Chapter Text
Stepping out of that room felt like dragging a corpse behind him, forcefully pushing yourself to drag one leg after the other, hoping for the weight of his body to help the efforts to move forward instead of collapsing on itself. He couldn’t do that for too long, and stranded himself mid way, slowly leaning onto the wall to prevent himself from collapsing onto the stained with grime floor. Jonathan felt people brush against him as they made their way outside, someone patted his back, someone squeezed his shoulder, ruffled his hair - must be Hopper, he supposed. All those people were showing him their support. Their understanding of his turmoil. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. They never would. They didn’t have to listen to their little brother talk about being violated, about being insulted and robbed of innocence and autonomy. They didn’t have to witness their own flesh and blood admit to the fact that they were impregnated by assault. Forced to carry it. Bred.
Jonathan couldn’t help it and humourlessly laughed at the absurdity of this situation.
He used to be so annoyed with Will. Not immediately, no. Gradually.
He remembers, when weeks after Will’s return everything slowly began to settle back into normality, when his patience was slowly drying off, when the sleepless nights got to him and he couldn’t shake himself awake in class anymore.
It happened the night before his exam.
“CAN YOU JUST STOP IT FOR ONE NIGHT! ONE GODDAMNED NIGHT!” He was exhausted, drained from all the stress and yelled at Will after one of his nightmares, one where he yelped awake crying, panting breathlessly in cold sweat, where he wet the bed and Jonathan was tasked with changing it while their mom consoled the little weeping boy who was shaking from his terrors. Jonathan didn’t know. He didn't know. His brother was violated and used in the most horrific way, and instead of trying to understand it - he acted out like Lonnie would have - yelling at the helpless boy.
If he were honest, Jonathan did have some suspicions, but they were nowhere close to the reality. Will was a jittery boy. He flinched too hard, cried too easily, and shielded himself from touch unless it’s from his loved ones, the ones he trusted. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he was wondering if perhaps Lonnie did something they didn’t know about, if he was able to corrupt the boy further than they have known. It wasn’t his dad, however, but rather the manifestation of hell itself.
He didn’t know which one was worse, and that thought alone brought bile up until he could taste rot and acid on his tongue.
As Jonathan finally made his way out, he could feel the dry irritation in his throat despite an empty can of coke in his hand. He looked at his hand, wondering what it would have looked like with a golden ring adorning it and a forever promise of love and devotion, but all he got was a heartache and a migraine.
He stood outside, breathing in the fresh air that chilled through his entire body, making him feel almost relieved. So close to comfort. His lungs expand, his muscles relax, and he allows his eyes to slowly close and enjoy the thoughtless void.
He jumped a bit when someone touched his back, looking back startled, but hopeful of seeing those wild curls, those stark eyes that shot faster than any pistol could, to feel those hands that he learned to associate with comfort, love, and understanding. But that deep yearning was replaced with sharp and rapid irritation when he realised it’s not Nancy. It’s just his mom.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves his mom. He loves his family. He’d do anything for them, especially for Will. For Nancy too, he briefly thought, but that thought was buried with the ring. But when it came to his mom, he couldn’t deny that there is a clear misbalance in how their little family maneuvers, a rather unorthodox relation they all maintain with one another. He knew logically that he had himself to blame for Nancy leaving him, but he couldn’t drink away the bitterness of the censure that he puts on his mother, too. His mother - almost like a wife. They had a rather strange co-parenting relation when it came to Will. He would look at Nancy and Steve and Robin, heck, even Argyle, and the way they’d talk about their parents, seeing how they communicate, how they move around their elders only to realise that he cannot find parallels to his and his mom’s relationship. Where Nancy would huff at her mother for arbitrary rules, he would express support and appreciation, where Steve would look up to his father, he would stay equal with his mother, where Robin would eyeroll and shy away from hugs from her parents, he would hold his mother’s hand and she’d rub circles into his back.
Nancy called it odd. He called it trauma.
But now, with impending doom right above their heads, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he isn’t treated like a child. Never was. ‘It’s too dangerous, Will… Jonathan, you do it’ she said and all air left his lungs. Why him? Why not Steve, or Mike, or fucking Murray?
He guessed it’s because she sees him as an extension of their household, the second adult, the man - the husband. He hates that. He hates it so much that he wanted to bash her head against the wall sometimes, see her slide down and look at him with realisation behind her eyes that only Lonnie got to witness. He wanted to scream in her face about him being a child back then, too, about him being scared and hurt and needing his mom and not a fucking co-housed wife!
He stopped. Closed his eyes. And breathed in. Then out.
And again.
And again.
Until he’s got nothing of his father in his head. Until he could channel his mother’s sweet and lively voice, calling him back, grounding him in this cold and unnerving reality. But she never did, so he didn’t either.
He needs a smoke.
“Jonathan?” Joyce called.
“Mhm” he turned to look at her, the setting sun illuminating her dyed strands of hair that would gently hug around her thin frame and deep hung skin around her eyes. Those same eyes that could bear to look at Lonnie hurting him for years, but couldn’t at Lonnie lunging at Will. Never Will. Never her boy, her son. Too bad she had another, he thought grimly to himself.
Somewhere at the back of his mind he briefly wonders if she, too, thought of Lonnie as lowly as he did. If she had suspicions of her own, and maybe that’s why she’d try so much harder to protect Will than she did with him.
“Please go check on Will. He’s been in there for some time. Make sure he’s alright,” she said before leaving to help Hopper and Jane.
She doesn’t even know about Nancy, he realised. She doesn’t know, nor does she care. And yeah, why would she? Where does a failed proposal stand? Surely not between being possessed and violated. Oh, no, he planned a funeral at sixteen, well, his brother died at twelve. Not one of his problems reaches anywhere near Will’s, and he has to remind himself that it’s not Will’s fault. He shouldn’t blame him, even if he wants to.
With that, he looked back at the building they all left not too long ago, and slowly made his way back in.
“You aren’t like me, Will!” He heard muffled yelling. The echo vibrating through the walls. That unmistakably scrawny grainy voice of none other than Mike Wheeler. Again.
Why can’t he just leave Will alone? Why is it that prick’s goal is always to push Will close to tears? He saw and heard them in the van. He saw them in California, heard about RinkoMania and what transpired there, on Will’s birthday!
God, that fucking birthday. He will never forgive himself.
He remembers a few days after moving to the Wheeler house how they all sat together, just chatting and updating one another about their usual lives, and how out of nowhere Mrs Wheeler stood and went to grab a small wrapped gift.
“Will, here’s a small belated birthday gift from me! I bought it but completely forgot to give it to Mike when he was visiting,” she said as she handed him the small gift which Will took from her with such care and gentleness as if the box itself was made from porcelain. Jonathan remembers feeling his heart fall and a black empty void surfacing instead of it and spreading through his entire chest leaving a cold footprint wherever it touched. He quickly glanced at their mother, to see her still and absorbed in horror. Her hands clenching on themselves.
What happened next could be summarised in one word: a mess.
Everyone standing, everyone swarming, shouting and blaming one another. The only one who did nothing was Mike, who sat in silence the entire time with his eyes wide to their fullest, his gaze drenched in Will and only Will, following his body and moves. Jonathan was a little satisfied seeing Mike seething with guilt. And Will? He tried to absolve the situation, telling everyone that everything is okay, that it’s fine, it’s nothing to worry about. To that Jonathan could only sigh. Of course he would say that. Of course. Will, who didn’t have a single normal birthday in years.
His first birthday after the upsidedown came pretty quick, and Will was still drained from it, on bedrest, wrenching his guts out and looking sick at the mere idea of eating, let alone celebrating. Jonathan feels even worse now than he did just a day ago, because now he knows that it wasn’t a simple sickness - it was birth.
Then he was healing from the possession, just looking at a lit candle, feeling its heat and warmth made him scrutinise in fright and pain, quickly falling into a flashback, quickly falling to the floor and screeching.
Then they forgot.
Last March they were able to finally plan a new celebration. Everyone was involved - trying to compensate for the lost time.
It didn’t work. A crawl was planned instead.
He brushed those thoughts away and targeted his frustration back at Mike.
Jonathan opened the door, thanking God for it to be creaking and alerting them of his presence. “Will?” He called out.
“Ugh- Yeah?” Will called back, and Jonathan took it as a sign to walk in, seeing Mike and Will standing in front of one another. He went to look over Will, expecting him to be standing tear-stained, but instead his little brother stood flushed and wide eyed, holding his breath. Mike however was heaving, attempting and failing to hide his face, clumsily manoeuvring his limbs around his body.
“Is everything okay?” He asked Will, worried for his brother.
“Yes, we’ll be out in a minute,” answered Mike.
Idiot, thought Jonathan, holding back the urge to roll his eyes at the mere idea of communicating with Mike. Yet, still, a part of him couldn’t brush off the stinging of his heart when he saw Mike in tears. The same part of him that knew a little six year old Mike who called Lonnie a butthead, a part of him that used to bribe an eight year old Mike with gummies and time with Will so that he could invite Nancy to play D&D, a part of him that saw Mike worry and care for the boy he loved.
“No,” responded Jonathan, “now.”
With that, he made his way out. He rushed through the halls, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of guilt eating him alive, because he didn’t recognise himself. No, he recognised Lonnie. His voice. His tone. His clothes and how they wore the same scent of smoke and sweat, and most importantly, his unnerving impatience, and absolute leeriness and impassivity towards one awkward Mike Wheeler.
Once he made it outside he locked eyes with Nancy who mouthed something that looked suspiciously close to ‘Mike’ at him, a question burning through her eyes, and he nodded in response. She nodded back, looking back at the building. Waiting.
“Mike!” He could faintly hear Will’s muffled cries, “Mike, wait! Hold up!”
Mike on the other hand opened the doors wide open, rushing out, almost getting past Nancy. She however had different plans once she noticed his red-rimmed eyes and spaced breathing. Once again, her’s and Jonathan’s eyes locked and an unspoken understanding came to be where he immediately called Will over, saying that their mom asked for him. Will shifted his gaze rapidly. He continued to shift his eyes between the two boys and reluctantly, almost begrudgingly, with defeat in his eyes chose to follow Jonathan for now, but not before whispering something to Mike that made the taller boy jolt with anxiety. Mike couldn’t handle the stillness anymore, having resumed his fast paced walk. Jonathan glanced one last time at Nancy who gave him a grateful nod and chased her own little brother in efforts to sooth his worries away.
“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk here?” she said, voice stern and lacking warmth, but her eyes were tender with worry. She grabbed Mike by his shoulder in an attempt to stop him, get him to notice her, just for him to flinch and almost violently brush her off.
“Leave me alone, Nance!”
“What the hell is your deal? Now is not the time for this!” She continued, “Is this about Will? What did you do this time Mike?” She truly believed that she’s being reasonable, that this is the best way to overcome his teenage broodiness and unruly tantrums, only for Mike to rage instead, for him to turn at her in fury, eyes wide, maddening with anger at her and her alone. Unlike Will who cries with anger, Mike embraces it. Lets it thrive. Leads him.
“What is your deal?!” He barked back, his subtle curls heavy with sweat.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve heard me! I’m clearly having a hard time and instead of reaching out, you’re just antagonising me!” His voice boomed through the empty fields that surrounded both siblings, hands flying, teeth baring. Nancy couldn’t remember the last time she’s seen Mike like that. She couldn’t remember seeing Mike at all. It’s as if they didn’t even live together, let alone belonged to one family.
Why are they so estranged… they have gone through so much together. First Jonathan, now Mike… maybe, and just maybe, Nancy thought that she could be held accountable, too.
When Will spoke about being taken advantage of, when he was shaking and crying and sobbing, Nancy couldn’t think of anything but Holly. Even when he reassured her about her missing sister - him having gone through everything kept being just an afterthought. Something she won’t think about anymore. Shrugged off and forgotten. But that is Will, she realises now.
Will. The little boy that Mike brought home, the boy that spoke so softly and benevolently of Mike, making him sound like a knight in shining armour rather than a rascal hooligan that he truly is. Will, the first boy who complimented her pink dresses and curls. The first boy who asked her to a dance, even if it was in their living room and she was twelve years old. It was Will. He trusted her with his fears and all she gave him back was a goddamned nod.
She’s older. She’s better. She can do this calmly-
“I am reaching out, literally right now! Maybe think less about your whining and more about your family! Maybe show me that you care, Mike!” She couldn’t hold back the dam anymore, words spilling out of her before she could register them. “All this bravado is so jarring to see… you used to cry at the thought of your friends getting scraped knees and now… Mike… Our house is destroyed, our little sister is missing, parents are in the hospital dying, and you.. you didn’t even shed a tear…” Nancy’s legs gave up, having succumbed to the ground. She’s suddenly very aware of her body, not knowing what you do with her hands. She simply decided to dust her trousers, even though she’s kneeling on fields moist with humid air and wet dirt. Her mind is finally voiceless, having expelled every ounce of worry out. She quickly glanced up, looking at Mike, half-expecting him to scoff and leave and call her some stupid name, but instead he probed himself next to her with his lanky fingers intertwining with her own. It felt awkward and uncomfortable, and a little bit strange to have so much physical contact all of the sudden between them.
Merely for a second she wonders how the ring would have looked like on her. It would have looked good, she assumed, the gleaming gold adorning her slim fingers, taking away the focus from her cracked knuckles and broken skin around her nail beds.
She heard Mike breath next to her. “Nancy,” he whispered, his voice as fragile as her mind. “I.. I’m just,” he stopped to think about the right words, about the levels of honesty and vulnerability that he’s capable of right now. “I’m so tired of feeling something, Nancy, all the time. I feel like, you know, I’m about to burst, like, if I focus on something that requires emotions I won't be able to contain myself anymore,” he confessed, forcing himself to talk instead of shutting down. He felt his palms getting sweaty and pulled his hands back out of Nancy’s faint hold, slowly trying to wipe them on the grass around only to feel more wetness. Frustrated, he angrily wiped both of his hands on his pants, finally getting them dry, muttering nothingness under his breath.
Nancy who slowly watched him couldn’t help but grin, “you’re so stupid,” her voice light with hints of humour.
“I know,” he admitted as he stared right through her, the heaviness of that admittance palpable in the air around them, suffocating both siblings. “I know,” he repeated, more quiet this time, more to himself than anyone else.
“What happened, Mike? Why were you running away from Will?” This was her last chance, and Nancy knew that. She knew she had to get him talking before he changed his mind.
All Mike responded with is that he said all the wrong things at all the wrong times.
She pushed further.
He looked away, not daring to meet her eyes. His jaw went slack, unable to form sounds, let alone words. For a second, all he could do is think. He thought, and opened his mouth. Then shut it again. After another round of contemplation, he dug his fingers into the dirt, focusing on the cooling sensation of cold mud beneath him, twirling his covered with dirt fingers around some lost strands of grass. “I kind of told Will that, you know, me and him, we’re not the same. I mentioned, well, queerness.”
Nancy knew immediately. Of course she did. How could she not with the way Will looks at Mike, as if the boy hung the moon and stars himself?
Her jaw pressed together.
Mike still didn’t look at her, preferring to focus his interest on the setting sun, the almost darkness that was slowly falling on them all.
“Mike, did-” she pressed her lips together into a thin line, wondering how they got here, wondering how she got from A star essays to not having a single word on her mind. “Did you really tell Will that? I mean, he just opened up about something vile, almost inhumane, and you, what, throw his sexuality back at him?” She doesn’t mean to sound so judgmental, accusatory even, but gods gave her her father’s blood and hence she carries his impatience, too.
“What?” He looked at her quizzically, seeing her face for the first time in what seems forever.
“‘We’re not the same’? What other possible context could it be with this reaction from you?”
Mike kept staring, brows knitting together, “What does it have to with his-“ he looked around before speaking, hushing his voice, “…sexuality?”
Nancy wasn’t impressed, and her face must have conveyed that enough for even Mike to understand. She almost reminded Mike of Max, the same scowl and a complete look of dumbfounding exasperation whenever he opened his mouth.
“Plus, I wasn’t making fun of him!” He said defensively, hands waving in front of her.
Nancy just crossed her arms in response. “Oh, really. Then who?”
She saw a moment of uncertainty from him, something she didn’t know that her little brother possessed. He’s always been stoic, always fighting and yelling and screaming, the same boy who jabbed at all her problems, made fun of her insecurities, and weaponised her secrets is now being all nervous and coy. Jonathan would have known how to handle this, she realised. Jonathan. She missed him, needed him. He’s just as angry as her, just as frustrated, yet she never got a glimpse of that. He knew to hide it, and hid it well. He knew how to sympathise, what to say, when to embrace, and he used to teach her too. Where she lacked - he’d take over, where he hesitated - she’d march. She needed him so much now. Wanted him. Wants.
Mike whispered inaudibly.
“I didn’t catch that,” she clarified, sounding like a mother who’s forcing a child to apologise.
“Me?” He repeated, loud enough for her to hear it this time.
Her eyes span in frustration. “What about you, Mike?”
“Jesus, Nancy. Were you always this fucking stupid?”
“Language,” she gritted out, cringing at the familiarity of that tone and voice, and noting the same outraged grimace from Mike.
“Nance. Me. I was talking about myself,” and it all clicked for Nancy. Everything made sense now. Every look, every lingering touch. Everything.
She just kept looking at him, taking his entire look for once. She must be stunned. Shocked. She should be, after all. But she isn’t. She’s so used to Will and Mike - Mike and Will. Wherever you looked, you’d see them, and if not them, then you’d see what they left behind. Artworks, notes, clothes, whatever it is they are holding and doing. It’s been so obvious to her and Jonathan for so long that they muted it out, seeing them as just background static that will never normalise into a straight signal. All this time she couldn’t even look at El without seeing so much of Will in her.
Jesus Christ, her little brother was coming out to her and she couldn’t even pretend to care. What is wrong with her?
“Nancy?” Mike called quietly, lips beginning to wobble with tension.
“It’s okay,” she said at last, not having anything else to say. It was okay.
Mike hiccuped, having hidden his face in his shirt now.
Nancy looked at him in horror. She wanted to reach out to him, but decided against it, after all she’s not Jonathan, and he’s not Will. “Mike, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise you. I read about it in articles, it's just who you are biologically.”
“Ugh,” he looked back at her, snot dripping down his nose, using his sleeves to wipe it down. “Biologically,” he parroted her, “that’s so scientific, holy cow.”
Disgusting, she thought as she saw him wipe his snotty sleeves on his pants and wrinkled her nose. “I’m just telling you how it is.”
“But El.”
“What about El?” She asked.
“I liked her, I really did..” he told her, not so scared anymore, feeling lighter at his confession.
“Bisexuality is a thing, Mike. When you’re attracted to women and men. It’s pretty common I read.”
“Bisexuality,” he dumbly tested the word in his mouth. It felt wrong, and yet so right. The word itself didn’t matter to him, but it’s the fact that there are others out there just like him. People who understood. That even among the freaks he’s no longer the oddest one out. Its being written about, and that warmed his heart, because no one would write something meaningless and unimportant into existence, and that he knew for sure.
“So,” she cleared her throat, “did you come out to Will and he didn’t take it well?” She didn’t believe in her words, saying them simply to urge her brother to talk, because even she knew that if there is somebody who would never turn away from anyone, it would be Will. Mike however didn’t seem to think so, always too scared to seem uncool in Will’s eyes. Even as a little kid, he’d lie about having no fears in attempts to impress the other boy.
“Umm,” he looked away embarrassed, “I kind of blurted it out and ran away?” He lazily smiled to uplift the conversation and omitted some other interruptions, exhausted from the seriousness of their talk.
“Mikee,” she groaned in growing frustration. She didn’t press further however, also feeling the tiredness between them. For a split second she allowed herself to be encompassed by their little giggles, enjoying a small moment that they’ve both been starved on, relishing each other’s company.
“GUYS!”
Both Wheelers jumped at the sudden voice, immediately looking behind them to see an infuriated and blazing with rage Hopper madly heading their way, bending wheats under his boot.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS NOW!?” He yelled, not caring an ounce. “We were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago and instead we’re playing fucking tag-the-wheelers!”
“Oh, shit,” Mike quickly jumped to his feet, running back to the base and abandoning Nancy and Hopper, leaving them to stroll behind as he rapidly approached the party with Will standing in the front and looking right at him with relief. A shy smile complimenting his blushed cheeks.