“A couple of weeks,” Will replies nervously fiddling with his sleeves. “It’s a mindfuck at first.” It’s still a mindfuck but he doesn’t want to say that because maybe other people are adjusting better than him. He’s sure plenty of the adults trapped here aren’t sitting awake at night missing their mothers.

There is definitely something wrong with the other boy though Will has no idea what it might be, just that his mannerisms are off. He seems twitchy and the small flashes of almost jerky movement and the way he follows orders is… uncanny. However having seen firsthand the kind of damage judging people on a first impression or for being a little strange does he’s not one to point it out. He is, however, concerned it could be something to do with how the boy looks like he’s smashed into something fairly recently.

“Has anyone checked you over?” It’s a question asked hesitantly, tone soft and quiet. He doesn’t reach out, keeping his hands to himself even though he wants to because he knows the power of a gentle hand on the shoulder.

Will looks over him again, the bruises look new but not too new, like they’ve had a few days to settle in and change colour. The bandages on the boys face look clean enough but something like that can leave you concussed. Will has seen enough people get their faces smashed up to know about concussions and the lifespan of a bruise.