed up with the sideshow act.

"Who the hell are you people?" Will asked, voice steady despite the tremble in his limbs.

The air around them stilled. Even the low twang of country music faded away at Will's question. He looked at each person in the sparse lighting.

An older couple clutched one another tight. A silver-haired man held a blonde woman to his chest as silent tears fell down her kind face.

(words and tears and the warmest hugs known to man. Strong claps on the shoulder. Eyes full of disappointment.)

A middle-aged couple stared with mixed emotions on their faces.

(annoyance and hypocritical judgment. Gratitude at the long-awaited acceptance. Complete and utter expectance at how fast they snatched it away.)

Two dark-haired, dark-eyed young men, so similar and yet so different.

(anger, pain, betrayal, love and lust and lies. All-encompassing embarrassment and hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Do not want. Not again. Not anymore.

Deserved better. They all did.)

Last, the couple standing the closest. The couple looking at Will as if he might disappear if they stopped looking. The inconsolable blonde

(love, resent, must protect)

and the man with the goatee ugly sobbing

(love, respect, disappointment, abandoned.)

Will's eyes flitted from person to person before landing on one of the younger males. Dark hair, dark eyes, face frozen somewhere between horror and elation.

"Will, it's, don't you-don't you recognize us?" the eldest female asked after several tense moments.

"No," Will said, guiless. "Am I supposed to?"

Author's note:

Working title for this story: Will has amnesia and gives no fucks.

Thanks for reading and please give me some feedback. I definitely need it.