Chapter Text
Thursday, September 29th, 1989.
Will’s acting weird. And damnit, Jonathan is going to find out why.
Ever since mid-summer. He’s just been… off.
And it’s not anything upside down related, as Will has assured him thousands of times. No, it’s something else.
He’s been jittery, jumping at the slightest ring of the phone. Locks himself in his room for hours on end, music blasting from under the door. Jonathan even heard him sneaking out one night, the thin walls making the click of a window opening and closing just audible under the music.
But, he didn’t investigate. He wanted to respect his brother's privacy, let Will come to him. It’s really been starting to nag on Jonathan, though. Mike and all of their gang of friends have been around much less, and according to Nancy no one’s been at the Wheeler’s either.
Jonathan is worried about his little brother, and it’s gone on long enough.
It’s this rush of concern that sends Jonathan down the hallway of the nearly silent house down to Will’s room. It’s been a few hours since school's been out, and Jonathan had gotten home from work a bit ago. Will hadn’t come out from his room to greet him, and that made a tense worry rise in Jonathan's throat.
So, all this to say, this is how he finds himself staring at the closed door of his brother’s bedroom.
Music is playing quietly, pouring from under Will’s door. Jonathan raps his knuckles gently on the doorframe, listening close for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he presses his ear to the door, listening for the telltale sweep of a brush against canvas or rustle of bedsheets, but the only sound audible just under the music is a quiet, breathy whimper.
The sound has a wash of sadness flooding through Jonathan. He pictures Will curled up under his covers, quietly torn up and refusing to reach out for help. His hand lifts, but he pauses just before his hand closes over the metal knob.
Look, he knows Will probably wants to be alone, but he can’t help the protectiveness that has him reaching for the door handle. It’s his job as a brother, not letting Will slip back into his old ways of quietly hurting, of not reaching out for fear of being a burden. Like he could ever be one.
With a resolve that has him setting his shoulders, Jonathan closes his hand around the knob and turns it, gently pushing open the door.
What he sees, there on Will’s bed, catches the words in his throat and shoves them back down. He freezes, hand still on the doorknob and one foot in the door.
The back of familiar mop of dark hair is the first thing he registers, the second thing being his brother's hands tangled in it.
Someone is on top of Will.
Mike Wheeler. Mike Wheeler is straddling him, caging him into the headboard. Will’s hand is knotted in his curls, the other hand pushing Mike’s t-shirt up to his ribs, hand tracing his pale skin. Mike’s hands are braced on Will’s jaw and shoulder, keeping himself from crushing Will into the pillows.
If there was any deniability to what they were up to, it disappears at the sight of the angle of their jaws, the sight of their lips locked firmly together.
Jonathan feels himself shortcircuit. His jaw stutters open, and he can’t help the choked sound that falls from his lips.
That’s what does it.
Mike reacts first, whipping his head around and twisting to fall off of Will in a desperate scramble. His cheeks are bright crimson, hair a mess. He pushes himself to the far side of the bed, smoothing his shirt down frantically.
Jonathan makes eye contact with his brother, who is staring at him with a look of pure dread. His eyes are full of a certain fear that Jonathan hadn’t seen from him in a long time, and he looks close to tears, the way he was when he was four and his favorite crayon was lost, like something special to him had been broken.
The sight makes Jonathan’s heart pinch painfully, but he can’t quite get himself to move closer, simply letting his hand fall limply from the door handle. His mind hasn’t quite caught up to what he’d just witnessed, but his brother was scared, and Will needed to know he was okay.
Both boys look thoroughly panicked. Mike is pressed to the wall Will’s bed is against, staring at Jonathan with a look that Jonathan has never seen on him before. His big brown eyes are full of a sort of shame, and he seems to be trembling with nerves.
The silence that stretches is agonizing, filled only by the thump of music and the ragged breathing of the boys on the bed.
Jonathan, realizing how his frozen state may look to them, slowly reaches behind him and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
“I didn’t hear you knock,” Will says limply, voice strained and unnaturally pitched.
Jonathan slowly moves towards the bed, shaking his head slowly. The fear radiating around the room forces him out of his shock, and he takes a breath. “I thought you were crying.” He says carefully, and he pauses just at the edge of Will’s mattress.
Will looks up at him, some of his fear shifting to a questioning stare. His eyes and posture are full of a quiet determination. Jonathan admires his brother for that. His resolve. That even in the face of something scary, he refuses to feel weak.
“Listen, Will, I-” Jonathan is cut off by a shaky intake of breath from the other side of the bed. Both of them whip their heads to the wall, where Mike is curled up on himself, head in his hands.
His shoulders are shaking, and Jonathan clocks the quiet, sharp gasps at the same time Will does. All of his brother's attention shifts to Mike, and he quickly pushes himself over to him, gently pulling his hands from his hair by the wrists.
“Hey, hey. Mike, it’s okay.” Will mutters softly, the tension from his recent panic barely hidden in his voice. He lets go of Mike’s wrists and gently cups his jaw, forcing his gaze up to meet him.
Mike looks terrified. His breathing is sporadic, and his eyes are filled with unshed tears. He opens his mouth, turning to Jonathan as if to say something. Instead, he lets out a choked sob, covering his face with his hands again.
Seeing Mike like this, seeing his brother's desperate glance sent his way, melts away the last of Jonathan's astonishment, and he sits at the edge of the bed closest to the wall, facing Mike and Will.
“Mike. It’s okay, bud. It’s just me,” He starts, and Mike peels his hands away from his face, meeting him with a tearily unsure, slightly surprised gaze. It reminds him so much of a version of Mike from years ago, looking up at Jonathan with teary eyes and a scraped knee, that his heart squeezes. Will turns to look at Jonathan too, hand firmly on Mike’s knee. His jaw is set in silent resolution, and his gaze is heavy on Jonathan, as if daring him to say anything.
“You know I love you both, right?” Jonathan starts with a conviction that comes easily. It’s true. Of course it is, he loves his brother more than anything in the world, and he knows Mike is Will's perfectly favorite person, and always has been.
And sure, maybe Jonathan had built some resentment during that year in California, for the boy bringing his little brother so much pain. But Jonathan has known Mike since he was five, with his unsettlingly intense gaze and confident little demeanor, and during the end of the world, Mike was a driving factor in saving Will, and in keeping him safe. Jonathan would forever be grateful for him, and his fierce protectiveness of Will where Jonathan couldn’t pick up the slack.
He reaches out, putting a hand on one of each boy’s shoulders. Both of them meet his gaze, Will softening and Mike’s breathing slowing. “Nothing, nothing about this changes that. And I’m sorry, for bursting in like this, for not reacting right away. I didn’t mean to scare you. You both are safe here, with me.”
They sit there for a second, staring at him. Tears are still running down Mike’s cheeks, and he’s looking at Jonathan with an unsure sort of awe. As if he had expected him to be lying, as if he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. The rest of the tension drains from Will’s shoulders, and he pushes forward, wrapping Jonathan in a tight hug. “I love you too, Jonathan.” He says, voice quiet and shaky.
Relief washes through him like a flood, and he squeezes his little brother tight.
Over Will’s shoulder, Mike looks significantly less panicked. His tears have slowed, and he wipes at his cheeks furiously with a fist.
Will pulls back and reaches for Mike’s hand, squeezing it softly. Their eyes meet, and something sweet and unspoken passes between them.
“You- you won’t tell anyone, right?” Mike finally says, voice quiet and cracking. His big eyes stare up at Jonathan with that weirdly sharp gaze he’s had since he was a kid. It hits Jonathan then, how much Mike means to him. He’s been the most important person to his little brother since they were in kindergarten, and still is, just maybe in a slightly evolved way. He feels a rush of gratitude as he reaches out.
“Of course not,” Jonathan reassures, patting Mike’s knee. “I’d never.”
Both boys look up at him with teary smiles, and Jonathan can’t help but smile back. Something nags at the back of his brain, and his grin grows.
“Is this why you two have been acting so weird lately?” He asks, and Will’s smile turns sheepish, shrugging.
“Maybe,” he says, playing with Mike’s fingers in his grip. “We um- well, we first got together in July. We figured that everyone would figure it out if we were openly spending so much time together, so…”
Jonathan can’t help but laugh, and Mike’s brow furrows in confusion. “I think everyone just thinks you’re fighting. Nancy and Dustin have been theorizing since the 4th.”
Mike shakes his head. “I think Nance has me figured out,” he whines. “She and my mom grilled me all summer.”
“Maybe stop being so obvious then,” Will teases, and Mike pokes his ribs in protest with a little squawk.
Jonathan smiles, moving to get off the bed with one last squeeze to Will’s shoulder. He makes his way to the door, opening it and throwing a glance over his shoulder, where Mike and Will are curled into each other in quiet giggles.
“Lock your door,” He throws over his shoulder, and Will’s head whips up, cheeks turning pink as he nods. “If Hopper finds you two like that he’ll never let you over again.” He teases, and Mike rolls his eyes.
As he steps out, clicking the door shut behind him, Jonathan can’t help the smile that creeps up his face.
He’d gone in there to find out what was up with his brother, and well… he had. He’s glad that Mike and Will have someone in their corner now, even if that’s probably not the way they had wanted to be found out.
Jonathan walks into the kitchen, where his mom and El are unloading groceries into the cabinets.
“Hey honey, what’s up?” His mom says, struggling to lift a bag of flour up to the top shelf.
Jonathan schools his smile, walking over and lifting it from her hands to slide it into place. “Nothing much, just checked on Will.”
He doesn’t miss the way El’s head whips around from her place by the fridge. They catch gazes, and El’s eyes are narrowed, questioning and interrogative. She knows.
Jonathan just offers her a knowing smile and a gentle nod, and she seems to take it for what it is. A smile of her own stretches across El’s face, and she nods back, turning to put a package of something onto the counter.
“How’s he doing?” His mom asks, digging into the paper grocery bag. “I never know what’s going on with that boy.”
“He’s good, just busy recently,” Jonathan reassures her, pulling out a pot from under the counter for dinner.
“Good,” His mom says, smiling at him gratefully and turning to the counter again.
Yeah, good.
***
After this little blip, Will and Mike are more sneaky than Jonathan’s given them credit for, and somehow they manage to keep their little secret safe from literally everyone else’s speculation.
Jonathan keeps his promise, never giving anything away. Not to Nancy, not to their friends, not to anyone.
It’s not his to tell.