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Steve and Jonathan's Ultimate Road Trip: The Sequel by Kypros
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
05 Oct 2025
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Summary
The chest tournament is over. The van breaks down. The mechanic hates them, and the kids want a pizza. They're never getting home, are they?
The sequel to Steve and Jonathan's Ultimate Road Trip
Series
- Part 2 of The Road Trip Series
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Steve sort of feels like maybe he spent his whole life mourning what his father was and now that he’s dead, maybe it’ll be like Jonathan said. Maybe he’ll need to mourn everything he wasn’t.
Or: Steve's dad dies suddenly and he doesn't know how to process his grief. Jonathan, however, is there to help hold him together.
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Wake up. Vomit. Try and hide a massive hangover. Avoid Nancy. Put on a suit. Drink water. Drink more water. Give the best damn speech of all time, one that puts Mike's pedantic bullshit one to shame. Clink glasses with Steve, because yeah—his was definitely better. Hug Mrs. Wheeler, offering her his congratulations. Do the same with the groom. Ask how Ted is doing. Share a dance with Robin. Eat cake. Retire to his hotel room. Fall asleep and—
Wake up.
It's Tuesday again. The sort of day where the sun only rises to humiliate you.
Jonathan blinks. Okay. Let's try this again. They've only got eternity, and one of these days something has got to work, right?
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“Are you comparing my relationship with Jonathan to the Fall of the Roman Empire?” Steve asked Robin. “Because even I think that’s a little dramatic.”
Robin snorted.
“No,” she shrugged. "The history between you two is so much less important than the disintegration of European superpowers. But," she added, "it's hard to forget pain. You want to know what’s even harder to remember?”
“What?” he dared to ask.
“Sweetness. We have no scars to remember happiness by. But acts of violence? Of destruction? Of personal moral failings? Those are the things that matter. Those are the things that people carry with them.” Then, she reached over and lifted up his hand, flipping it over to observe his knuckles: there was a long, red line that wrapped up and around his wrist and her thumb brushed alongside the skin where it was silvery and smooth. Steve knew exactly where the mark had come from, and so did Robin. “So how many scars did you leave Jonathan with?” she then asked.
Again, Steve paused.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered honestly as Robin’s hand dropped. But if he had to think about it, there must have been a few.
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As a child, the most terrifying thing Steve could possibly fathom was falling from a great height. Airplanes, buildings, space—most kids were afraid of spiders or the dark—but Steve feared seeing the end coming, hurtling towards the ground at machspeed, because unlike the characters in the Saturday morning cartoons he watched, he knew he wasn't going to squish down like an accordion and spring back up all creased and folded. No—he knew what would happen, and for the longest of time he refused to even climb up onto a ladder.
Now, as a young adult, the most terrifying thing he could think of was Jonathan Byers when he was angry.
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He doesn't really get it. Steve that is. Hasn't for a while. Doesn't get what the kids see in him, or Nancy, or hell–just about every other individual hovering in his general vicinity–but he thinks he wants to. Just not right now. Not when he's realized all of thirty seconds ago that Eddie Munson is dead.
"Hey, man," the other says. "Are you okay?"
Jonathan feels like he's going to choke.
"I just didn't know you knew Eddie, that's all."
And here it is again; that irrational stab of anger he occasionally gets whenever Steve is around, because the other is just so goddamn irritating sometimes. He's like a thorn or a sliver, always pricking him at the worst possible times and it's like–god. There's this entire room of people inside, his brother included, but when it comes to something as subtle as his apparent reaction to the death of a stranger, the only one who seemed to notice and or even care was Steve.
So maybe that was a lie. Maybe his reaction wasn't so subtle. Maybe Eddie being a stranger to him was a lie, too.
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“I’m telling you, he’s gay.”
Steve twisted his head none too subtly and peered over towards the pair of boys who were huddled outside the video store, standing next to an ostentatiously obnoxious yellow-coloured pizza delivery van. The two of them seemed to be laughing at something, and the one with the long hair—Arthur? Anthony?—was wildly waving the copy of Revenge of the Nerds he had just rented in Jonathan’s face, while the other grinned, pulling open the van’s trunk door.
“He’s not gay,” Steve said with a offput frown. “This is Jonathan we’re talking about. He’s…different,” he told Robin carefully, struggling to come up with the right words. “Kind of an ass sometimes, but…”
“Gay,” Robin interjected with. “You didn’t see the look he gave you last week when you took your shirt off at the lake.”
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Or: Robin has a hunch about Jonathan. Steve doesn't believe her.
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Jonathan can hear the gurgling of the clogged pool filter choking on the late summer shadflies, mixing heavily with the droning din of the mid-afternoon traffic from the overpass of the freeway. There's the blaring fuzz of a too loud TV coming from Room 3 and a family of tourists tumbling out of a minivan near the motel’s lobby. Their heads twist simultaneously at the loud rumble coming from the back lot—a new suburb being built—and an elderly woman pacing in her housecoat slips by them, cigarette in hand.
"Man—what even is this place?" Steve asks, eyes sweeping across the parking lot. His gaze is arrested as it comes across a lone shopping cart, abandoned by the glowing neon lights of the roadside sign.
This is nowhere, Jonathan thinks. This is where people exist in only short moments, transient in their stays and forgetting it ever existed.
"Home," is what he says instead. “This is…home.”
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Years later, Jonathan decided the saddest thing in the world was the disintegration of his parents’ relationship—not because it wasn’t a good thing they had separated, but because his mother would never get over Lonnie Byers. It was like she was caught under some strange spell, the compartments of her mind sticky from all his father’s spilled alcohol, trapping only good memories the pair had shared, and willfully, blindly, shoving the rest away.
He wondered, quietly, if the real reason she never got over him was because of her pride. There’s something to be said about that first real relationship. About digging in one's heels and trying to make it work. Joyce had failed in that. She threw away her happiness.
Even more years later, Hopper decided that the saddest thing in the world was the utter and total way Jonathan loved—
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His own skin is pale, Jonathan thinks, like he hasn’t seen summer or sunsets in a long, long time, but it doesn’t stop Steve from taking it. One day, he thinks, Steve’s hand will finally pull him up and over the invisible walls.
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“What are you thinking about?” Jonathan asks him quietly. The other still sounds nervous, rightfully so, but the only thing Steve wants to say is: you. He doesn’t.
For a brief moment, their fingers lace underneath the table. He thinks about how this isn’t fair to Jonathan, how fiercely the other had wanted to tell Hopper he wasn’t going to find a girlfriend because he had found Steve; how there probably wasn’t going to be grandchildren. Jonathan never has and never will like confrontation, but he is so endearingly loyal to those that he loves that sometimes Steve’s not sure how the other manages to be away from his family most of the year. Jonathan told him he loved him in October. He knows that same loyalty now extends to him. Instead Steve says, “The cheesecake for dessert,” and Jonathan smiles earnestly at him, laughing.
Steve knows his own selfishness needs to end.
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Steve was trying to figure something out. Something that was chewing up his insides. Something that started with Robin's confession in the Starcourt Mall bathrooms and was currently being torn apart by a children's toy.
"Jonathan Byers was playing with dolls today,” he ends up blurting out.
Robin is silent, a brow raised in imploring interest, waiting for him to continue. Steve cleared his throat and carried on.
"With El,” he clarifies, feeling awkward. “I dropped off Henderson at the Byers' house with Lucas earlier and he was in the living room, on the floor, with a Barbie doll in his hand."
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Jonathan beamed and sat down, pouring the milk into his oatmeal, his eyes staring briefly at the backside of his mother’s newspaper. STATE OF INDIANA ENERGY DEPARTMENT RELOCATES TO HAWKINS read the headline. His mother flipped a page and the headline disappeared, swallowed up by an advertisement for the local general store instead. Jonathan blinked, sticking his spoon into his breakfast.
Outside, the birds chirped and the sun continued to rise. The future, Jonathan thought, was a distant, fantastical idea.
(Or: in a world where the Upside Down is never discovered, the Byers family deals with the consequences of invisible monsters).
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It starts like this: it is possible, in 1994, for an office party work function in Indianapolis to be the absolute bane of one’s existence.
After a night of heavy drinking, Jonathan Byers is out in his office. And according to Marg around the water cooler the next Monday morning, he is also engaged to Steve Harrington. They are going to dinner with her and her husband next Saturday. Marg wants to hear about their wedding plans.
It starts like this, and Jonathan is quietly dying.
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Jonathan listens to Steve's voice and hears home in each syllable, listening too hard for the hint of anything else without hearing what he wants, and doesn't catch any of the content. He supposes it doesn't matter, anyways. Nothing is resolving into the pictures he takes the way he wants them to, nothing matching up to the words he sees dancing around in his head. It’s just sharp feelings and unfinished sentences, moments he can see that need to be arranged carefully, but can’t quite be captured by his camera yet.
Steve should have never kissed him.
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“It’s not your fault if those people weren’t prepared to grow with you." Steve's voice is slow and soft, like the first warm embrace of a summer breeze following a particularly cold winter. “And for those who don’t...well, fuck ‘em.”
Then, he feels it. Fingers, quiet and hesitant, pressing gently against his own. They linger only for a moment—
And then, they’re gone.
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Jonathan's not sure what bothers him more: that he can see the lies dripping from her face, voice as sweet as his brother's breakfast cereals, or the fact that they can’t be bothered to find him someone who will tell him the truth.
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If he really has to think about it, like really thinks, he knows his anger is because of the quietness. The emptiness. Of the too big house with the too big pool and the too big television set that he slips in front of each and every evening, always and endlessly alone. He doesn’t tell people this.
Steve Harrington is, and has been for a long time, drowning.
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Or: the Party needs Steve to take them to a super cool, totally tame underage-kids Halloween house party. Robin, much to Steve's dismay, suggests that they all go, and Steve ends up making out with some random hot chick in the upstairs bedroom.
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Lou Reed once said that the perfect day was spent drinking sangria in the park and some poetic shit about how some girl makes him feel like he was someone else and someone good. Steve doesn’t drink sangria but he likes cheap gas station beer, and when he sits with Jonathan on the outskirts of town at the edge of the quarry cliffside, he makes it so he can forget himself. It’s far from perfect, but in the post-adolescence lurch of small town life, it’s the best that Steve can hope for.