Chapter Text
July 3rd, 1987
He steps out of his mother’s car, into the Wheeler driveway, tired in a way that words cannot explain. If he had to guess, he’s got borderline heatstroke, the result of spending all day in the Indiana summer sun, repairing a military base in downtown Hawkins.
They kept him late today, which meant overtime, and more money. But it also meant he missed the big party at Allie’s. A Fourth of July bash. Which, if he’s honest, he’s not too torn up about. Even if he hates the work.
Hopper had broached the idea of someone working for the government contractor fixing up the MAC-Z. He looked to Steve first, but Harrington had never worked a hard day in his life.
That’s how Jonathan wound up spending months doing grunt work building and repairing military structures around Hawkins. It had gotten them some legitimate info as to the layout of the base and satellite structures. And had only cost him some precious time in the Wheeler basement. Pay wasn’t too bad, either.
“This is good work, kid,” Hopper had told him under the WSQK station when he had shown him his detailed map of the base almost a year ago. “Looks like the crawls are on.”
He’s not sure he’d ever seen Nancy so proud of him.
Now he’s standing in her driveway, a year later and the work is dull and back breaking. He’s not sure why he’s still doing it, other than that it’s part of his routine.
What he wants now is a hot shower and a cold drink and a long sleep. But his bed is a futon so the sleep is probably out. Still, he walks towards the door to the basement when he hears a noise.
“Psst, Jonathan,” Nancy waves from her backyard.
“Nancy?” He can’t help the smile that crosses his face, even now. “You’re drunk,” he realizes as she stumbles across the grass and embraces him.
“You stink, baby,” she mutters. “Like really bad, wow.”
“Thanks,” he grumbles, breaking apart from her. “Long day.”
Nancy shocks him, by pulling him back into her arms. “I didn’t say I minded the smell. It’s part of you. And I like you.”
“Uh, sorry, Nancy,” he mumbles as his arms fall back around her. “I’m out of it. Like I said, long day.”
“All your days are long,” she complains into his chest. “This bullshit grind Hopper has you on. Thank god it’s ending. I missed you at the party.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he snarks. “Missed me sitting against a wall, nursing a beer?”
She shrugs against him. “I always miss you.”
“That’s not true, Nancy.” He again breaks away from her.
Nancy stomps off into the backyard and away from the house. For a second, he thinks about just going inside, but he’s drawn to her. Like he always is.
“You think I don’t like you?” She accuses him, index finger wagging in front of her body.
“I think you’re drunk,” he offers. “And you like me fine.”
Her arms are crossed in front of her, now and she’s chewing her lip, swaying slightly on her feet.
“If I’m lying, why did he show me you, last year?”
“What, Nancy?”
She looks around the yard, fear in her blue eyes.
“Vecna,” she whispers as she turns back to him.
“Vecna?” he repeats, confused.
“Henry. He’s going to kill everyone I love. Holly. Mike. Mom. Dad.” She hiccups and laughs, bitterly. “You, too. I saw you dead, Jonathan.” She’s unable to hide the emotion in her voice, to stop it from cracking. Tears fill her eyes and then fall. “Body broken, blood spilling from you everywhere, limp on the ground. How could I go on with you dead?”
The admission floors him. Nancy has never mentioned him in the nightmare that monster put in her mind. Part of him is scared that he’s going to die. The other part is happy that she loved him enough back then to be included.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says, softly, “I’m pretty sure that your love for me is all but gone. I think I’m off the hook.”
Nancy looks at him with confusion on her pretty face. She shakes her head, wildly, back and forth, her wild hair whipping in the moonlight.
“That’s the thing,” she slurs, “I do fucking love you. Like so much. And it kills me. Why you? Why not someone else? And I don’t know, Jonathan. I don’t know.”
There’s tears in her eyes, again. She’s looking at him like he’s at fault for all her problems, Jonathan thinks. He probably is. Has anyone hated themselves as much as he does, he wonders? Nancy takes a step to him and stumbles into his arms. Almost weightless against his chest, her tears stain his shirt. He can’t help but embrace her, fully. After a moment she hiccups and looks up towards him.
“Why does everything hurt, Jonathan? Why can’t we go back? Why can’t it be easy again? I see your pain, too. All of it. What did we do to deserve this? It’s too much. I can’t breathe.”
Another sob, another hiccup and she’s now collapsing towards the ground. Jonathan picks her up in his arms and carries her to the wooden porch swing not too far away. He sits and slowly starts rocking them.
“My big strong man,” she mutters into his chest, snuggling against him. It’s easy, when he’s sitting, to keep her in his arms, against his body. Part of him wishes to never let her go. The other part is tired, exhausted from everything. This town, this place, this fight, this family, this house, this girl. He wants to disappear and hide, to never be seen again.
Is it the Lonnie in him? The desire to run, to hide, to push people away? He hates that there’s any part of his father in him. One more thing to add to the list of self-loathing, he guesses.
Then she hiccups again, pulling him out of his reverie, and he’s rocking her gently, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and it’s just him and her. As it always has been. “I love you, Nancy Wheeler,” he says into her head, stroking her hair, meaning it like he never has before. She’s slipping through his grasp, water in his fingers, and he wants to say it like this one more time, at least. After a moment, she lifts her head from his chest.
“Hey,” she says with some level of clarity. “Hey there, my love. My Jonathan.” Her hands move to his face, a surprisingly gentle caress follows, considering how inebriated she is. Nancy then pulls him to her in a kiss, soft at first, testing. Then it’s harder, more of a fight. He refuses to yield, which causes her to retreat, but not before pulling his bottom lip with her teeth as she goes.
“I missed this,” she says, kissing his face, moving down to his neck. “Missed you. Where have you been? I’ve been so lonely.” Her head is in his hands as she’s under his jaw, pressing her lips on that spot where she can feel his pulse.
“I’ve been here, Nancy. The whole time.”
She pulls away and looks in his eyes. The blue there is vibrant, even in the low light of the night. God, how he loves her, even now.
“Bullshit. You’ve been gone. Gone.” There’s tears in her eyes, again. “But I’m too scared to look for you, because what if you don’t want to be found?”
“You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.” He tries to keep his tone neutral, free of bitterness. “Maybe Steve? He seems willing.”
She blows a raspberry at that, sending actual spittle flying onto his face. “Why would I want him? I told you, I want you. Only you.” Her lips are back on his neck. “You’re the only one who sees me,” she admits. “No one else does. They don’t know. Robin? Steve? My family? Someone else?” Nancy shakes her head sadly. “Only you know me.The real me. Broken Nancy Wheeler.”
“And broken Jonathan Byers.” He adds.
“Yeah, broken together,” she whispers. Her lips are on his again, this time they’re in sync. After what feels like forever, they break apart, gasping.
“Who else could ever understand me, but you, Jonathan?”
With surprise deftness, she positions herself so she’s straddling him. Nancy grinds into him, both arms wrapped around his head. Jonathan moves his face to her chest and breathes deeply. Despite her level of inebriation, she still manages to get him hard and tries in vain to get his pants off.
“You used to climb into my room when you first moved in to the basement and fuck me, almost every night.” Nancy whispers in his ear as she licks it. “Then fall asleep next to me, tied up amongst me. Why’d you stop?”
“Why’d you lock your window?”
“Did I?” Nancy looks at him with love in her eyes. Then in a flash, it’s gone, she’s gone and on the grass, puking. He’s quick to be there for her as it all comes up, grabbing as much of her hair as he can and softly rubbing her back. After a moment, she rolls away from the pile of vomit on the grass, moaning. Jonathan picks her up off the ground and takes her into his arms, again.
He carries her up the stairs, quietly, gently, and into her bedroom. Another Jonathan Byers once did the same for another Nancy Wheeler. There’s been plenty of drunk Nancy nights, of late. That’s probably his fault, too. She vacillates between mean and clingy when she’s two sheets to the wind. The mean Nancy is familiar to him, like greeting an old enemy he thought was long defeated, one who arms herself with emotional blades she aims at his weakest points.
He finds the clingy even more upsetting. That’s in her, somewhere. Those feelings, the depth of them, for him. They’ll collapse into each other at night, and in the morning, it all falls apart. Nancy’s back to pushing him away, feeling guilty about drinking and letting him in at all. If he’s honest, it hurts more than her blades.
As he tucks her in, she reaches for his arm. “Stay,” she pleads.
Jonathan goes, leaving her behind.