The flash of horror and guilt that crossed Robin's face made Will's gut clench, and without intending to he stiffened minutely, as though stung by the caring touch to his shoulder. He was imagining how much deeper the horror would cut if Rob were to know the whole story. Imagining what it would be like to have Robin Hood's eyes turned on him with pity, finally seeing him for what he was: a failing, fading supporting player who might have outlived his usefulness.
Will sucked in a breath. "We go our own ways sometimes. We've always done that. But we just assume, and— and stuff's not always okay. Like when Tuck lost his kids, he needed us then." I needed you. The words snagged in his throat, and he coughed to clear it. "And like— why'd George stop checking in? And Art, has anyone seen him since ninety-nine? And... not all of us make the cut in the new stories, y'know? That's not a... it's what happens, it's just what it is... but it means we don't come back as easy. When stuff goes bad."