Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of the small grocery store buzzed overhead, casting a harsh, headache-inducing glow across the aisles. Jonathan Byers moved slowly between the shelves, stacking boxes of cereal and cans of soup. The sound of shopping carts, distant customer chatter, and different voices over the intercom filled his ears.
His stomach twisted in an unpleasant knot, making each step more uncomfortable than the last. He rubbed his abdomen absentmindedly, this was likely the result of allowing Joyce, his mother, to get creative in the kitchen. "Note to self, stop by the convenience store on the way home.." He whispers to himself.
Jonathan shifts the weight of a heavy box in his arms, trying to ignore the ache and focus on the monotony of his work. It was the kind of day where everything was moving slow and he was stuck counting down the minutes until he could escape his job and go home.
"Hey, Byers!" Christina, one of his coworkers says. "I got some assholes in aisle fourteen causing a ruckus, they're not taking me seriously..obviously" She says, gesturing to her outfit. "Would you handle it for me?"
Jonathan sighed. "You think they'd take me seriously?" he asked, sarcasm in his voice.
Christina shrugged. "You're a guy, I'm a girl," she said matter-of-factly before striding down the aisle.
Running a hand through his brown hair, Jonathan made his way toward aisle fourteen, bracing himself for whatever awaited him. As he turns down the aisle, Jonathan's eyes widen, it's a few kids from his school. Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington are racing shopping carts down the aisle while Carol is munching on an unpaid bag of chips.
"Uh..listen guys," Jonathan started, voice low but firm, hoping to at least get a pause. "You're gonna break something."
Steve glanced at him, eyes narrowing before recognition settled onto his face."Byers? What're you gonna do about it?" he asked, his tone more teasing than threatening.
Jonathan shuffled forward, feeling the weight of the box he'd been carrying earlier like armor in his hands. "I'll call security?" he says, sounding more like a question than a statement. His stomach churned and his legs felt weak—why did he always get stuck dealing bullshit?
Tommy, never one for subtlety, leaned on the cart and laughed. "Oh man, Steve, look at him! He's all serious and everything!"
Steve pushed the cart a little closer to Jonathan, just enough to make him step back. "C'mon, Byers, live a little," he says, a stupid grin on his face.
Jonathan clenched his jaw, glancing around for options. The cart was heavy, and if it hit a shelf, the crash would be catastrophic. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Listen. I don't want to get anyone in trouble...but you guys have to leave, you're making customers uncomfortable."
"Oh, we're making customers uncomfortable?" Steve asks, leaning over the cart while tapping at his chin. "They don't get uncomfortable looking at that face of yours?"
Carol wheezes, choking on a chip while trying to contain her laughter while Tommy slides in beside her reaching for a chip.
Jonathan's stomach twisted into a tighter knot as Steve leaned further over the wobbling cart, eyes glinting with mischief. "Seriously, Byers," he said, voice low and dangerous in that teasing way that always made Jonathan feel small. "You gonna stop us, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?"
Jonathan's hands shook slightly around the box, the ache in his stomach now mingling with a hot rush of frustration. "I said leave. Now," he said, his voice firmer than before, though the uncertainty in his own tone betrayed him.
Tommy snickered, pushing the cart into a shelf with enough force that a stack of canned soup rattled dangerously. Carol, still munching her chips, clapped her hands in delight. "Ooh, Steve...." Carol giggles, "I think the freak's getting angry."
Jonathan felt a flush of heat climb his neck. He clenched his jaw, stepping forward to grab the cart from Steve's hands. Steve grinned like he was enjoying every second. Jonathan and Steve stood on both sides of the metal shopping cart, each gripping with white-knuckled intensity. "Let go!" Jonathan snapped, pulling with all his strength. "You're gonna break something!"
"Screw off!" Steve yells back, equally as angry.
The cart wobbled violently as they each leaned into their pulls, the clang of metal and yells echoing down the aisle. Tommy and Carol were doubled over, laughing hysterically, egging them on. "Harder!" Tommy shouted. "Snatch the cart back from that freak!"
Jonathan gritted his teeth and shoved, forcing the cart toward Steve. Steve yelped and jumped aside, narrowly avoiding a direct hit, but the momentum sent the cart rolling forward—straight toward an elderly woman slowly making her way down the aisle with a basket in her hand.
"Oh my God!" Jonathan shouted, but it was too late. The cart slammed into her, knocking her and her basket to the floor. Groceries spilled everywhere as the woman cried out, clutching at her back.
Steve froze, wide-eyed, as if suddenly realizing the consequences of their game. Carol and Tommy immediately stopped laughing. Jonathan's heart pounded painfully in his chest. "I—" he started, mouth dry, but no words came.
The store fell silent except for the woman's sharp intake of breath and the clatter of fallen cans. Jonathan felt all eyes on him before Steve and his friends quickly walked off towards the entrance. Eric, the general store manager, helps the woman up before sending Jonathan a sharp look. "My office, Byers! Now!" He shouts, loud enough for the entire store to hear.
He was fired.
Jonathan walked out of the store, barely glancing at Christina, who sent him a solemn wave as he exited. He trudged down the street, staring at the paycheck in his hands. It'd be the last one he'd receive until he could find another job to help his mom pay the utility bills.
"Shit," Jonathan muttered, sinking into the driver's seat of his car.
At the convenience store, Jonathan dug through the shelves, finally grabbing a bottle of Pepto Bismol. The bitter taste of the medicine was barely enough to distract him from the gnawing frustration that had taken root in his chest.
As started the drive home, Jonathan thought about how he'd have to tell his mom. He pictured Joyce, pacing the kitchen, hand in one hair, cigarette in the other, giving him the "I can't believe this" talk he knew too well. His stomach twisted further. When Jonathan reached the house, he noticed immediately that it was quiet. Too quiet. Joyce wasn't in the kitchen. And his little brother, Will, must've already gone to bed, too tired from playing Dungeons and Dragons at the Wheeler's all day.
He kicked off his shoes by the front door, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. His body ached from the physical effort at work, his hands still sore from gripping the cart, his stomach still rebelling from last night's dinner.
In the bathroom, he quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. The hot water did little to relax the tension in his muscles or the ache in his chest, but it was enough to wash away the day's grime, the sense of being small and powerless. His thoughts drifted lazily, circling around Steve, the store, and the quiet unfairness of everything.
By the time Jonathan stepped out, wrapped in a towel, it was already ten o'clock.
He crawled into bed, clothes and Pepto forgotten, and pulled the covers over himself, trying to prepare himself for whatever was coming tomorrow.
_____________________________
Jonathan stands in the kitchen, feeling way better than he did yesterday. He's hunched over the stove, flipping scrambled eggs in the pan, the smell of toast and sizzling butter filling the small room. He hears the bedroom door open and in his peripheral vision, the sight of his Mom searching around the living room for her keys.
"Where the hell are they?" She asks loudly, "Jonathan!"
"Check the couch." Jonathan replies, glancing over at her slightly before returning his attention to the eggs.
"I did.." She says, continuing to dig through the couch. "Oh, got them."
Jonathan starts plating the eggs as his Mom grabs her bag. "Okay, Sweetie, I will see you tonight." She squeezes his shoulder before looking around at the kitchen table. "Where's Will?"
"I didn't get him up yet, he's probably still sleeping." Jonathan says, bringing the plates over to the table.
His mom sighs, "Jonathan, you have to make sure he's up!"
"Mom, I'm making breakfast!" Jonathan says, agitation creeping into his voice as his Mom walks down the hallway, knocking on Will's door. After a few seconds, she walks back down the hallway, confusion evident in her voice.
"He came home last night, right?"
"He's not in his room?" Jonathan asks.
"Did he come home or not?"
Jonathan shakes his head, shrugging a bit. "I don't–I don't know."
"You don't know?" She asks, her eyes staring daggers into him.
It probably wasn't a good time to tell her that he had been fired. That her cooking had upset his stomach. And that the paycheck he was given wasn't enough to cover half of the bills. "I got home late." Jonathan stammers, "I was working."
"You were working?" Joyce asks, her irritation evident.
"Eric asked if I could cover, I said yeah, I just thought we could use the extra cash." Jonathan says.
She looks away before looking back at him. "Jonathan, we've talked about this."
"I know, I know–" Jonathan starts but she cuts him off.
"--You can't take shifts while I'm working!" She whines.
"Mom, it's not a big deal." Jonathan stammers out, trying to calm her down. "Look, he was at the Wheelers' all day, I'm sure he just stayed over."
She sighs again before walking towards the phone, "I can't believe you..I can't believe you sometimes."
Jonathan looked down at the plate in front of him, suddenly aware of the eggs and toast he'd worked so hard to cook. His appetite had completely vanished. He picked at the edge of the toast, dragging the fork through the eggs without really tasting them. His stomach churned again, though not from food this time—it was from guilt, from the knot of shame tightening in his chest. He hated upsetting his mom. Hated it more than almost anything. Joyce's words still echoed in his ears, sharp and accusing. "I can't believe you sometimes." The weight of her disappointment pressed down on him. His shoulders slumped, his hands resting limply on the table.
He could hear her on the phone, likely with Mrs. Wheeler but he didn't pay attention to their conversation. Not until he heard his mom's voice waver with concern, "Will didn't spend the night?" She asked into the phone, her wide eyes staring at Jonathan as she listened for a response. "Um, you know what? I think he just left early for...for school." Joyce states, hanging up the phone before biting her nails, they both know that's not true.
After about an hour, Jonathan was home alone again. The school had called, letting Joyce know that Will never showed up to class. This prompted six cigarettes and Joyce speeding off to the police station.
Jonathan moved through the house with a mix of urgency and frustration, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, as if Will could be hiding in plain sight. The house felt unusually quiet, each creak of the floorboards and hum of the refrigerator amplifying his worry. He muttered under his breath, a mix of impatience and concern, as he tried to convince himself that Will was just playing a trick or hiding somewhere safe. But the knot in his stomach tightened with every empty room.
Joyce returned just as Jonathan was about to head outside again, her face a mixture of worry and determination. "That son of a bitch, Hopper, he didn't even take me seriously!" She said, trying to get his attention, but he barely paused, brushing off her comment as they searched around outside. "I need to call Lonnie, maybe Will went over there?"
"No." Jonathan says, shaking his head. "Will would never go over there."
Joyce is already storming back into the house, "I know but I have to try!"
Jonathan is sitting at the table, making a missing poster sign for Will while Joyce is on the phone arguing with his ‘Dad’s’ new girlfriend. He jumps at the sudden sound of his Mom slamming the phone back onto the wall. “Bitch!” She shouts.
“Mom.”
“What?” She says.
“You have to stay calm.” Jonathan urges her, trying to send her a comforting smile to hide the worry in his face.
Jonathan rubbed his forehead, remembering all the nights he’d stayed up waiting for Will to fall asleep. Ever since their dad left, he’d been the one keeping the house running when Joyce was working late shifts or double shifts, juggling bills and jobs and whatever crisis came up next. He wasn’t supposed to be the adult, but sometimes it felt like he was the only one who could make sure Will ate, did homework, and got to bed without his family falling apart.
He’s pulled out of his head when the sounds of cars approaching. He follows his Mom out of the house, anxiety swallowing him whole at the sight of three police cruisers and the Chief carrying Will’s bike.
“It was just lying there?” Joyce asks, nearly backing Hopper into a corner.
“Yeah. Cal?” Hopper responds, pointing for his officers to scan the house.
“Did it have any blood on it..or?” Joyce asks but Hopper quickly shuts that down as well.
Jonathan watches as Hopper continues to slowly walk around the house with no sense of urgency. “If you found the bike out there, why are you here?” Jonathan asks, completely irritated.
“Well, he had a key to the house, right?” Hopper asks, as they enter the kitchen.
“Yeah.” Jonathan mumbles.
“So..maybe he came home.” Hopper says slowly.
Joyce’s brows furrow. “What–What, so you’re saying I didn’t check my own home?”
“I’m not saying that–” Hopper says, continuing to walk around the kitchen. Every word felt like nails on a chalkboard, grinding against the raw edge of his panic. He couldn’t believe how calm Hopper was, how he seemed to treat Will’s disappearance like just another Tuesday.
Without thinking, Jonathan spun on his heel and strutted down the hallway. He slammed his bedroom door so hard the frame shook, the sound reverberating through the quiet house. His hands fumbled over the stereo, cranking the volume until the music rattled the walls, drowning out everything else.
He threw himself face-first into the pillows, burying his head as if he could hide from the fear twisting in his stomach. His chest felt tight, his limbs heavy, and the thought of Will—his little brother alone somewhere—made him want to puke. Every scenario ran through his head in a frantic loop, each one worse than the last.
Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the panic down, but it clawed at him from the inside. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to react other than this, this desperate, noisy attempt to escape the weight of worry pressing down on him. The music thumped in time with his heartbeat, the only thing keeping the room from closing in completely.
And then there was Steve—he couldn’t get Steve out of his mind. That smug, careless smile. That stupid perfect hair. That feeling that Jonathan was always in the way, always wrong, always beneath him. He hated him, more than he wanted to admit, and it made the panic sharper, more unmanageable.
Somewhere between the drums and the guitar riffs, Jonathan shuts his eyes, trying to slow his breathing. He had other things to worry about than Steve Harrington.
That night, the weather reflected exactly how Jonathan had been feeling for the past week. It was storming outside and thunder was booming loudly. Jonathan sat in the living room with his Mom as they sorted through photos, trying to find the perfect one to place on Will’s poster. He couldn’t help but hope that Will was somewhere with shelter, that he wasn’t scared of the storm or freezing to death.
“Jonathan, wow.” Joyce states as she flips through the photos. “You took these?”
Jonathan just nods, shoving a few photos he didn’t want Joyce to see into the couch cushion.
“I know–I know I haven’t been there for you.” She stammers, “I’ve been…working so hard and I–I just feel bad I don’t even know what’s going on with you.” She sniffles as Jonathan shifts uncomfortably beside her.
“I… I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him,” Jonathan whispered, his voice cracking, barely audible over the rumble of thunder. His hands trembled as he set the photos down. The tears he had been holding back all day finally broke through. They slid down his cheeks silently at first, then more freely, as the weight of everything he had tried to carry alone pressed down on him.
Joyce hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling him into her arms, her own body trembling as she held him tight. “Shh… it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she murmured, rocking him gently. Jonathan buried his face against her shoulder, his whole body shaking as sobs wracked him. The tears weren’t just for Will—they were for the exhaustion, the frustration, the constant fear, and the lonely weight of being the one who always had to hold things together.