Chapter Text
The rain starts before the argument does.
It hits the roof in a steady, heavy rhythm. Like the sky is tired too.
The kitchen table is covered in papers. Open envelopes. Bills folded and unfolded. Numbers written in pencil and crossed out again and again.
Joyce’s jaw is tight.
Jonathan watches from the doorway.
“I can pick up more shifts at the theater,” he says, trying to sound steady.
She doesn’t look at him.
“No. You already do enough.”
But it doesn’t sound grateful. It sounds exhausted.
Will is in his room.
The TV murmurs without real volume.
The whole house feels like it’s holding its breath.
Jonathan steps closer.
“I’m serious, Mom. It’s not that hard. I could drop a class this semester if we need to.”
That makes her look up.
“You’re not dropping anything.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!”
Her hand slams against the table. A glass trembles.
Silence.
Jonathan swallows.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he says quietly. “You’re always tired. Always stressed.”
“Because I’m the adult, Jonathan.”
The word lands heavy.
Adult.
Responsible.
The one who holds everything together.
His fingers curl into his palms.
“I hold things together too.”
Joyce exhales sharply, rubbing her face.
“I know, honey, but you don’t have to do everything.”
But he feels like he does.
Since his dad left.
Since Will disappeared that first time.
Since every night the house felt like it might crack in half.
Jonathan was the one who stayed awake.
The one who listened.
The one who didn’t cry.
The rain grows louder.
“I’m not the strong one, Mom,” he says suddenly, and his voice breaks more than he wants it to. “I can’t be all the time.”
Joyce looks at him. For a second, she almost understands.
But exhaustion wins.
“Then stop acting like everything depends on you.”
The air leaves his lungs.
Jonathan blinks.
That’s not what he meant.
That’s not what he needed.
“I’m not acting,” he whispers.
Joyce is already gathering the papers, like the conversation is over.
“Just… let me handle it, okay?”
Handle it.
Like he’s in the way.
Like his effort doesn’t matter.
Jonathan nods automatically.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He turns before she can see his hands shaking.
In his room, the world feels smaller.
Rain taps against the window.
He sits on the bed, staring at his camera on the desk. He picks it up. Puts it down. He doesn’t have the energy.
He doesn’t want to cry.
He doesn’t want to be dramatic.
He doesn’t want to be a burden.
He slips on the necklace he rarely takes off—a small, worn pendant—and heads downstairs quietly.
The front door opens with a soft creak.
The rain greets him instantly.
Cold.
Heavy.
He didn’t bring a jacket.
He walks without direction.
Just away.
Mud sticks to his sneakers.
Streetlights blur through sheets of water sliding down his lashes.
He breathes in sharply.
“I’m not the strong one,” he murmurs to himself.
As if saying it out loud makes it real.
As if admitting it gives him permission to be weak.
Back at the house, it takes Joyce ten minutes to notice the silence.
Fifteen to realize it’s too quiet.
“Jonathan?”
No answer.
She climbs the stairs.
His bed is empty.
Window closed.
Room cold.
She goes back down.
The front door is slightly open.
The wind pushes it gently.
Her heart drops.
“No. No, no, no…”
She steps onto the porch in the rain.
“Jonathan!”
The storm answers for him.
Nothing else.
In the woods, trees bend under the wind.
Jonathan walks without thinking where he’s going.
The woods always made sense.
Dark.
Quiet.
Honest.
He stops when the rain turns harsher, almost sideways.
His breathing is uneven.
“I just need a minute,” he tells himself.
One minute not to be the big brother.
Not to be the responsible son.
Not to be the one who holds everything together.
Thunder cracks the sky open.
And then he feels it.
At first, it’s subtle. Like being watched.
He turns.
Nothing.
Just trees.
Fog.
Shadows moving with the wind.
He steps back.
The feeling doesn’t fade.
It grows.
The air shifts.
Colder.
Heavier.
Jonathan swallows.
“Hello?”
Stupid.
The woods don’t answer.
But something snaps behind him.
Fast.
Not like a branch falling.
Like something moving.
He turns just in time to see a shadow slip between the trees.
Not human.
Not entirely.
His heartbeat roars in his ears.
He steps back.
Slips in the mud.
“No…”
The shadow moves closer.
It doesn’t run.
It glides.
Like it doesn’t fully touch the ground.
Jonathan turns to run—
Something slams into him from the side.
He falls to his knees. Mud stains his hands.
He scrambles up.
“Mom!”
The word escapes before he can stop it.
The shadow stands in front of him now.
Too tall.
Its edges flicker like they don’t belong in this world.
The air vibrates.
A distant, warped screech pierces the storm.
Jonathan backs away.
Something coils around his ankle.
Not fully visible.
But he feels it.
Cold.
Slick.
It yanks.
He falls onto his back.
The sky spins.
Rain hits his face.
“Let me go!”
He kicks.
Grabs at roots.
His fingers scrape earth.
His necklace catches on something—snaps free.
The pull grows stronger.
The forest bends.
The air tears.
Like an invisible crack splitting open in the storm.
Jonathan screams.
Thunder swallows the sound.
And in an instant—
He’s gone.
The rain keeps falling.
The woods fall silent again.
Only the pendant remains in the mud, flashing under lightning.
On the porch, Joyce dials with shaking hands.
“Hopper… Jonathan’s gone.”
Her voice is no longer steady.
No longer adult.
It’s pure fear.
And somewhere that doesn’t smell like rain—but metal and decay—Jonathan opens his eyes for a second.
Everything is dark.
Everything is cold.
And he understands, too late—
He isn’t alone.