Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maybe Jonathan should just mind his own business. 

He did it when he saw Will’s painting in his room – unintentionally, of course, when he returned the rogue shirt found in his laundry basket, and Will’s canvas was sitting in the open. He did it at the airport when Mike gave his brother the worst hug he’s ever seen. He did it when Will sat and stared at Mike over the breakfast table. Really, Jonathan had only stepped in after he saw Will crying at the back of the van. Then, in the quiet kitchen of the pizzeria, Will revealed what Jonathan has known since they were kids; he couldn’t get the words out, not explicitly, but he didn’t need to.

Jonathan has always known, and he’s always tried to help Will feel loved in spite of it. When they were kids and Lonnie would call him names, Jonathan would take away their power –“I mean, if you think about it, even queers are happier than Lonnie. At least they don’t wake up with sticks up their butts.” – even through the tears, it always seemed to bring a smile back to Will’s face.

Jonathan has always tried to protect Will. Now, more than ever, that means helping him accept who he is. 

The best way Jonathan knows how to do that is by normalizing concepts; by getting rid of negative connotations around certain words and ideas, and replacing them with something lighter. Something that eases the shame. Like the time they went to the mall with El and there were two guys hanging a little too close to each other at the food court. Will’s eyes had lingered and Jonathan noticed, nudging him with a small smile. “Well, that’s no good. Which of them is supposed to pay the bill?”  

Will looked surprised at first – but he was able to refocus and reply with, “Definitely the one in stripes.”

It’s easier than Jonathan expects. Lenora is bigger than Hawkins; things that would’ve gotten you shoved into a locker in Indiana don’t necessarily prompt a reaction here. They just exist, separately, and no one mentions them. Jonathan is able to rework some of his own biases while helping Will rework his. He doesn’t feel guilt for accepting this like he used to. He doesn’t flinch over certain words or feel like he’s inclined to explain himself for his support, and lucky, in Lenora, there isn’t much need. 

Jonathan wonders if that’s why Will had the confidence to give Mike his painting. He knows of a few kids at the high school that are like Will – not quite in the open, but not quite a secret. Maybe Will has talked to them before. Deep down, Jonathan hopes he has. 

It’s important to him that Will isn’t ashamed of who he is, but an official conversation seems too abrupt, too daunting, so Jonathan settles with the subtleties. He settles with a hug in the pizzeria, and with a reassuring hand on Will’s shoulder whenever Mike and El go off to do their own thing. A fond ruffle of hair when they have to pack up and move again. He knows Will would never ask for reassurance himself, so Jonathan tries to pay close attention now, picking up the cues where he can. No matter what, he always leaves his door open to Will if he needs to talk about it – the cataclysmic thing that mustn’t be named, but still needs to be vented about. He tries to express his support whenever there’s an opening, and maybe it’s too much, but Jonathan would rather Will know for sure than to doubt for a second that he’d be loved.

To Jonathan, Will didn’t need a formal declaration of his preferences. There was no need for him to say, “I’ve liked Mike since before I knew what it meant” because it’s obvious. It always has been.

That’s why Mike Wheeler irritates him so badly.

Mike, who never bothered giving his brother a call back. Mike, who dodged his brother’s hug at the airport. Mike, who never fails to make every moment about him and El – and yeah, Jonathan is grateful that El has someone, too, but it’s getting on his nerves. 

If Jonathan’s honest, though, he and Mike have never really gotten along. Not even when Will was young and bright, bringing his new friend around the house for the first time. They never really talked unless Will was around, and even when he was, Mike had a smugness about him that Jonathan always clashed with. It only got worse when Jonathan started dating Nancy. When they’d see each other at the Wheeler’s, Mike always seemed to take a special kind of offense to it, biting out some kind of remark that made Jonathan think oh great, so that’s where Will got that from.  

Sometimes Jonathan wonders if he should be above a rivalry with a freshman. It seems a little childish. After all, they’re living two separate lives, connected only through thin strings: Nancy and Will.

Then, on a cold night in October, he stumbles upon Will at the table, eyes downcast and watery. It makes Jonathan realize he doesn’t care if hating a freshman is immature.

El’s door is open three inches across the hall. It’s a stiff rule in the new house, Hop’s request, even after Mike and El broke up a few months ago. The stifled laughter and muffled voices still find their way into the kitchen as Jonathan pulls a seat out.

“Hey, man, everything okay?”

Will blinks harshly and looks up at him. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” 

By now, Jonathan knows that’s code for everything is not fine, but I don’t want to bother you, so he frowns and replies, “Come on. Let’s talk in my room.”

So they do. Will tells him about how Mike had called, asking if they could hang out, and now he’s with El instead; about how stupid he feels for getting his hopes up. He tells Jonathan that he feels like Mike was just using his voice so he could get to El without tripping up the feds, and Jonathan listens, trying to ignore the rage boiling in his chest.

Maybe Jonathan should mind his own business.

But, he decides, he’s not going to.

Not because this is Will’s crush, Mike – but because he’s Will’s friend, Mike, and friends don’t do that to each other. Will might be too nice to say something to Mike’s face, but Jonathan has nothing to lose. Mike will dislike him regardless. 

So, when it gets late, after the sun sets, Jonathan tells Mike that he’ll drive him home. 

His offer takes everyone by surprise. Will gives him a wary look the same time that Mike does, but Mike ultimately agrees on account of the weather. The goodbyes are awkward. He gives El a hug, pointedly avoiding Will’s touch when Will goes in for a hug of his own, and Jonathan wonders if El could loan him her powers just long enough for him to explode Mike’s brain. He helps Mike fit his bike into the trunk. When Mike tries to crack a joke and Jonathan glares at him, he seems to get the message, and it’s silent from that point on. 

There’s the muffled whirring of wind catching on the windshield as they pass by cornfields on their way back into Hawkins, brightened by dimming headlights. Mike is crowded closely against the passenger door. If Jonathan didn’t know better, he'd say he looks uneasy.

When they’re about five minutes out, Jonathan starts pulling together a plan. There are a few ways this conversation could start, but one thing is certain: he can’t make it seem like it’s happening because Will wanted it to. He’d never hear the end of it if Will found out what he’s doing, so he needs to be subtle. Just enough to get Mike to treat him better. Just enough to redirect things.

He settles on a stern, “Mike, I think we need to have a talk.”

He doesn’t get an immediate response. When he glances to his right, he sees Mike’s visible disinterest in what he has to say. 

Mike holds a hand up. “Uh, I’m gonna stop you there,” he says. “Hop already beat you to the punch last summer. Besides, me and El aren’t even together anymore, so it’s like, totally unnecessary to have this conversation.” 

Jonathan glances over at him. “What are you talking about? This isn’t about you and El.”

“Then what’s it about?” Mike asks, bored. “And what’s this bullshit with you offering me a ride? You never do that. Not even when it’s raining.”

A huff. “If you’d be quiet for like, two seconds I could explain.”

Mike’s scrunches weirdly. He leans further away. “Jesus, you’re not about to ask me for Nancy’s hand in marriage, right.”

“What?” Jonathan tries not to swerve the car. “No. It’s about Will. We need to talk about Will.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. Jonathan turns right on a country road, dark forest surrounding them on both sides of the car; lightning bugs flicker in the trees.

When Mike speaks again, his voice is a little cautious, a little softer. 

“What about Will?”

Jonathan hesitates. “The way you’ve been treating him – ” He shakes his head – “I don’t like it. You’ve been acting like he’s some dog, like you can just kick him to the curb and abandon him whenever you want. It’s not fair to him.”

Mike stares at him. His smugness had already evaporated, but only now does Jonathan pick up its absence. “What?”

Jonathan barrels forward before common sense can catch up to him. “You, calling today, asking Will to hang out and then spending the rest of the day with El,” he says. “He deserves so much better than that and you know it, Mike. Why are you being such a douche to him all of a sudden? What the hell happened to you two?”

Mike doesn’t say anything.

“Last I knew, you were staying days with him to make sure he was safe, and now – I don’t know, it’s like you don’t even give him a second glance.” Jonathan drums his fingers over the steering to release his nerves. “I mean, come on. Do you even realize how much you mean to him? He waited every day in California for that phone call, Mike. Every single day, and here he finally gets one, and all you do is sit around with his sister. That’s shitty,” he says, then for good measure, he adds, “And I mean, really shitty. It’s not even the first time this has happened, either. It’s like you don’t care about him anymore.”

Mike sits beside him. Another bout of silence blankets over them. “But I don’t – ” He starts before stopping himself, putting a hand on his forehead. “If Will wanted to talk, why didn’t he just call me?”

Jonathan hates Mike Wheeler. “That’s all you got from that?”

“Does he seriously think I never tried to talk to him?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan frowns. “I mean, he tried calling a few times, too, but you never picked up. I guess he just gave up after a while.”

Mike sinks further into the rough fabric of his seat, deflated. Jonathan’s eyes flicker from him to the road a couple of times before he asks, “Did you try to call?”

“Yes, Jonathan. Like, every day for months.” Mike looks annoyed – more annoyed than usual. “No one bothered telling me about your mom’s fancy telemarketer job where she uses the phone.” He crosses his arms. “I only found out because El said so in one of her letters, and by then – I don’t know. I was coming to California for the week anyway, so I didn’t mention it.”

Jonathan sits in silence. He flicks on his brights after a car zips past them on the road. “That’s why you never talked to Will?”

“Yeah.”

Jonathan raises a brow at how quickly the response comes. He presses, “Really?”

Mike makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Yes.”

“Really.”

Annoyed, “Jonathan.”

“Okay, all right,” he says with an abrupt shrug. “What’s the deal, then?”

Mike’s brows scrunch as he looks over at Jonathan. “What?”

“You say it’s because of the phones,” he starts, “Okay. But that resolved itself when we moved back here, so why are you still acting weird?”

Mike pulls a face. “I’m not acting weird.”

Jonathan presses further. “But you are acting different.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m in high school now, Jonathan,” Mike replies. “Is it such a crime to grow up?”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah.”

Mike snaps his gaze over to him, scoffing in disbelief. “‘Yeah’?”

“Yeah.” Jonathan meets his eyes, the tension rising with his voice. “Yeah it is when it affects my brother.”

Mike sinks further into his seat. “Well that’s very chivalrous of you, man. I’m sure Will appreciates having a helicopter sibling.”

Jonathan glares. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours?” Mike deflects. “You don’t know a single thing about me, and you’re out here acting like I’m the reason Will’s life sucks. Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, that’s completely out of my control?”

“I’m not saying you’re the sole reason, Mike,” he replies, “what I’m saying is that it’s adding, and he doesn’t need that.”

Mike narrows his eyes. “So what, I just shouldn’t be friends with him anymore?” he asks. “You want us to stop hanging out or something?”

“I want you to treat him like he deserves to be treated,” Jonathan says, both hands on the wheel. “You’re not doing that right now, so yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “That’s such bullshit!”

“You know what’s bullshit?” Jonathan snaps. “You leaving him in the dust when he is so mortifyingly devoted to you. He is so loyal, and you don’t seem to think he’s worth even a second of your time!” His grip tightens, subtlety damned. “When’s the last time you guys did something he wanted to do? When’s the last time you called him to hang out?"

Defensively, Mike huffs. “We watched a movie last Friday.”

“With El,” Jonathan rebukes, “and Jesus, Mike, you watched the fucking Breakfast Club. He hates that movie.”

“Okay then, sorry,” Mike says. “I guess we haven’t done anything for a while. Is that what you want to hear?”

Jonathan’s exhale empties his entire lungs. He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to regain control over his temper. “Are you really this dense?”

“Dense?”

His eyes snap open. “Yeah, Mike. Goddamn dense.”

Mike narrows his eyes again. Bitterness is heavy on his tongue. “Oh, man, that’s pretty rich coming from you,” he says. “Maybe I should mention all the times I’ve heard Nancy crying over the dumpster fire that is your relationship – then we could talk about being fucking dense.”

Jonathan shouldn’t say his next words. He knows it’s too personal. But he feels a horrible rush of guilt and anger at Mike’s prod, and they reach the light before he can stop them.

“Maybe you should. Then I could mention all the times Will has cried about the friendship you ruined,” he says. “You try and act like it’s his fault – like he brought it upon himself or something – but it’s always you. Will didn’t do a single thing to deserve the way you treat him, and I’m sick of it, Mike.”

He expects a rush of equally below-the-belt hits to follow. He expects a scoff and a roll of the eyes, and another jump at his and Nancy’s relationship – but that isn’t what happens. 

The atmosphere’s overstrung edge dissolves in the form of silence, Mike’s smugness fading into a muddled mix of shock and regret. It’s quickly masked, covered by a neutral expression, but Mike can’t seem to help himself when he speaks up again.

“Are you trying to say that I’ve made Will cry?” 

The question strikes Jonathan as outlandish. With the amount of times he’s sat and comforted Will about Mike, it’s offensive. Will has shed more tears over Mike than he has the Upside Down. 

And maybe it’s more information than necessary, but he replies with a blunt, “Yeah, Mike. Constantly.”

It’s quiet for at least three miles. 

The minutes drag like molasses. Jonathan tries his best to calm himself down, regret simmering in his stomach. He shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have said as much as he did – but deep down, there’s a small part of him that still feels justified. He doesn’t regret what he said, he just regrets the way he went about it. He sets his jaw and stares forward at the road.

Beside him, Mike seems conflicted. He eventually breaks the silence, asking an all-too-quiet, “You said, constantly?” and Jonathan nods at him, watching Mike’s shoulders drop in shame. “About what?”

“A lot of stuff,” Jonathan replies vaguely. “Does it matter?”

The tension is only surface level now. High-strung tempers have fizzled out like the carbonation in a joggled soda can. Mike’s concern seems genuine but it’s suppressed; unwilling to admit how much this has affected him, even when it’s written across his face.

“Why wouldn’t Will tell me?”

“Because he’s Will.” Jonathan doesn’t need to add more, but he does. “He doesn’t like being a burden to other people, you know? He feels bad when stuff like this happens. He blames himself. And it’s not like you’ve made yourself a very welcoming place for him to go.”

Mike frowns deeply. “You’re not bullshitting me here, right?”

Jonathan blows out a breath and gives a small shrug. “Are you bullshitting me about Nancy?”

Mike receives the message loud and clear. He shifts in his seat, watching the trees speed past his window. A long minute passes before he says anything else. 

“I guess I was waiting for him to call, too.”

His words catch Jonathan off-guard. “What?”

Mike hesitates for a few beats, like he’s debating on whether or not to respond to that. It seems like his uncertainty is overpowered against his will. “I don’t know. Earlier we were talking about the phone situation,” he explains. “I waited for him to call, but then he never did, and – I mean, I don’t know, I assumed he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” 

Will not wanting to talk to Mike. Jonathan glances over in disbelief. “What? Why wouldn’t he?”

A frown weighs at the sides of Mike’s lips. He stares at the trees again and shrugs. It seems like he has something else to say but he can’t find the words, so Jonathan stays silent – tries to patiently await the next break of this horribly awkward silence, eyes scanning for deer as they drive through a dark, forested area. 

A few more seconds pass. Then, “Sometimes,” Mike says, messing with the hem of his shirt, passing it between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. I still feel bad about it.” 

The atmospheric shift is bizarre – it’s the quick difference between standing on land and being pulled out to sea. The difference between safety and uncertainty. Mike looks down at the floorboard beneath his feet.

Jonathan throws a glance his way. “Bad about what?”

Mike shrugs again, unsure how to respond; he’s shifting in his seat, like he’s trying to crawl out of his skin and escape the conversation, but the look on his face tells Jonathan he needs to get something off his chest and he just isn’t sure how to broach it. 

But he tries. As a start, he says, “All of it. I guess.”

Jonathan doesn’t reply at all this time. He waits, stepping off his metaphorical soapbox to offer the floor to Mike instead. 

Mike looks uncertain, but the dam is cracking. He continues begrudgingly, “Last summer was,” he pauses, “weird.”

“Weird?” prompts Jonathan.

“Maybe different is a better word,” he corrects. “I don’t know.”

Jonathan goes silent again, wordlessly leaving the ball in Mike’s court. Something seems to happen in those few seconds of silence. It’s like Mike’s thoughts have been building for months and months and they’re finally able to be set free, because Mike takes a sudden deep breath and starts rambling.

“I was just so freaked out,” he says. “It’s like, here I am, getting a girlfriend. Trying to fit in with all the other guys our age. And all I can think about is the fact that Will is still trying to play D&D.” He looks at the ceiling of the car. “He’s dressing up and having fun and acting like it matters – and that’s what I want to do, too, obviously, but I was trying so hard to seem mature and stuff that I pretended it was stupid.“

Jonathan tries not to show his surprise. He apparently doesn’t do a good job, though, because Mike is curling in on himself.

“Sorry,” he adds quickly. 

“No, no, it’s – ” Jonathan gives a loose gesture that doesn’t really mean anything. “It’s fine. If you need to rant or something, I don’t care,” he says, because as much as he hates Mike Wheeler, his curiosity is getting the better of him. He wants to know what happened last summer. It’s something Will has never felt comfortable talking about, but something tells him that Mike knows the pieces of the story that he’s missing.

Mike looks at him warily. “What?”

Jonathan shrugs, noncommittal. “Well, I know I’m not like, the choice person for you to talk to, but if you need to get something off your chest, go ahead.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t you just cussing me out like fifteen minutes ago?”

Jonathan doesn’t really have a response to that. So instead, he says, “Do you need someone to talk to or not?”

It’s presumptuous, but it seems to hit Mike. He considers the offer for a moment. 

“Whatever,” Mike says, “I guess.”

Jonathan gives a nod and allows the silence to fall again. Mike folds his arms over his chest, closing himself off. Protecting himself. Distancing himself from the situation. He doesn’t look like he hates the idea of talking about his problems, but it’s awkward – too vulnerable, almost, so Jonathan purposely tries to make himself look more welcoming. He softens his expression and drops his shoulders a bit, because Mike sucks – he’s annoying, and too smug, and endlessly dull, but Jonathan wonders what is laying under the surface. People show their true colors when they’re vulnerable. 

Mike’s expression is completely rigid. He looks deep in thought, seemingly unsure where to begin or what to say. So, tentatively, Jonathan prompts, “Why don’t we start with last summer,” he says. “You mentioned it being weird. Different. Why?”

That seems to be the million dollar question, because Mike immediately sighs in frustration. The dam begins to crack again.

“I guess having El back is what started everything,” he admits. “It’s not like I regret our relationship, but – you know, everything just changed so fast. I felt like I couldn’t keep up.” 

Mike keeps his gaze locked onto the dashboard. Jonathan stays silent.

“I felt like, I don’t know, I was supposed to give up a bunch of things I liked.” Mike’s voice is losing its steadiness. “Anything that made me seem like I wasn’t mature enough, I got rid of. I kind of stopped acting like myself, but I thought if El was happy, what was the big deal?” He shakes his head. “That ended up not working out, though. Neither of us were actually happy in the end. I think we were always meant to just be friends, and I was just so desperate for someone to look my way that I didn’t let her out of it.”

The words spew from Mike’s mouth like a waterfall. His eyes widen a bit when he realizes what he just said, and he tries to speed past it. “But anyway, I guess I didn’t realize that it was also, you know, affecting the rest of the Party.” Mike continues, “I have this problem where I don’t really notice things until they build up to this big, huge deal, and I say things I don’t mean. Then I, uh, I ruin things. Like what happened with Will. And I never do it on purpose. Like, I’m not actively sitting down, plotting on how to make everyone around me miserable, but that’s just how things always seem to play out.”

Jonathan perks up at this, and not necessarily in a good way. For the first time in a while, he speaks, “‘Like what happened with Will’?”

Mike sighs. “We got into this big fight about me being a flake,” he says. “Looking back, he was totally in the right, just – I don’t know, I was too stubborn. I apologized, but I feel like things have never been the same since then. He’s more distant now. Like he doesn’t really like being around me or something.” He gives a noncommittal shrug. “It’s my own fault. I know that. I was the one who told him that we needed to grow up. That we need to, you know, move on – but at the end of day, it was all bullshit,” he admits. “I just wanted to be a kid, too. I wanted to play D&D, and talk to Will like we used to, and I guess that’s what scared me.”

His voice is wavering, full of jitters and adrenaline, but Jonathan listens all the same. He wonders if this is the first time Mike has ever been able to really vent to someone.

“Why?” Jonathan asks.

Mike shrugs again, but this time, there’s more aggression behind his movements. “I shouldn’t feel that way,” he says eventually. Simply. “I should be able to grow up and be normal like everyone else, but I just – I don’t know. I feel like I’ve never been able to do that. And it was even worse when Will kept pushing me on it.”

He pauses when Jonathan eases over a speed bump. As he regains momentum, Mike blows out a breath.

“I know he doesn’t like when I’m with El a lot, but whenever I try to divide my time between them, it’s – ” He pauses. “God, I don’t know. It shouldn’t be this hard. I guess it’s confusing too because I’m fine being friends with everyone else at the same time – Lucas, Dustin, Max. But not El and Will. I’ve never been able to have both of them at the same time. It’s almost like my brain can’t focus on them, or something? Like they occupy too much space.”

This is the first major thing that strikes Jonathan as odd. It reminds him of when Nancy described being with Steve and then getting together with Jonathan; the feeling of being caught between two romantic interests. He makes the choice to take a different road to give Mike more time to talk. The road turns to gravel, bumpily skidding under the tires of Jonathan’s Ford Galaxie, and they continue driving.

“It’s just so confusing,” Mike repeats. “After you guys moved, I felt like I was stuck. Like I had this whole – I don’t know – persona or something that I had created, and I had to stick with it,” he says. “It only really lasted for a few months, though. I was getting tired of moping around in my basement, and Lucas and Dustin convinced me to sign up for the D&D club at school, and I don’t know. I guess Hellfire is where things started to change for me. It helped me remember what it was like to have fun again. Since I wasn’t the DM anymore, I could just sit back and enjoy the campaigns, and you know, Eddie – ” Mike’s words are cut off by a sudden swallow. When Jonathan looks over at him, there’s grief written on his face. It takes a second before he’s able to continue. “He was cool. He helped me see that you don’t, uh. You don’t have to stop liking things just because you’re getting older. He was always super confident about it. Liking D&D, I mean. I guess that’s what inspired me to play again.”

Jonathan nods, tone softening a bit. “I’m sorry.”

Mike shrugs, which seems to be his choice response when words elude him. “It’s fine,” he says. “I mean, Dustin said he died a hero, and that’s how I’ll always remember him, but – ” He shakes his head to himself. “You know, Eddie, Hellfire. That was my escape from all the shit we’ve had to deal with, so I guess in some ways, Eddie dying in the Upside Down feels like some kind of sick joke to me. It’s like no matter what, we just can’t move on, because there’s always gonna be some kind of damage from that that we can’t fix. And I know I’m like, the last person that gets to feel like that. Like, Will was stuck in the Upside Down and literally got possessed, and El has fought monsters like a hundred times now, but I just – ”  He wipes the side of his eye before Jonathan sees any of his tears fall. “Anyway,” he bristles, blinking harshly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so dark there.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Jonathan assures. “It’s good to get that stuff out. You know, healthy.”

Mike rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Uh, well,” he says to fill the silence. “I’m sure he’s in a better place now, or whatever you’re supposed to say.”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah."

“Hellfire’s ownership has now been officially forfeited to Dustin,” he says, an attempt to shift the topic that Jonathan willfully follows. “We made Will a shirt while you guys were in California but he doesn’t really like the club, so he hasn’t worn it. I guess it’s just not really his scene,” he says, “which is fine, you know. You guys only being back for a little while and us jumping on him to join our school club was probably not the welcome he wanted, but – I don’t know. Sometimes I wish he would join more. Play with us again. The other guys are cool, but it’s just not the same without Will there.”

As the layers unravel, Mike’s tone gets a little more sincere. It makes Jonathan wonder why this isn’t the Mike that he sees with Will. He prods a little further on behalf of his brother. “What’s so different about playing with Will?”

Mike looks over at him. “What?” 

Jonathan doesn’t repeat his question. He waits for Mike to register it instead.

“Oh,” he says after a second. “Everything, I guess. He just gets really into it, and that makes everything so much better. When I wrote campaigns as a kid, I always imagined Will’s reactions to it. Lucas and Dustin, too, but Will’s opinion on it felt – ” He pauses, looking for the right words.

Jonathan takes a shot in the dark and offers, “Special?” 

“Kind of,” Mike says. “It just felt like it was more earned, or something? I don’t know.”

Jonathan gives a nod. “Why don’t you talk to him about it?” he asks. “You know, about Hellfire. Joining again.”

Mike looks out the window. “We have a few times,” he says, “but I mean, I was the one telling him how stupid it was last summer. I feel like I don’t have the right to ask him anymore."

Jonathan doesn’t disagree. But if Will heard what Mike is telling him right now, he’d follow Mike into anything and feel content. 

“I’m sure if you were upfront about it, he’d listen,” he says. “And hey, maybe you could try small campaigns or something. Will never played in California, so, I don’t know, maybe he just needs to warm up to it again.”

Mike seems to consider this. “Maybe.”

The car goes quiet again. Jonathan drives a country road, surrounded by miles and miles of cornfields and electrical poles that string one to the other, and the occasional house built on a distant hill. The radio plays quietly, barely even distinguishable above the noises his old car drones out.

“Last summer,” Mike says slowly. “You know, I tried to act like the stuff with the Upside Down didn’t affect me. That it was all in the past. But that was bullshit, too. I mean, it’s been a year, and I still think about it. Then I have all the other stuff I have to deal with, and it’s just all too much sometimes.” He crosses his arms again. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. Not on purpose, at least, and definitely not to Will, but it just happens sometimes. I don’t even notice until someone brings it up. It feels like every time I try to be normal, it backfires.”

Normal carries a heavy weight on Mike’s tongue, spoken with a bitterness that triggers a memory in Jonathan’s mind; Will sitting on the corner of his bed, talking about feeling out of place, saying the same word in the same acidic tune. With Will, it’s because of his queerness – but for Mike, Jonathan’s unsure. Something about his tone itches at a part of Jonathan’s brain. Tells him it’s familiar. 

“It’s just hard. When we were kids, I felt like Will was the only one that ever really understood me, but now – ” He frowns to himself. “I mean, look at us. We barely talk anymore, and when we do, it’s always stupid shallow conversations. It’s like we don’t even know each other,” he says. “I’m not the same person I was when I asked him to be my friend, but a part of me wishes I was. It was before everything got all complicated. Back when it was just me and Will. When we’d stay up all night watching Star Wars or reading shitty comics or just talking. I feel like I’ve lost that.” He picks at his nail beds. “I’d give anything to go back to the way we used to be, honestly. Even before Lucas and Dustin and the Party. Just to go back to when I could talk to Will. ”

Jonathan looks over at him and frowns. “I didn’t realize you guys were so close.”

Mike gives a small shrug. “No one did, really.”

Jonathan raises a brow. The pieces slowly draw together in his mind, each of them finding its match like a magnet.

“I mean, I was close to Lucas and Dustin, yeah, they’re my best friends, but – there was always something different about Will.” Mike huffs, not out of anger – out of frustration.

His words begin to confirm Jonathan’s quiet suspicions. Slowly, he starts to understand what’s happening. It’s an itching of familiarity in the back of his mind.

Mike continues. His voice is trembling in a different way than before, Jonathan notices. It’s no longer full of adrenaline but emotion. It sounds raw. “I thought getting a girlfriend was supposed to help, but – you know, look at how that turned out.” He shakes his head to himself. “I tried so hard, but no matter what I did, no matter what I do, nothing works. It doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried everything, and it doesn’t work. I can’t be normal. Not like I’m supposed to be.”

That’s the final nail in Mike’s coffin. 

It’s why he’s been so distant. It’s why he can’t be with El and Will at the same time. It’s the hugs and the unbearably awkward interactions, and the discomfort. It’s him, last summer, putting as much distance between himself and Will every chance he got. 

Jonathan doesn’t say anything at first. Neither of them do, but Mike realizes that he went too far. When Jonathan looks over, he looks pale – all of the color in his face is gone, long replaced by a seasick shade of green. His fear is felt from where Jonathan sits in the driver’s seat. It’s weighed down with dread and shame, and an impossibly drawn-out silence.

“Jonathan,” he says finally. “Stop the car.”

The words are so abrupt that they don’t click fully. “What?”

“Stop the car and let me out,” Mike’s voice is wavering. His eyes are wide and anxious as he hits the dashboard with a fist. “Stop the car!”

Jonathan blinks, flinching at the noise. “All right, okay, Jesus.”

He pulls over on the side of the road, and Mike is opening the door before the vehicle is even put into park. Through the windows, Jonathan’s eyes follow Mike to the trunk. 

He hisses under his breath and gets out of the car. “Mike.”

Mike pops the trunk and tries to pull his bike out of the back. “If you value your relationship with Nancy, you will forget everything I just said.”

Jonathan walks toward him. “Mike,” he repeats. “Hey, why don’t we talk about this?”

Mike scowls as he finally breaks the bike free, setting it up on its wheels. Jonathan reaches out, but Mike jerks back, putting as much distance between them as he can. “Get back, Jonathan. I’m serious,” he says, then slightly more insecure, “I know self-defense now.” 

Jonathan stands for a moment, still surprised at the change of tide. Through the darkness, with the slight glow of his dim tail lights, he finally gets a good look at Mike’s expression.

It hits like a freight train. 

His face – that was Jonathan’s face when Lonnie got home after a long night at the bar. That was Jonathan’s face whenever he’d get called a queer in the school halls. An indescribable guilt strikes him in the chest, sharp and electric, branching across his body like lightning, and he holds his hands up as non-threateningly as he can.

“Jesus Christ, Mike, I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, either. I promise.” 

There’s a fragile silence between them; it feels like dangling off the edge of a cliff, held in place only by a thin thread.

Before he gets another word in, Mike huffs and starts to walk away, hands on the handles of his bike. He rolls it across the botched cement of the country road, not looking back as Jonathan follows into the chilled darkness. 

“But come on, man, we need to talk about this.”

Mike’s voice shakes as he holds back tears. “We aren’t talking about this.”

“Mike, it’s not that weird.”

Mike stops walking when they’re in front of the headlights. He turns on his heel, throwing his bike into the ground to stare at Jonathan. “Not that weird? Really?”

Jonathan takes this as a challenge. He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not that weird.”

“Okay, well, maybe you’ve hit your head or something and forgotten that you’re not in California anymore,” Mike says, “but this is Hawkins. That stuff doesn’t happen here.”

Jonathan gestures towards Mike. “Well, clearly it does.”

Mike scowls at him. “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

Jonathan looks around. “No, it’s not, Mike. I’m just trying to tell you that it’s not as abnormal as you think it is.”

Mike stares at him for a moment, almost considering. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Believe it or not, I do,” Jonathan says, “and there’s nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing. You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself.”

His words land a fatal crack to Mike’s harsh expression. “What?”

The air is tense. Jonathan tries to take a step forward. “Listen to me – ”

“What do you mean you know?” Mike takes a step back. “What the hell? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m trying to explain – ”

“You’re a freak, too, aren’t you?

He spits his words like venom. Jonathan feels a bit taken aback.

“No wonder yours and Nancy’s relationship is fucking failing,” Mike continues. “You’re a queer.” 

Jonathan watches Mike kick his bike to the side, pacing around the quiet road. “You’re disgusting. I can’t believe I let you drive me anywhere – I can’t believe I’m even talking to you. What was the point in driving me? Really. What was your goal?” He breathes heavily, voice breaking throughout his words. “Are you trying to make me, what, accept it? Was that your plan?”

“Mike,” Jonathan says gently. “It’s okay.”

“You’re such a waste of space.” Tears start to fall. His voice sounds rasped. “God, I can’t believe – that’s sick.”

“Mike,” Jonathan tries.

“You’re sick," he repeats.

A second passes, a violent sob causing his chest to heave. His words are scrambled. “I hate – you deserve to die,” he yells. “You should be fucking dead!"

Jonathan watches as Mike covers his face with his hands, shoulders shaking. Every word he says is directed towards himself. Jonathan knows this. Mike knows it. But the punches keep coming, each more barbaric than the last.

Jonathan has finally had enough. As Mike continues to cry and scream, he takes a bold step forward. His arms wrap around Mike’s cold body and pulls him into a tight hug.

Mike thrashes. He hits Jonathan’s arms, kicks him in the legs, sobbing uncontrollably. Then, finally, after several seconds of resisting, he loses the strength to fight. His body goes completely limp. Jonathan carries most of the weight until Mike returns the hug, grabbing onto him with a childlike grip.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he sobs. 

Jonathan uses the same tone he would with Will. “It’s okay,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Mike. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

Mike’s hands hold onto his shirt, clawing into the fabric. His sobs grow louder at his words.

“You are not sick. Not at all. Not even a little.” Jonathan keeps his hold tight and reassuring. 

Mike cries, “Yeah, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” he replies firmly. “It’s okay to be like this, Mike. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Mike seems to be in denial. “Please don’t say anything. God, Jonathan, don't tell anyone. Please."

“I won’t,” Jonathan mutters. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to, either, but – there are people that understand. You’re not the only one.”

He gives a small, bitter laugh. “I doubt it.”

Jonathan tries not to think of the irony. He bites back a you’d be surprised and settles with rubbing loose circles over his back. He waits until Mike’s sobs start to calm down and his breathing evens out, standing with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. The cold wind blows across their skin and crickets chirp from the cornfields surrounding them.

“Hey,” he says eventually, “let’s get you home, okay?”

Mike nods. They unravel from the hug and Mike grabs his bike handles, dragging it to the back of Jonathan’s car and putting it back in his trunk. He avoids eye contact the entire time. When Jonathan starts the car again and they speed off, it’s silent – but it no longer feels as heavy as it once was. Mike crowds himself against the door, watching the stars outside of his window.

When they reach Mike’s neighborhood, he shifts in his seat, awkwardly propping his feet up on the dashboard.

It takes a second for him to find his voice again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry," Jonathan says. "You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A beat passes. “I shouldn’t have said all that about you,” he says, but it wasn’t really about Jonathan at all, and he knows it. 

He shakes his head. “Stop apologizing. You’re fine, Mike.”

Mike purses his lips. He hesitates, opening his mouth and closing it a few times before he can get his next words out. “Do you really think it’s,” he pauses, “okay to be like this?”

Jonathan looks at him There’s a seriousness behind his eyes when he replies with, “Absolutely.”

They’re quiet until they reach the Wheeler’s driveway. Nancy’s car is missing for college, leaving an empty space on their pavement. As Jonathan puts his vehicle into park, Mike stops him.

“Hey,” he says, but he seems to blank as soon as he gains Jonathan's attention. “I just wanted to say, uh – ” He pauses. "You know. I just, uhm."

It’s obvious to Jonathan what he wants to say, even if he can’t voice it outloud. He doesn’t force Mike to end his sentence. Instead, he gives a nod.

“I get it,” he says, uncharged. “If you ever need to talk about it, you know – just let me know.”

Mike seems reluctant. “Yeah. Totally.”

Jonathan holds the eye contact until Mike looks away. When he does, Jonathan raises his brows. “Hey.”

Mike looks over at him again. “Yeah?”

Jonathan stares for a second, an unfamiliar fondness for his brother's friend filling his system. He gives a small smile.

“I hate you.” 

Mike, despite still having red-rimmed eyes and a swollen face, doesn’t miss a beat. He returns the smile lopsidedly, reaching out to open his door. “I hate you, too."

He gets out of the car. Jonathan watches until he enters the house, closing the door behind him, before shifting his car into reverse and backing out of the Wheeler's driveway. He thinks on the drive home. About the conversations they had. About the change of events. 

When he gets back home, Will and El are watching a movie on the couch – something that El is undoubtedly responsible for picking out – and Will perks up at Jonathan's presence.

He stands from the couch and follows him into the kitchen. "Hey," he says. "What happened with Mike?"

Jonathan looks at him for a second. Then, he shrugs, grabbing an apple to take back to his room.

"Nothing of note."