Chapter Text
It was raining by the time that Jonathan had finally made it to Lonnie’s house. He climbs out of the car and sighs as he stares at the neighborhood. The streets are skinner and filled with pot-holes and broken glass. The houses are all positioned on bumpy hills with identical one-story houses packed too close together, their paint faded and porches cluttered with broken lawn chairs and beer cans.
As Jonathan approaches the house, he stares through the small window pane directly above the door, inspecting as much of the messy house as he can. There’s a few clothes thrown about, an empty beer can, and the television is on–but no sign of Will.
“Hello?” Jonathan shouts, knocking on the door three times and waiting for a response. He bangs on the door again before stepping back as a woman opens the door.
She’s smacking on gum, looking completely annoyed. “Can I help you?” She snaps, blue eyeshadow littering her eyes. Her arm is up on the door, blocking Jonathan from coming inside or from looking further into the house. She looks to be about ten years older than him, Lonnie had always had a type. Younger, brown hair, and fair too pretty for him.
“Yeah, is Lonnie around?” Jonathan asks.
“Yeah, he’s outback, what do you want?” She snaps, looking him up and down.
“To look around.” Jonathan wastes no time, he pushes past her and into the house, ignoring her frustrated and angered protests. The sound of music fills his ears as he steps into the house and turns down a hallway, his eyes scanning over every room. “Hey, Will?” Jonathan calls out, hoping for a response.
Jonathan peeks into messy rooms and then comes across a closed door, he tries the handle a few times before banging on the door. “Will, you here?” He asks, banging again, “Will?”
He turned back toward the hallway—and suddenly hands grabbed him, slamming him back against the wall. The breath knocked out of him as Lonnie pinned him there, one arm braced beside his head. Lonnie looked him over with a slow, almost curious expression, like he was sizing him up.
Jonathan shoved him back with a grunt. “Get off!”
Lonnie stumbled a step, then laughed under his breath, amusement flickering across his face. “Damn,” he said, stepping forward again. “You’ve gotten stronger.” He gave Jonathan a rough, playful shove to the chest.
“Will someone explain what the hell is going on?” Cynthia snapped from down the hall, arms crossed tightly.
Jonathan ignored her, his glare locked on Lonnie.
Lonnie smiled wider, stepping closer until Jonathan’s back hit the wall again. “Jonathan, Cynthia,” he said casually, gesturing between them. “Cynthia, this is Jonathan—my oldest.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened as she studied him, lingering longer than Jonathan liked. He looked away just as Lonnie tried to pull him into a hug.
“Come here,” Lonnie said, wrapping an arm around him.
Jonathan stiffened immediately, shoving against his chest. “Get off me, man.”
Lonnie released him with an exaggerated sigh, hands raised. “All right, all right. What’s got you so worked up?”
Jonathan swallowed hard. “Will’s missing.”
Lonnie blinked once, then shrugged his shoulders. “Okay,” he said flatly. “He’s not here.”
Jonathan stared at him, disbelief burning in his chest. “You didn’t even—”
“He’s not here,” Lonnie repeated, already losing interest.
Jonathan didn’t respond. He moved past Lonnie again, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, even peering behind the shower curtain. Cynthia scoffed but didn’t stop him.
“He’s not here,” she muttered.
“I just want to look around.” Jonathan muttered, “Scratch this place off the list.”
Jonathan pushed through the back door, mud squelching beneath his shoes. And that’s when he sees it. The car sits in the middle of the back-yard. It’s clean—too clean for this place. Fresh paint, new tires, it’s a hell of a ride.
Jonathan slows without meaning to, his breath catching in a way he immediately resents.
It’s beautiful.
He doesn’t let it show. Not on his face. Not in his posture. He keeps his hands shoved deep into his pockets but his eyes betray him. He knows cars. Always has. He knows what good engines sound like, knows the difference between something built to last and something just barely holding itself together. He knows, instantly, that this car is worth more than Lonnie’s house, maybe worth more than everything Jonathan owns combined.
“Take a look at this beaut, should’ve seen it when I first got it.” Lonnie says, “Took me a year, but it’s almost done.”
Jonathan ignored him, instead, going around towards the back of the car and popping the trunk, looking around for Will.
“Really?” Lonnie scoffs, “You want to check up my ass too?”
Jonathan glares at him before slamming the trunk closed and standing up straight as Lonnie continues to talk. “He’s not here, he never has been.” Lonnie states, his hands in his jeans.
“So then why didn’t you call Mom back?” Jonathan asks, stepping towards Lonnie who shrugs.
“I–I don’t know, I just…assumed she forgot where he was.” Lonnie says nonchalantly. “You know, that he was lost or something…that boy never was really good at taking care of himself.”
Jonathan scoffs, he can’t believe this. I mean, he can, Lonnie never cared about his kids but this was to a new level. “This isn’t some joke, all right? There are search parties, reporters–” Jonathan starts before being interrupted.
“--Hopper’s not still chief, is he?”
Jonathan continues glaring at him and Lonnie sighs and shakes his head.
“Tell your mother she's gotta get you out of that hellhole…come out here to the city.” Lonnie starts, looking around the backyard as Jonathan avoids eye contact. “People are more real out here, you know…and I could see you more.”
Jonathan looks back up, grimacing whilst shaking his head.
Lonnie cocks his head to the side, “You think I don’t want to see you?”
“I know you don’t.” Jonathan says matter-of-factly.
Lonnie juts out a finger, his eyes narrowing. “See, that’s your Mother talkin’ right there.” He stares at Jonathan a bit more. “She even know you’re here?”
Jonathan doesn’t reply but his lips thin.
Lonnie sighs heavily, “Oh great, so one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild…that’s some real fine parenting right there…Look, all I’m saying is, maybe I’m not the asshole, all right?”
Jonathan continues glaring at him, he reaches into his bag pulling out one of Will’s flyers. He slaps the paper against Lonnie’s chest as he storms past him, “In case you forgot what he looks like.”
Jonathan drives with both hands tight on the wheel, his thoughts circle back to Will no matter how hard he tries to steer them elsewhere. By the time he reaches the edge of town, Jonathan has already decided he won’t go straight home. Sitting still feels impossible. Instead, he turns toward the woods near where Will was last seen, telling himself that taking pictures will keep his hands busy, his mind focused—anything to stop it from spiraling like it is right now.
Jonathan slows the car as he nears the edge of the woods. A doe stands just at the treeline, barely visible through the mist and the branches. Its coat is wet and dark, blending almost seamlessly with the shadowed underbrush, but its eyes…they’re large, round, and free of fear.
He thinks of her almost immediately.
Whenever Jonathan thinks of Nancy, it’s her clear blue eyes first—big and beautiful, the kind of look that resembles a doe. Her brown hair always falls the right way, simple and neat, and she always smells perfect. She’s perfect, everything about her is absolutely perfect.
He steps out of the car, the door clicking shut behind him as his gaze drifts to the barriers lining the edge of the woods. This is one of the last places Will had been before he vanished. The thought settles slowly, sending a cold shiver up Jonathan’s spine. He hesitates for a moment, then, despite the unease curling in his chest, he moves forward and disappears into the trees with his camera grasped into his hand.
Jonathan observes and photographs simple stuff at first. Leaves, sticks, a footprint that was left in the mud. He looks around for a bit more before deciding to head back to his car. Suddenly, a scream cuts through the woods. Jonathan jolts, his heart leaping into his throat. His grip tightens around the camera as he freezes, breath caught, before he’s running towards the sound.
He had never been a good runner.
Back in elementary school, all of the kids from Mrs. Sadger and Ms. Davolt would play tag with each other. The ground had been wet from the morning rain and for the first time in forever, Jonathan had wanted to play.
Steve had been feeling “nice” that day and welcomed Jonathan into his group.
The game started fast. Jonathan ran as hard as he could, trying to evade Steve. However, it seemed as if the Harrington boy was only chasing after Jonathan.
Jonathan’s shoes had slipped in the mud, his legs tangled, and he fell face-first into a big, wet pile of mud.
Everyone saw and what made it worse was that Steve had told everyone that the mud that Jonathan had fallen into was a pile of dogshit. The name stuck and nobody wanted to be his friend after that. For weeks, he was “Shit-Face” to everyone at school, until they moved on to teasing Stephanie Hews for bleeding through her white pants during the school concert.
Another scream ripped through the woods, and Jonathan forced his legs to carry him faster, trying to cover more ground. He paused at the edge of the woods as a house came into view.
The source of the scream quickly became clear. Carol was the one shrieking, being tilted over the edge of a pool by Tommy who threatened to toss her in. Jonathan blinked, taking in the scene, and immediately recognized the house and the pool, it belonged to none other than Steve “The Hair” Harrington.
“You’re such an asshole, Tommy!” Carol giggles while shoving him in the chest.
Jonathan’s gaze flicks over the chaotic scene around the pool. Steve is chugging a beer while Tommy and Carol are tangled up in one of the pool chairs, laughing and kissing while staring lovingly at one another.
Jonathan’s eyes drift to another figure sitting off to the side, quiet and still, almost unnoticed among the noise. His eyes narrow and his mouth falls agape. “Is that–is that Barb?” He whispers, stepping closer to the trees.
If Barb was here then that meant so was–
“Is that supposed to impress me?” Nancy asked, her eyes focused on Steve.
Steve looks over at Nancy, his brows lifted as he sticks a cigarette into his mouth. “You’re not?”
“You are a cliché, you do realize that?” Nancy giggles looking towards the pool.
Jonathan rolls his eyes, “If he’s cliché, then why are you with him?” He whispers to himself, stepping closer to eavesdrop more on the conversation. Besides, Steve chugged a beer. One beer. Anybody could do that. Jonathan could chug six beers if Nancy Wheeler asked him to even though he had never had a sip of alcohol.
“You are a cliché.” Steve repeats back to her, lighting the cigarette, “What with your…your grades and your band practice.”
Nancy laughs, loudly, and Jonathan’s fingers tighten around his camera. “I’m so not in band.”
“Okay, party girl.” Steve says, handing her a pocket knife and a beer. “Why don’t you just, uh, show us how it’s done, then?”
Jonathan steps back a little, shaking his head. “No, come on, Nancy,” he mutters under his breath, watching the girl he thought he knew start to slip, just a little, into someone new. It hurts him to admit, but Steve is changing her in a way that he doesn’t like.
“Okay.” Nancy agrees, taking the beer.
Steve watches as Nancy fiddles with the knife, “You gotta make a little hole right in–”
“--I got it.” Nancy assures him as Tommy and Carol get up from their seat to watch.
“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche!” Tommy giggles as Carol smacks a beer can on the side of his head.
Nancy chugs the beer as the obnoxious teenagers around her cheer her on. Barb shakes her head, still seated, with her coat on and head lowered, obviously disappointed in her friend's actions. After she’s finished chugging the beer, Nancy turns towards Barb.
“Hey, Barb, you wanna try?” Nancy asks her.
Barb sits up straight, her eyes widening. “What? No.” She answers rather quickly as Nancy goes and grabs another beer, shoving it into Barb’s face. “No, I don’t want to. Thanks.”
Nancy doesn’t listen and continues shoving the can into Barb’s face. “Come on…” Nancy urges, “It’s fun! Just give it a–just give it a shot.”
Barb stands up and starts cutting into the can.
Jonathan can’t see clearly from his position in the woods, but it looks like Barb cuts her finger with the knife. Jonathan shifts slightly behind the tree, keeping his distance but unable to tear his eyes away. He’s been here for longer than he probably should have, watching Steve and Nancy and the rest of the group move around the pool, laughing and joking with one another. His chest tightens, a mix of fascination and discomfort curling in his stomach. He’s not stalking them, he’s just…keeping an eye on them. Making sure everything’s fine. Observing. Yeah, that’s the word.
He isn’t here for them, he’s here because he’s looking for Will and he heard a scream. Any normal person would observe to make sure that everything is alright.
His gaze drifts from Steve to Nancy, noting the flirtatious gestures between the two.
Jonathan straightens, leaning lightly against the tree as his gaze lingers a moment longer. “It’s not creeping if I didn’t end up here intentionally.” He whispers, grabbing his camera and snapping a picture of the group.
He snaps one of Barb entering the house. One of Carol laughing with her mouth wide open. Then, there’s a montage of photos of the group, minus Barb, entering Steve’s pool.
The group enters the house, disappearing from the yard, and Jonathan’s chest sinks. He would be lying if this wasn’t one of the more entertaining moments of his life, even if he wasn’t included. There’s no doubt that the photos that Jonathan took will turn out great, he just needs to develop them in the darkroom before school tomorrow.
He takes a step back, getting ready to turn the camera off and shove it back into his bag.
Then, a flash of movement catches his eye, Nancy appears in an upstairs window, hair plastered to her face and body, water dripping down her arms. Jonathan’s heart jumps. He quickly looks away, cursing under his breath, before pulling the camera out and preparing to snap a photo.
He curses again, fumbling the camera, before his eyes pause on Steve. Shirtless now, damp hair plastered, chest and arms pale and unexpectedly hairy. Jonathan freezes, mind blank and heart pounding in his chest.
And yet, the camera finds its way up again, automatically, every click like it’s moving on its own. He’s captivated, hypnotized almost, snapping photo after photo, unable to stop.
Something deep inside him protests—he’s not supposed to be fascinated by this. He’s not supposed to be watching, let alone photographing this entire sequence. Jonathan forces out a breath as the two caress each other in the window, their lips intertwined.
Jonathan watches as Steve moves Nancy against the window, kissing her, as his hands grab and massage her back. Her hands are in his hair now and he can only imagine the sound that Steve makes.
Jonathan’s heart is hammering like it’s going to burst through his ribs. He tells himself it’s the adrenaline, the excitement of capturing the perfect moment—but deep down, he can’t lie to himself. He’s mesmerized by what he’s seeing, caught between awe and panic.
Jonathan stops watching and hurriedly turns away from the scene and begins the walk back to his car.
He gropes at his chest, squeezing at the firm muscle and trying to get himself together. There’s no more adrenaline, no more excitement, he feels like he can’t breathe and not in a good way. His hands grip the steering wheel before he even opens the car door, knuckles white, and his vision feels narrower, like the world is pressing in on him. He wants to scream, to punch something, anything, to stop his heart from beating so fast.
By the time he collapses into the driver’s seat, his breaths are sharp, shallow, almost rattling. His chest rises and falls erratically, and he feels light-headed, trembling from the adrenaline and the panic spiraling inside him. He keeps his eyes on the leftover raindrops on the windshield, closes them, and grips at his hair, trying to stop the scene he witnessed from playing over and over.
The way Steve had laughed, how he had caressed Nancy and kissed her so gently. He had only been watching to see what he needed to do. What it was that Nancy liked…the subtle gestures, the little things she responded to. That’s why he was out here. That’s why he stayed and watched. That’s why he took those pictures of Steve. To remember. To practice. Nothing more.
Nothing more.
