Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonathan Byers was never particularly handy with a gun. Despite persistent lessons with his father in his earlier youth, he never really had the knack for it. It wasn't down to his lack of precision; his photography was always excellently executed to convey the emotions in the scene. Joyce told him that it was okay, and it just “wasn't his thing.” He didn’t miss the relief in her face when he told his mom he didn't like using the gun, or the way his dad sucked his teeth and rambled on about how he shouldn't be “such a girl.”

The day his dad made him shoot a rabbit was the last straw, and he could hardly remember a time that he had cried so much. Jonathan just hadn't seen the need to shoot the rabbit. “We can just go down to the store!” He’d argued with his dad, but in true Byer stubbornness, he’d fixed the gun into his young sons hands and pressured him to pull the trigger. The shot was messy, ripping through the rabbit's legs and rendering it disabled, and his dad wasn't pleased, to say the least. Through his tear clouded vision, Jonathan couldn't see why his dad was still so angry. He’d shot it, hadn’t he? He’d done what he wanted?

His lack of will to use a gun wasn't to say that Jonathan Byers was a pacifist. He hadn't been against using violence when he heard a kid was tormenting his brother round the back of the bike sheds. The kid was twice his brothers size, and he hadn't hesitated before throwing his left fist right into the boy's nose. Obviously, Will Byers thought the punch was awesome, and his mom thought it was stupid and reckless. Jonathan knew it was the latter, but he didn't regret it.

Violence also seemed to take a hold over Jonathan when Steve Harrington had decided to start talking shit about things he knew nothing about. Looking back on it, he was so close to getting out of there without having turned on Steve. A few more paces and he would've been out of the alley, walking back to the car with Nancy Wheeler, and off to fight monsters. But Jonathan lost all sense of self control when Steve’s antagonising turned onto the topic of Will, and his fist was curled up into a ball before Nancy could even interject.

The collision with Steve’s face shocked Steve the most, as he recoiled in a sense of alarm, as if he expected Jonathan to just walk by as he made himself look big in front of Tommy and Carol. Throughout the fight, his senses seemed to zone in on Steve and Steve alone. He was aware of voices around him, but not conscious enough to listen to them, at least until the police cars came.

Again, he didn't regret punching Steve. Selfishly, he regretted doing it in front of Nancy, the girl who had showed him compassion and kindness, and stood by shouting at him to stop as he almost rendered her boyfriend unconscious. The same Nancy Wheeler who then waited with Jonathan at the station, and bandaged his hand, and offered him meek smiles, and didn't ask him why. Nancy Wheeler, who didn't call him names or question him as he gladly let her use the gun instead of him. They both recognised her skill where he had none, and there was nothing that needed to be said about it. And Jonathan appreciated that.

After the Demogorgon, everything felt distorted, as if he was living in an alternate version of reality. Will was safe, and his mom seemed happier than ever at times (although he suspected this had something to do with Chief Hopper). Steve Harrington was no longer the douche he could barely tolerate, and Nancy Wheeler was his friend. He hadn't exactly asked her if they were friends, but he expected that after all they went through, there was some degree of friendship there. The only new negative were the nightmares.

The recurring nightmares he seems to have every other night, that made him wake up in a cold sweat, hair clinging to his face, as he lay in bed trying to calm himself. He knew Nancy had the same problem. Hell, she called him most weeks asking him to come over. This didn't seem weird to them, and he expected it would to others, which was why no one else knew. Jonathan would climb in through her window at ungodly hours, and simply lie next to her as she attempted to get back to sleep.

Sometimes she’d share her nightmares with him, and he’d hold her hand in his and rub his thumb in small circles over her skin, listening quietly as she recounted the horrors of her dreams to her. She didn't bother to hide her tears anymore, they weren't an embarrassing thing to either of them anymore. And Jonathan would tell her it was okay, and he was there, and he would think about how much he could feel himself caring for this girl and how much he wished he could hold her closer. But Jonathan knew his boundaries and he respected Nancy too much to impose himself on her when she was vulnerable, so if she wanted him to hold her, he would. If not, so be it.

What Nancy didn't know was that Jonathan had the nightmares too. He felt bothersome to unload his own terrors onto her when he was helping her carry the weight of hers currently. Not that he minded helping her, because he’d found himself thinking that any time with Nancy was good time spent. But his own nightmares seemed to be getting worse and worse.

One night, he found himself alone, stood in the same forest where he’d nearly lost Nancy to The Upside Down so many weeks ago. It was unnaturally quiet, except for the sound of his own breath. Then a figure appeared, as if risen from the carpet of leaves on the forest floor. It unfurled itself, and Jonathan saw the face of his brother, Will, staring at him with huge eyes like glass balls. Instinctively, he began to rush towards him, but whenever he tried to move his feet, roots from the ground reached up and wrapped around his feet like ropes. Once he broke free of some, more appeared, mooring him to his spot, and just out of reach of his brother.

Suddenly, an inhumane noise ripped through the trees, a noise he recognised and feared and made all his hair stand on end. The Demogorgon was making its way to their spot, and the roots seemed to wrap tighter around Jonathan's feet, reaching up to latch onto his ankles too. Will extended an arm towards Jonathan, but didn't make a move to run away. He screamed and screamed at his brother to run, the thumps of the Demogrogon approaching growing louder and louder.

Just as he caught he first glimpse of the monster, he felt something cold and hard in his hand. He gazed down to see an object he hadn't been holding before; a gun. Jonathan didn't even bother to check if it was loaded, as he held I up and aimed it at the beast coming closer and closer. The noise of shots made his ears ring as he fired one after the other, as if he had an infinite amount of bullets in his gun. He’d fired at least thirty or forty times, and the Demogorgon kept coming. It was only metres away now, close enough and big enough for Jonathan to know he must have been hitting some part of it. But the monster was unharmed.

He hadn't even realised he was screaming as the Demogorgon came down on Will and the bullets kept coming and doing nothing and Jonathan could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. And then he woke up.

The contrast of silence throughout the house made his ears ring. Joyce was out on a date, and Will was staying over at his friend Dustin’s house. He was home alone. Struggling out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom to wash his face with a cold flannel. As he held it in his hands, he tried not to look at himself still shaking or his reflection in the mirror. It wasn't real, his mind was screaming, but his mind still get stuck in that place. But what if it had been? What if it did happen? Jonathan was so terrified of being useless and unable to protect himself and his family, that it plagued him again and again in his mind.

She wouldn't mind… Would she? Jonathan debated it as he lay back on his bed, the cold sweat he broke out in slowly cooling off. She called him quite often, surely Nancy wouldn't mind returning the favour? Having her with him relaxed and calmed him just as much as it helped her. Something about admitting that out loud felt wrong to Jonathan, like he shouldn't feel so openly and care so much when she was just a girl he’d hunted a monster with and slept in her bed occasionally and shared fleeting smiles with in the hallways. But Nancy understood, maybe more than Will and more than his mom, what he’d gone through emotionally. They'd both lost someone (however Nancy had a loss far more permanent) and struggled to get them back, and the emotional toll on them both was still taking effect. He needed her. Hell, she needed him too.

Jonathan’s hand still trembled as he dialled the Wheeler’s number into the telephone.

Chapter Text

It hadn't even crossed his mind until the phone was ringing that one of the other Wheeler family members might pick up, and Jonathan would have to explain himself to them or awkwardly hang up. To his relief, a minute later, a small, tired feminine voice picked up with a “Hello, Wheeler’s residence speaking?”

“Nancy?” Jonathan managed, trying his best to swallow his nerves. His hands still shook as he clutched the phone.

“Jonathan,” he could've sworn her voice perked up a little. “Are you alright?”

He twisted the telephone cord anxiously, looking around the dark house, and not knowing how much longer he could stand being alone in the empty space. “Am I bothering you?”

Nancy sighed, almost exasperatedly, as if he’d just asked the silliest question. “Not at all. I was downstairs on my own, making a snack. Couldn't sleep. Too warm.” She added quickly at the end. If she’d been having nightmares too Jonathan didn't think he could've told her about his, anyway. “What's wrong?” She pressed, in a voice that conveyed genuine concern and Jonathan felt a fluttering in his stomach solely at the thought of it. It was different to when his mom cared about him, or Will, or even the brief moments where he had felt his dad cared.

“I just… I just had this, like, dream. A bad one. And I thought, maybe, if you're not busy or have a test-”

She didn't even let him finish, but Jonathan wasn't offended considering he didn't know where he was going with his explanation. “Jonathan, I'll be there in ten minutes.”

When she hung up, Jonathan felt a sense of ease, and the gloomy sitting room suddenly got much smaller, and less eerie. He waited on the settee, fiddling with his thumbs like a kid in the doctor's waiting room, a bundle of anxiety and nerves and a spark that might just have been excitement. Nancy rung the doorbell not twelve minutes after she ended the call from her house. She stood on his doorstep, wearing a knitted cardigan over a blouse and a knee length skirt; she had said she was warm. He let her in, and as soon as she stepped inside, she whirled back around and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“I'm glad you called.” She murmured into his shirt.

I'm glad you came, he thought but stayed silent, holding her close to him.

“Do you want to do what we usually do? But at yours?” Jonathan nodded, pulling away from her and leading her down the dim hallway to his room.

Nancy Wheeler had only been in his room two times previous to this. The first was when they were eleven, and Joyce had thought they'd get on whilst Will and Mike played in the front room. It had been awkward to say the least. Eleven year old Jonathan hadn't even fathomed the idea of having a girl in his room, or what to do with one. Nancy sat on his bed, fiddling with the cuffs of her pretty blue blouse. Despairing on how to entertain the girl, Jonathan had dragged out his dad's record player and put on an old vinyl from the collection gathering dust under his bed. Jonathan kept his mom and dad's records in his room; they barely played them anymore. All they did was argue.

He suppressed a smile as he watched the brown haired girl bop her head along to the beat, swinging her feet in unison. The pair listened to both sides in silence, but he no longer felt like words were needed. It had become comfortable, and when they record was finished, it was time for the Wheeler’s to go home

The second time was whilst fighting for their life against a monster from another realm. Somehow, both experiences with Nancy felt like a lifetime ago now, compared to having her sitting next to him on his bed, her fingers intertwined with his. The Jonathan who played Nancy the old record in his room when he was eleven probably wouldn't have imagined he’d still even know Nancy Wheeler by now, let alone have been through hell with her (or be undoubtedly in love with her).

She listened as he spoke about the story, letting him take the time he needed to form it all into words. When he got to the part where his gun hadn't worked, Nancy shuffled closer and wrapped her arms across his shoulders, still silent and listening. He hadn't even realised he’d started crying.

“Goddamnit, Jonathan.” She whispered, reaching a hand up to move hair out of his face. “You can call me whenever. It's not a one way system, you know? I'm here for you. Just like you're there for me. If you called me and told me you needed me, I'd drive across the country just to make sure you were okay. It's the least I could do.”

A smile tugged at his lips, but she wasn't even finished. “I know you think sometimes you're alone. Or that it's better if you don't let people in. But giving and giving the way you do to others, is going to leave you empty. You need to let others give back. Let me give back. It's terrifically kIMD of you when you trek to mine in the middle of the night, or when you take time to check up on me when you pick up Will, but I'd appreciate it a whole damn lot more if you let me care about you the way you care about me.”

Nancy was so close now, her forehead inches from touching his. If this was a movie, he thought, I'd rush forward and bring her into my arms, and kiss her. But it wasn't, and Nancy still felt so far away despite the reality of the closeness, and the way she spoke of caring about him. A slender hand cupped one of his cheeks, bringing his eyes to meet hers, and it was oh so painful. Her eyes were almost pleading, asking him to let her in, and Jonathan felt like he may as well have been his awkward eleven year old self again, because she felt just as unattainable as she was then.

“I love you.’ The words tumbled out, almost clumsily, like when you say “ouch” even though it doesn't hurt, or “sorry” even when it's not your fault. Jonathan tried to recoil from her, bracing for rejection, when her hands clasped tighter around his face.

“Jonathan, look at me, please.” Her voice was stern, and somehow the “please” made it worse.

With her irises staring back at him, Jonathan felt no better than a deer in the headlights, with the truck coming in screaming at him at a speed fast enough to knock him flat.

“I love you.” She sounded out every word individually and slowly, emphasising them. Her thumbs skimmed the skin of his cheeks, moving down gradually to his neck. “You're my best friend.”

There it was; the truck, knocking him flat.

“I-I understand.” Jonathan managed, his hands starting to shake again. The air felt like it was getting thinner. He saw panic register on her face very suddenly as she scanned his expression.

“No, no, no. Jonathan, no!” Now he saw a tear fall from Nancy’s eyes, and somehow that made everything worse again. “No, Jonathan.” She whispered, and Jonathan was too focused on steadying his breathing and calming the shaking in his limbs to see Nancy lean in, and press her lips to his.

The kiss felt agonisingly slow, their mouths moving tenderly as Nancy shuffled even closer until she was sat on his lap and one arm was hooked around his neck. She broke away, and her hand combed through his hair. “I love you. You're my best friend.” She repeated, Jonathan felt like his chest got ten times lighter, as the sense of self burden seemed to lift away. Nancy Wheeler really did love him.

And Jonathan didn't cast a thought back to his eleven year old self, or the little boy who'd been forced to kill the rabbit, or even the frightened teen who'd defended himself beside a plucky girl with a gun, her boyfriend who he’d beat up a few days previous, and a baseball bat. Those people didn't matter anymore. Hell, some of them didn't even exist anymore. None of that defined him.

He was loved by a handful of people who he cared deeply about, and the realisation and acceptance of his seemed to cast his vision in a rosier glow. So, lying in Nancy’s arms, Jonathan couldn't hear the nagging voice in the back of his mind, or the self doubt that so often plagued his thoughts. And he smiled.