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beepboop358 · 3 years ago

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How I think the characters will react to Byler when it is officially officially confirmed in the show:

El: once El realizes she doesn't romantically love Mike, she will become an avid byler protector.

El is a badass independent woman with a pure heart of gold. She cares deeply for Mike because he was the first person to show her any sort of compassion, so she will want him to be happy, and after she grows closer to Will, she will want Will to be happy too. El won't understand the societal stigmas around Mike and Will liking each other, since she was raised in a lab away from society and then lived isolated in Hopper's cabin, she has no knowledge of what society deems right from wrong surrounding sexuality and love. She will think other people thinking Mike and Will's relationship is 'wrong' or 'unnatural' is utter bullshit and completely stupid, as she should!

Jonathan: he will be 100% supportive. He knows how Lonnie tormented Will and made homophobic remarks about Will being gay when he was younger. He has always encouraged Will to be himself and ignore what others say, especially what Lonnie says. Jonathan will also be a byler protector.

Jonathan knows Will isn't "normal", he even said Will was "good at hiding" in s1 which has several meanings, and he probably already knows Will likes Mike because of how he immediately turns to look at Will after Mike blurts out he loves El in s3 in Hopper's cabin.

s1 ep. 2: "He's trying to force you to like normal things, and you shouldn't like things because people tell you you're supposed too."

s2 ep. 1: "No I'm serious. You're a freak. But what? Do you want to be normal? Do you wanna be just like everybody else? Being a freak is the best. I'm a freak. Who would you rather be friends with? Bowie or Kenny Rogers? Exactly. It's no contest. The thing is, nobody normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world. You got it?"

------(Some subtle queer coding there with the Bowie reference; David Bowie was a bisexual musician, and he also sings the original version of the song "Heroes" that plays after Will's fake body is found in s1, and the lines that play while Mike cries and hugs his Mom are extremely queer coded: "And we kiss as though nothing could fall. And the shame.")

Nancy: It's implied Nancy and Mike are pretty close, and honestly I think she has always suspected that Mike has a little thing for Will. From the look on Nancy’s face when he blurts out he loves El, it kind of reads as like she doesn’t believe him, because she knows something.

s1 ep.7: "I knew you were acting weird, I just, I thought it was beause of Will"

Joyce: will be 100% supportive, and a protective mama bear of Will as always, but also for Mike. Joyce will join the club of avid byler protectors along with Jonathan and El.

Dustin: avid byler supporter. I think he's picked up on how much Mike cares for Will, how Will cares for Mike, and has probably suspected at least something this whole time. Dustin doesn't care about being considered cool he cares about doing what he likes and being true to himself, and that belief for sure translates into how he views his friends as well. He will absolutely support Mike and Will and treat them normally.

s3 ep.3: "Instead of dating somebody because you think it's gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around?" s1 ep.6: "Sometimes your total obliviousness just blows my mind"

Max: She seems pretty perceptive, so she's probably picked up on Mike and Will's 'special dynamics' by now, and we know she's definitely sick of how Mike treated El. She will be supportive of Will and Mike, but mostly she will just be glad Mike isn't with El anymore LOL.

Lucas: I think he definitely notices Mike seems to reallllyyyy care for Will, and that Mike doesn't act the same about El, although he claims too. I think Lucas sees through Mike's bullshit. Look at his smirking face and crossed arms when Mike frantically asks where Will is in s2:

and how he reacts the same way to Mike blurting out he loves El and "can't lose her again" in s3:

Hopper: he will probably want to kill Mike again.

"wait what?! so.. let me get this straight...all that time you were making out with my daughter, you were just...pretending to love her? You lied to her the whole time you two 'dated' yeah? And now you're dating your best friend. Oh god wait, I watched you tell him that asking him to be your friend was the best thing you ever did that night in the shed... Oh you little asshole!"

I can't imagine Hopper being homophobic towards Will and Mike, but I don't see him jumping up and down for them either. He will mainly be upset that Mike dated El when he was actually in love with Will, and not care so much that Mike is in love with another boy, just another person. But once he processes that El is actually okay, he will be fine with it.

Lonnie: is the literal scum of the earth! Obviously Lonnie will hate that Will is gay and dating another man. He will probably make some comments about how he "always knew it" and call Will and Mike homophobic slurs, probably at Will's birthday.

s1 ep.1: "He used to say he was queer, called him a f*g"

Steve: "Oh you two little shits are dating now? But I thought he was into the psionic chick? No? Okay, alright cool. Uh hey have you guys met Robin yet? I think you would get along, you know what I'll introduce you." Steve was so accepting of Robin coming out to him, there's no way he won't have the same kind of reaction for Mike and Will.

Robin: once she gets to actually know them and spend time with them, she will adopt Mike and Will as her gay sons and inspire them to be themselves and help them out whenever they need it. She will also pick up on the fact that they like each other immediately. If we don't get this pairing in s4 because of location logistics, I really hope we get it in s5!!!

Erica: she won't be homophobic, but she just won't care too much.

Karen: will encourage Mike to follow his heart, and like whoever he likes, because a relationship needs real love to survive, and she knows all too well what it is like to be stuck in a relationship with no love, and she doesn't want that for her kids, she wants better for them. She wants Mike to be truly happy no matter what, and she doesn't want to see him repeat her mistakes. Karen will be very supportive of Mike, and probably defend him to Ted.

s1 ep.2: "All this that’s been going on with Will, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. I just…I want you to feel like you can talk to me. I never want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. I’m here for you okay?”

Ted: he won't be as much of an asshole as Lonnie will be about it, but he will probably make some snarky comments.

s1 ep.7: “our son with a girl? *scoffing*”

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jordanr770-blog · 3 years ago

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America Needs Some Talent

I just needed someplace to write down my thoughts so here we are!

I have been watching America’s Got Talent since season 11 when the ukulele girl won. I personally didn’t vote for her but can understand why she won. Same goes for season 12. I was rooting super hard for Diavolo but can understand why puppet girl won. Season 13 had some of the best acts ever (Shin Lim-winner) and I know a lot of people disliked her, but Courtney Hadwin should have at least gotten 5th place over sob story “I’m such a good person and I hit my wife” Michael Ketterer. Kodi Lee was the obvious winner of season 14 and I personally thought he deserved it over the other acts. Other people did not think it was well deserved, and that’s ok too.

Last season we got a spoken word poet in the form of Brandon Leake. I did not enjoy the act AT ALL and was kind of mad that he won, but I will say that even though I did not enjoy him, spoken word poetry is indeed a talent.

Now, you may be thinking that season 16 would be a smidgeon of an improvement over season 15. Talent and reality shows should probably strive to become better every season. But if you thought this show isn’t capable of getting any worse, you haven’t been paying attention because this show will always find ways to disappoint. Last night we were told everyone voted for an INSPIRATIONAL speech giver as the winner. Or I’m sorry, apparently he does magic. His name is Dustin Tavella. But the thing is, he was HORRIBLE at both storytelling AND magic and nowhere near deserved the win. “It was well deserved.” How? How is a kindergarten level “magician” worth a million dollars and a Vegas show? I believe the show in Vegas is about an hour and a half and I am curious as to what is he going to do in that timeframe? Talk about how the folks living in Vegas are living in sin while simultaneously throwing paper in the air MAGICALLY? I’m sure the audience will go wild over that. Or maybe during all of his shows he will adopt a kid a day from different countries and then spend about an hour talking about Little ZimZam’s harsh life and while he’s babbling he’ll be semi incorporating his poor magic skills into the act in the last minute so the poster stating he’s a magician didn’t TECHNICALLY lie so nobody is getting their money back. I really don’t know. I have a lot of thoughts.

Plus, his sob story just did nothing for me whatsoever. Good for you for adapting 11 children, unless it has to do with whatever your act is, shut the hell up and do the trick! Not once did this guy impress or give even the best of a performance of the night. It was always 8+ minutes of “inspiration” and tirades about how we as a society need to be good to one another whilst doing crappy magic. Let me tell you, I know next to nothing about magic but even I could tell he was a less than stellar magician. Even calling him a magician is somewhat laughable. In reality he's a motivational speaker who does terrible magic tricks and who always somehow manages to suck at said terrible magic but America apparently doesn’t notice him screwing up his terrible magic because he’s too busy telling them to look at a crumpled up piece of paper or a ladder or the new photograph of his adopted son who has an extra eyeball or whatever. It’s stupid.

Last night for his final performance Dustin’s act was, and I kid you not, telling us all to be nice. FOR SEVEN UNNECESSARY MINUTES. And I do believe he started to fake cry. Dude, you’re acting is about as good as Heidi Klum’s. You can't act and you can barely do magic. Why are you here? What is your talent? Did he really join a talent show to become some type of inspirational God of obvious wisdom? If that’s the case, he should have gone and done a Ted Talk, many less victims of mediocrity that way. America somehow put him in the top 5 with actually talented people? I think not. The act itself was not impressive and he did the same thing every time, just told a different sob story. If you have to rely on a sad story to win, you don’t deserve to win a show where talent is the main objective.

In case my last few paragraphs were not made abundantly clear, I am not a fan of this dude. At all. I read a comment which stated that a message is not a talent and whoever said that is 100% correct and summed up my feelings pretty accurately. I'm not a fan or boring and basic tricks combined with even worse stories. He's the living embodiment of a motivational meme and anyone who voted for this guy is gullible and can fight me. Maybe people “voted” for him because he attempted to pull on the heartstrings? But because I sold my heart long ago his act didn’t effect me as much. /s But I swear every year they make it more clear that the entire show is rigged.

Well, maybe the voting ISN’T rigged entirely and all the boomers (first time I’ve ever used that term) and antivaxxers and easily swayed by sob story people on Twitter and Facebook voted for him. Doubtful, but you never know. HE WAS SO FREAKING BAD!!!

We are all allowed to have opinions and just because you don’t agree with me that doesn’t mean I am an awful person who deserves DEATH. I keep getting responses and messages on Twitter from angry folk who are calling me heartless because I questioned WHY they voted for him. “Well, IIIII gave Dustin all 10 of my votes!” That’s nice Karen. That is also not an answer and I cannot stress enough how much I do not care that you voted for the phony used cars salesman. Go tell your Prince from Nigeria all about it. Another guy got mad and reported me for “yelling at strangers.” Which is kind of a typical thing people do on Twitter. And I wasn’t even yelling! Lol.

And another point I’d like to make (about this and in general) is people really need to stop using the terms “all of us” and the word “we.” I am my own person and you do not get to speak for me.

“We were all crying when we saw him perform!” - No WE most certainly weren’t. I was seething with anger, yes. Crying? Not even close.

“His magic touched all of our hearts!” WHAT MAGIC? WHERE WAS THE MAGIC IN THIS MANS ENTIRE ACT? I MUST HAVE MISSED IT AFTER I PASSED OUT FROM HIS 7 MINUTE LONG STORY ABOUT HIS BORING LIFE.

His win was a complete insult.

* I personally voted for Aidan Bryant, but I really wanted Unicircle Flow to win before they got kicked off due to the judges having a tendency to suck at picking during judges choice. *

Edit: I apologize if this wasn’t articulated very well or if it seems I basically said the same thing over and over. To be fair it was 3 am when I wrote this and I was still irritated and questioning everything. Still doesn’t excuse the fact that this guy was lame and doesn’t deserve a Vegas show. My mom told me earlier today that people on the Internet are mad about his win and that it’s not fair to take it out on the guy, which I suppose is kind of true. Not exactly his fault the general public has failed and shown their stupidity yet again. If anyone is to blame it is the people who actually voted for this doofus. And AGT. And yeah, I guess I will blame him as well. But I’m not saying go to his Twitter or Instagram or whatever and call him out for being a con artist and bully him.

I think the MESSAGE =P I’m trying to display here is that someone has no business being on a talent show unless they have talent; self explanatory. A message isn’t talent. Being a narcissist isn’t talent. Exploiting your kids and wife isn’t talent. Speaking can be a talent (comedy, that poetry guy, acting, improv, probably a lot of other stuff I’m forgetting about) but one shouldn’t call themselves a magician if one is really a way less cool garage sale version of Talky Tina. Magic IS talent but if you want a million dollars you better have skills that are on par or better than the professionals.

#agt #rant #INSPIRATIONAL #Magic #Adoptakid

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argylemikewheeler · 5 years ago

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|| i saw this post and just had the idea of will freaking out at mike for being tall-- but of course that’s not really what it’s about. just something short and sweet (literally) for you || ao3

It’s in the grocery store that Will just snaps at him. Will’s going shopping for his mom after school. It’s no big thing; Will enjoys the time alone. Except of course, it’s the last day before spring break and Mike’s skipped the last day of school and driven up to see him. Mike’s an extra set of hands to help brings bags into the house, and he’s not too bad of a driver to man the cart.

When Mike pulls up to the house-- just as Will’s grabbing his bag and getting to Jonathan’s car-- he looks so different. His hair is just a little shorter-- cropped and kept, just how Ted likes it, but with Karen’s kind influence of letting him be, Ted, come on. The main thing, at least to Will, is that he’s taller. The man is taller. Will feels his neck crack as he tilts back, just a little. He didn’t shrink, but when Mike runs up to him, he swears he did.

When Will is silent and stares at him for a while, Mike replies that he’s six-foot-two. Which is fine. It’s fine. It’s just that Will is five-foot-six still. But whatever. It’s fine.

Will kind of forgets about it-- forgets about how his new friends call him small. not short but small; how his new doctor is worried he’s stunted from all his “medical trauma” and is trying to talk his mother into having him take steroids; how he secretly likes being the same height because he knows his mom can’t afford buying both him and El new clothes; how he hates that the first thing people notice between him and Mike isn’t even that they’re two men since Will’s short enough to match people’s perception of what “normal” couples look like. Will just forgets about it. And for a while it’s nice.

Mike doesn’t know jack shit about vegetables and Will teaches him how to pick fruit that is just the right amount of unripe so it will last longer in the fridge. Mike pushes the cart and nods, at least pretending he’s enjoying the lesson. It’s 1988 and Mike places his hand on Will’s back when he stands and stares at the wall of soup cans, trying to read prices and brands quickly. It’s 1988 and Will doesn’t even watch how he says “Michael”. It’s a nice outing until they get to the cereal aisle.

It is nearly cleaned out, all the extra boxes up on the top shelf in disorganized storage stacks. Will groans and steps up onto the bottom shelf, his hand straining as he feels around for a box of something. His ribs are pressed to the middle shelf and he tries to keep from swearing. There’s an older lady with two young kids that’s been watching them since they arrived in the aisle-- Mike’s hand gently finding Will’s-- and Will doesn’t want to give her any ammunition to start shouting.

“Would you like some help, Will?” Mike laughs and grabs him under the arms. He hoists Will nearly like he’s weightless, helping him step down to the floor again.

Will sighs. “Yes.”

“What do you want?” Before Will can answer, Mike is sliding box after box down and placing them on the shelves in front of Will’s eye line. “I’ve got ‘em all.”

“I just needed the Cheerios, thanks.” Will grumbles, taking the box and tossing it into the cart. He pushes the cart and they leave the woman’s stare. He feels tense all over again. He forgets to keep forgetting about it-- about everything-- for a moment.

“How do you do this without me.” Mike is simply trying to tease him-- be verbally affectionate when his hands can only jostle his shoulders. “I need to think about moving up here you don’t have to struggle every time you just want to buy something--”

“Shut up, Mike.”

“W--What? What did I say? Was it that you’re short? Because... Will, we know this. It’s my favorite thing about you, you know that.”

“I don’t really want to hear it right now.” Will isn’t aware he’s clenching his teeth until he hears himself speak. “Being small is kind of not my favorite.”

“Oh, but-- It’s fun! You fit right under my arm and you don’t really need to steal as much of the blankets when we sleep--”

“Mike.” Will tries to drop out from under Mike’s arm: he placed it around his shoulders to demonstrate his point. Will is suddenly very aware that they’re two men, even if from every other angle no one seems to notice because he’s... a full eight inches shorter than Mike. It doesn’t feel great to be able to excuse homophobia because he’s as short as a girl. “Mike, please shut up.”

“What?” He’s sincere, but he’s still very confused. He still thinks it’s about being short. He doesn’t move his arm. “OH, well, actually I do hate the whole you-get-to-steal-my-clothes-thing. But if those are the reparations--”

“Would you just shut up, Tall Boy!” Will snaps, twisting around to face Mike. They’re in the middle of the baby section, where no one would be likely to stumble into them.

“T-Tall Boy?” Mike laughs, but he’s still trying to figure out that Will’s genuinely upset. “I-- What? What happened? Did I say something?”

“Yes! Stop talking about how short I am. I hate it.” Will doesn’t know why but he chokes up a little. He pretends he needs to be looking at plastic sippy cups. They look so out of place when the older lady and her children come strolling past. “I hate remembering I’m short.”

“Remembering.” Mike repeats. “Do you... forget?”

“El grew four inches in like... two months.”

“Okay...”

“Mom had to buy her new skirts and jeans because they got too short, too fast. It was the middle of winter and her ankles were so chapped-- She worked another two shift to pay for it.” Will’s breathing is choppy and it’s so stupid. Mike is silent, but because he’s listening, which is still weird for Will to think about.

“Okay. So short is good. You’ve got all your clothes and you’ve got all mine if you need it. And I’m sure Steve’s got more stuff that’s up your alley. It’s okay. Will, it’s okay. I won’t let you go cold.” Mike places his hands on Will’s shoulders, his thumbs brush against his neck.

“They say I’m small at school.” Will pushes through. “Small. You know what else is small? Babies are small. Mistakes are small. OH and you know what is usually small? Girls. Girls are small-- except my sister. Who’s giant--”

“She’s only like... five-nine.”

“Mike.”

“Sorry, literal perspective I see is not the point here.” He nods. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just-- People don’t think you’re gay sometimes.” Will realizes this doesn’t make sense to anyone but him.

“Uh. That’s... I’m not sure that’s our fault.”

“Well, see, it’s my fault. From a distance, I look like your girlfriend. Not a very, short short man.”

“Well, that’s not your fault. People are blind and weird and straight. That’s not-- You’re not a girl, Will. You definitely aren’t a girl nor look like one or act like one or-- You just aren’t. Being short is not a fault!”

Will sighs and leans into Mike’s hand. “You’re supposed to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I could complain-- would you like me to?” Mike says with a smile. His eyebrows are still furrowed though: he’s upset. “I hate that you can fit comfortably on any bed we share. I hate that... You sometimes can buy kids’ shirts? Because they’re always cooler. Like, you have one you bought as a painting smock that has a freakin shark on it and I gotta say... Men’s clothes, not as cool! I’m less cool as my art school boyfriend because I got tall too quick. Dude, that sucks. I want to be cool like you!”

Will is definitely crying, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He laughs and smiles. He hopes it makes up for his sniffling. “You think I’m cool?”

“Yeah! My cool, short boyfriend. He’s awesome and he’s super nice because he... worries about the socio-political meaning of him being short. Like. He’s so smart. So smart.”

“He’s the only one who knows what the hell a mango is in your relationship.” Will says, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah! Concentrated intelligence!” Mike reaches for Will’s underarms again. He catches Will’s smile before jokingly hoisting him an inch off the ground. “He’s better because of-- everything, but right now let’s say it’s because he’s not a six-foot-two monster who hits his head on every door frame in his house.”

“Oh my god-- is that what that bump is from?” Will hiccups, laughter nearly scaring him. “Oh, Michael, you poor.... tall thing.”

They laugh in the baby aisle until Will’s face is less red and puffy. As they walk, Mike makes jokes about the weird names of food brands. He offers to get Will things on all shelves, just being a helpful partner rather than a shopping giraffe. He repeats Will’s name every time he speaks to him and someone is in earshot. Will smiles and each time calls him a sappier and sweeter version of “Michael”. Will finishes shopping and feels rather accomplished as they pack the car up.

He forgets about everything again for a while. Everything but Mike. Well, Mike, but more importantly how he makes him feel: so happy, so listened to, so short. And it’s all okay. It’s nothing. Just one small thing in a short life full of so many wonderful, loving things.

#byeler #byler #mike wheeler x will byers #stranger things writing #this could have a trans reading bc ya know *i* wrote this but like take it however you want #just something i wrote during my essay break #prompts

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wanderleave · 6 years ago

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This is nothing but pure crack, but it’s also the first thing that came to mind upon seeing that per a certain book, Nancy Wheeler is a member of the Hawkins Presbyterian Youth Fellowship. I apologize in advance.

She really had gone, in the beginning.

But youth group was never really the same without Barb, and every time Nancy had planned to go, after, something had always come up; homework, Steve, monsters. Eventually she’d left it behind, just like so many things.

The only thing is, her mother didn’t know that.

Her mother believes, still, that every Thursday from 5-8, Nancy Wheeler is down at Hawkins Presbyterian, doing some good in the world.

Mike knows, bought off with the promise of a ride to school in the mornings once it’s too cold to ride his bike instead of enduring the bus, which, in the grand scheme of things, is not too great a price to pay.

She’s not sure if her father ever knows where she is.

She looks forward to it all week, the chunk of time with no responsibilities, no obligations. Which isn’t to say she isn’t responsible, she’s done more than a few hours of studying while she’s supposed to be down at the church. But for three hours (plus travel time) weekly, Nancy Wheeler is gloriously, unreservedly free to do whatever she pleases.

Which, these days, is Jonathan.

“Can you come straight home after school, Nancy?” her mother calls to her one morning from the kitchen, as she slides into her seat at the table, her father hidden behind a newspaper, Holly drinking her orange juice, Mike gnawing on a piece of toast. “I want to plan our college visits for this summer. Mike, you too.”

“What!”

“You’ll be applying yourself in a few years, and this way we won’t have to visit them again.”

“I have to go to the arcade after school,” Mike protests, “Max beat my score on—”

“Michael Wheeler, that is not a good excuse and you know it.”

“Oh, I can’t.” Nancy blinks, and smiles apologetically, glancing over at Mike, who’s fuming. “It’s Thursday, Mom.”

Karen sighs. “Right, of course. That is more important. Well, this weekend then.”

“What’s Thursday?” Ted asks, uninterested.

“Youth group. You know that, Ted.”

Nancy keeps the smile on her face, pretends she’s the good daughter her parents believe her to be.

Her father makes a noise of acknowledgement. “And what does one do at this youth group, anyway?” he asks, but Nancy can tell the question is rhetorical.

“Youth group?” Mike scoffs, eyes rolling, clearly still annoyed that her fake excuse carries more weight than his video game-based drama.

“They do good things in the community, Ted,” her mother supplies, standing once more to refill Holly’s orange juice.

“I thought it was when Nancy and Jonathan discuss God, repeatedly, in the backseat of his car,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Nancy chokes on her cereal.

She throws a glare at Mike, followed by a swift kick to his shin, which he reciprocates.

“What was that, Mike? Did you say Jonathan joined too?” Karen calls, oblivious to the silent fight taking place at the kitchen table behind her back.

I will murder you, Nancy says with her eyes. Agree with her right now.

“Drive me to the arcade and we’ve got a deal,” Mike hisses.

Her father reads on, unconcerned.

“Fine,” she hisses back.

Mike grins.

Karen turns around, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mike says, managing to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “Jonathan joined too.”

“Oh that’s wonderful! It’ll look great on his college applications.”

“Oh yeah,” he continues, and this time some sarcasm creeps in as he starts to grin once more. “He’s really into it. Very passionate.”

Nancy turns her glare back on him, which she cuts short as her mother comes back to the table.

“You must be happy, Nancy, that you two have something more to do together.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nancy agrees, blinking, and then turns her gaze back to her bowl.

“Jonathan!” Karen exclaims as they walk through the foyer later that evening. “I didn’t know you were joining us. How was youth group?”

“I’m not,” he says, frowning slightly, as Nancy’s stomach drops. She’d completely forgotten to mention it to him during their hours parked in the woods. “I’m just getting a book I left here—big essay this weekend. And um,” he glances over to Nancy, as she stares at him, eyes wide, willing him to read her mind. “It was . . . ”

Nancy cuts in. “It was fine. We both,” she stresses, with a significant glance, “find it very fulfilling, doing these things together.”

Karen smiles.

“Oh. Oh,” he says, and Nancy can see the moment it clicks. “Right. Yes. We had . . . fun.” His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, almost turning it into a question, but her mother doesn’t seem to notice.

“That’s wonderful. Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?”

“Oh, no,” he protests, “I should really get . . . ”

“Nonsense,” Karen says, talking over him, ushering him into the dining room. “I insist, I made far too much.”

Grimacing over his shoulder, he follows her, mouthing, Youth group? as Nancy gives him an apologetic smile.

Nancy thinks they’re in the clear, her mother having turned her attention to her younger siblings, asking after Mike’s afternoon as she spoons carrots onto Holly’s plate, until she turns back to Jonathan.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you want to say grace?”

The look on his face is something that, if Nancy wasn’t complicit in its cause, she would remember with glee until the end of time. As it is, she feels the blood drain from her face, even as she finds herself suppressing an irresistible urge to laugh.

“Um,” he says, eyebrows raised, blinking.

Karen goes on, “Mike was just saying this morning, how passionate you were about it, I thought maybe . . . ”

Nancy chances a look at her brother, whose urge to laugh seems to be less repressed than hers.

She kicks him again. Mike sobers instantly.

Her gaze flicks back to find Jonathan staring at her, accusatory, as the silence drags on. She plasters a pleasant look on her face, turns to her mother.

“Mom, he . . . he’s only been going for a few weeks, and that’s not really the point. We’re just trying to help out the community— ”

“Okay, okay,” Karen says, putting her hands up. “I just . . . I was just thinking . . . ”

Jonathan shoots once last dagger at Nancy, before turning back himself. “Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler,” he says, and his tone of ingratiation almost causes Nancy’s composure to break, a single giggle escaping before she rearranges her face into something resembling benign interest. “Maybe next time.”

When they’ve finally escaped to her room, he shuts the door with a snap, folding his arms, leaning against the wall.

Nancy gives him a hopeful smile.

He shakes his head at her.

Her smile turns apologetic. “Sorry?”

“What was that,” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Youth group? I thought you stopped going?”

She takes a step toward him, pulling his hands into hers, pulling him close, wrapping his arms around her, tilting her head up to look at him out of the corner of her eye. He looks down at her, his expression skeptical at her actions.

“I . . . did? But I didn’t tell my mother?”

Jonathan frowns at her, his gaze still wary.

“So I could hang out with you! Why else did you think we had a standing Thursday date?”

She watches as the information sinks in, watches the smile spread across his face, as the arms wrapped around her tighten of their own volition. “Oh.”

“And then Mike,” Nancy says with a snort, finally allowing the laughter she’s been pushing down all night to the surface, “at breakfast this morning, said it was when—” She tries to get the words out, fails.

“What,” he asks, wary again.

Nancy raises her eyes heavenward. “He said . . . it was when we discussed God, repeatedly, in the backseat of your car.”

He blinks, and Nancy thinks this may be the first time in a long while she’s seen him actually speechless. “He what?”

“I know,” she says, her mouth open in remembered astonishment, her eyes meeting his as she continues, “I just about murdered him at the kitchen table, but luckily she only heard your name, so um, looks like you’re going to be joining me at youth group for the foreseeable future.”

His expression turns considering as he leans back against the wall, pulling her with him. “I mean,” he says, sliding down so he’s on her level, “I wouldn’t mind having another theological discussion.”

Nancy scrunches her nose up at him.

“Oh God,” he says with a grin, teasing, and she covers his mouth with her hand before he can get any more words out.

“Shut up!” she hisses, cocking her head toward the door to try and detect any of her family members on the landing.

“Oh Jesus,” he goes on, muffled, his eyes mischievous.

She gives him a withering look. “Keep this up and there won’t be any discussing for a week, heathen.”

That shuts him up.

“Now,” she says, extricating herself from his embrace, “take your book and get out of here before you blaspheme any more.”

Jonathan sighs, off her raised eyebrow, shaking his head, but takes his book from where it rests on her dresser. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“Yes,” she says with a grin, taking a step toward him, tilting her face up toward his. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a . . . conversation tomorrow.”

His smile grows to match hers, and as he leans down to kiss her, says, “Thank god for that.”

#jancy #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #blasphemy #that's a tag i never thought i'd use #i managed to get out of going to all the youth groups the girls at my ballet studio invited me to #(and thank god for that turns out one of them was in a CULT)#fanfiction

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thesundanceghost · 7 years ago

Text

to drag me away from you

For the Writer’s Guild 80s Movie Day (sorry we’re all a bit scattered this time)!! Technically Ghost was made in 1990, but that’s essentially still the 80s, and I already wrote it so too late now.

The funeral was long. Too long, in Steve’s opinion. He hadn’t wanted to go. Absolutely no part of him had wanted to be there. He wouldn’t have gone at all, but– he glanced sideways at Nancy, who was crying silently as she tossed a yellow rose onto the casket. Her mother’s hands her on her shoulders, squeezing tightly as she cried, and Mike was watching her with sad, scared eyes. Despite her family crowded around her, she looked absolutely alone. He knew how that felt.

Steve swallowed and looked forward again. The minister was speaking about hope and carrying on and how friendship and family were the most important things to fill our lives with. Steve couldn’t bring himself to disagree, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care. He wondered if that made him a bad person. Probably, but it was too late now to do anything about that.

It was too late to do anything now.

Steve looked to his right, at the older couple beside him. His face was stoic, just like it always was, but there were tears slipping from his eyes. He was too frozen to wipe them away. Her face was streaked her tears, her forehead resting in her hands as she shook her head continuously. Despite her despair, she still looked beautiful, her hair curled elegantly, and her dress clean and smooth.

He was underdressed. He looked down at his light-wash jeans and Nikes, white leather scuffed with dirt. They didn’t have any blood on them though, and Steve counted that as a blessing. He remembered what they’d look like splattered in red, just like the red covering his hands as he’d reached up shakily to his head before Nancy had fallen to her knees beside him and drawn his entire attention.

“Oh sweetheart,” the woman whispered, laying a slender hand on the sleek wood of the coffin. The man wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a shaky breath escaping his chest. Steve watched them quietly, a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry Mom,” he whispered. She didn’t look up, and when Steve reached out to touch her hand, he couldn’t feel a thing.

*********

Steve propped his legs on the table, glaring at his feet. Two weeks ago, Nancy would have been in front of him in a second, kicking his legs until he put his feet back on the floor “where they belonged.” Steve would have laughed at her paranoia and pulled her into his lap, and she would’ve rolled her eyes but kissed him back when he pulled her close.

Now she didn’t even look up.

“My feet are on the table, Nance,” he called, because he couldn’t stop torturing himself, could he?

Nancy walked in from the kitchen, and he watched her sadly as she walked directly through his legs to place a book back on the shelf. Steve sighed and took his feet down, feeling utterly defeated.

Nancy was the worst part of all of this. Steve would never dream of leaving the apartment, he needed to stay with her, he knew that, but watching her break down in the middle of making breakfast or crying over one of his old t-shirts had to be the most painful thing he’d ever experienced.

That afternoon, it had been a phone call from her mother. Steve hadn’t paid attention at first, thinking instead of all the family dinners he would never be part of. He’d never be on the receiving end of Karen’s fussing again, never bicker with Mike again, never talk baseball with Ted, or get to sweep Holly into a huge hug again.

Steve felt tears sting his eyes and he quickly blinked, redirecting his attention to Nancy. He startled when he saw how upset she looked.

“Mom, please, I just… I can’t go, okay?” Nancy pleaded, her voice breaking. “Just go without me. Tell Mike and Holly I’m sorry.”

Steve frowned as Nancy listened and wiped tears from her eyes.

“I’m not locking myself away!” She snapped, eyes angry and hurt. “He’s only been gone a week and half! I just… I can’t go out with you all and pretend everything’s okay.”

With that she threw the phone back on the hook. She glared at it for a moment before bursting into tears. All the fight and tension in her shoulders fell away, her head falling to her chest as she began to hyperventilate.

Nancy slid down the wall and wrapped her arms around her legs, squeezing tightly. She looked small, fragile in a way that Steve had never seen her before. It hurt him to just look at her, but he kept his eyes steady. It was one of the other ways he’d started punishing himself– never allowing himself to look away from all of the hurt he’d caused her.

“We were supposed to go together,” she mumbled and Steve blinked, not expecting the words. “We were supposed to take Mike and Holly to the aquarium.”

Steve realized with a start that that was where the Wheelers must have been headed that day. He hopped down off the back of the couch and crossed to her, sliding down the wall beside her.

“Do you remember how excited Holly was when you told her?” Nancy asked, looking up. She still had tears streaming down her face, and her eyes were desperate. Steve wished he could reach out for her, do something to let her know he was there, but he knew it was futile. “And Mike… Mike acted like he didn’t care, but then we caught him looking at those books of stingrays and sharks, remember?”

Steve did remember that. He’d been just as excited to go over there as a group. He’d always loved the aquarium– his mom had taken him once, and it had been one of the best days out he’d ever had. He missed that.

“God, Steve,” Nancy cried, her head falling to her knees. Steve reached out without hesitating, resting a hand on her back. He could feel her hair under his fingers, but he didn’t know how much of that was real and how much was just desperation.

“Every time I wake up, there’s a moment. A moment when I think I can just turn over and you’ll be there, and you’ll laugh at me and tell me it was just a dream.” Nancy sobbed. Her voice was muffled by the way her head was ducked down, but it was as clear as day to Steve. “And when I close my eyes tightly enough, I can… I can feel you. I feel like you’re right next to me, and I just… I wish you’d come back.”

Her voice had climbed in pitch and broke at the last word. Steve felt tears fall out of his own eyes and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, leaning his head against hers, wishing desperately he could feel her warmth.

“I’m here, Nancy,” he whispered, his voice gravelly and low.

Nancy kept crying, and they stayed like that until she fell asleep twenty minutes later.

*********

Nancy went out the next day, which made Steve relax slightly. She’d barely left the apartment since the funeral, living off old groceries and as little human interaction as possible. He was glad she was finally venturing past the front door, but he didn’t realize how empty the apartment would feel without her.

He’d almost gone with her, just to keep an eye on her, but something held him back. He felt invasive, even if she couldn’t see him. Nancy had always appreciated her time alone, and part of him felt the need to respect that, whether or not she noticed.

Now, however, an hour later, Steve wished he’d just gone with her. He was bored out of his mind, unable to do anything. He couldn’t turn on the television, or the stereo, couldn’t call anyone on the phone, hell, he couldn’t even flip the pages of the newspaper. He’d read all of the headlines on the front page, but that had barely taken ten minutes.

So now, here he was, laying on the couch with his legs flung over the back, singing old radio hits at the top of his lungs.

“Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over!” Steve sang (shouted) at the top of his lungs. He did, in fact, recognize the irony in this song choice, but it felt fitting. When he reached the end of the song, he paused for a few moments before starting over. He didn’t really know all of the words, but he didn’t care. He guessed singing proper lyrics to songs was just one of those things that you stop caring about when you die and get left behind.

A sudden banging on the door made Steve jump. He sat up cautiously, keeping his eyes fixed on the door.

“Hello? Hello!” A voice yelled from the hallway and Steve groaned, flopping back onto the couch.

“Oh screw off,” Steve snapped quietly, not in the mood to be reminded of just how nonexistent he really was.

“Look, I know you’re home, alright?” The voice yelled impatiently and Steve snorted. “Look I live downstairs and I’m getting really tired of all the noise, okay, so can you please just be quiet?”

“You’ve got the wrong place, asshole!” Steve yelled back, because he was really tired of this guy. He wanted to just be left alone to be dead in peace.

“I live directly under you, there’s no way this isn’t the right place!” The voice called back.

Steve stopped, looking over at the door. It was probably just a coincidence, but it had sounded like… a response?

Steve sat up, swallowing. “Can you hear me?” He called cautiously, his heart in his throat.

There was a long pause, and Steve felt his hopes drop slowly. Right. Just a coincidence. After all, nobody could–

“Of course I can hear you, isn’t that what I’ve been yelling about this whole time?” The man shouted, sounding exasperated out of his mind. “So can you stop singing Crowded House and let me work in peace?”

Steve was up on his feet in a flash. “You can hear me.”

“Whatever man, just please be quiet okay? Have a nice day, or whatever.” Steve heard footsteps leading out of the hall, but he was already running to the door, slipping through it without any hesitation.

“Wait!” He exclaimed, eyes landing on the man. He was shorter than Steve by a couple of inches, his blonde hair falling into his eyes raggedly. He paused and turned around slowly, and Steve held his breath anxiously, but the man’s eyes just drifted over him and landed back on the door.

Steve sighed in disappointment, but he still persevered. “You can really hear me, can’t you?”

The man’s eyes widened, glancing around the hallway. “Um… who’s talking right now?”

“Listen, my name’s Steve Harrington. I live in 3B.” Steve explained quickly. “What’s your name?”

“Um… Jonathan,” the man answered cautiously, taking a step back. “Is this a joke or something? Why can’t I see you?”

Steve took a deep breath, his heart still pounding. “This is gonna sound crazy, but it’s not a joke, okay, it’s not. You can’t see me because, well, I’m a… a ghost, or something.”

Jonathan blinked, standing still for a long moment. Steve waited anxiously.

Then Jonathan shook his head and walked down the stairs briskly.

Steve stared after him, blinking rapidly before he took off running towards him. Jonathan was jogging down the stairs but Steve was able to keep up. “Hey, wait!” He called anxiously.

Jonathan was full on running down the stairs at this point, but Steve didn’t let that stop him. He made it into his apartment and slammed the door behind him, but Steve just scowled and darted through the door.

Steve watched as Jonathan sighed, letting his head fall to his chest as he leaned against the door. Steve crossed his arms, waiting a second before speaking up again.

“You ready to listen to me yet?”

If it wasn’t such a serious situation, Steve would have laughed at the way Jonathan jumped, his head snapping back and slamming against the door.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jonathan asked, and Steve got the feeling that was more to himself than to Steve.

“Just calm down,” Steve demanded, which didn’t seem to calm him down at all. “Look, I know this is confusing, but I need you to do something for me.”

******

“I’m not talking to your girlfriend for you. I’m not,” Jonathan insisted, scowling down at his dinner. “She’ll think I’ve gone crazy, and you know what? Maybe I have.”

“You’re not crazy,” Steve insisted, irritated by this entire conversation. Jonathan had finally moved past his terror, but they’d been arguing about this for basically the entire day, and Steve was ready to lose it. “Can we please move on?”

“Look, I’m sorry that you got hit by that car,” Jonathan snapped, throwing his sandwich down on the plate. “I’m really sorry about you and your girlfriend and everything, I really am, but it’s not my problem.”

Steve scowled at him. “You’re the only one who can hear me, therefore it is your problem.”

Jonathan shook his head forcefully. “Just go find someone else! I never asked to be the fucking ghost whisperer or whatever the hell is happening here.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask to die and get stuck in some fucking limbo all by myself!” Steve shouted. Maybe that was an unfair card to play, but like they always said, life isn’t fair. No reason death should be either.

Jonathan didn’t reply to that, taking a violent bite of his food, and Steve tried again.

“I’m just asking you to talk to her. One conversation! That’s it!” Steve exclaimed, not ready to back down.

Jonathan took another bite of his sandwich, responding with a mouth full of food. “Nope, not happening. I’m not changing my mind.”

Steve scowled, keeping his eyes fixed intently on the other man.

************

“It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!” Steve sang loudly and obnoxiously from where he was leaning against the foot of Jonathan’s bed. “There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!”

Jonathan groaned loudly and Steve heard him turn over, pulling the pillow over his head. “Shut up!” He exclaimed from under his covers.

“I bless the rains down in Africa!” Steve continued, not hesitating for a moment.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Jonathan mumbled, his voice muffled by the sheets and pillows. “I don’t care if you’re already dead, I’m gonna find a way to kill you all over again.”

“I bless the rains down in Africa!” Steve crooned. “I’m gonna take some time to do the things we never had!”

Jonathan made a desperate noise of frustration and buried deeper under the sheets, and Steve huffed a small laugh.

He finished the song and smirked when he heard Jonathan groan in relief. “Well that’s the end of that album. How do you feel about Foreigner?”

A pillow landed right next to him and Steve looked up as Jonathan sat up in bed.

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it!” Jonathan shouted wildly. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were red-rimmed. “Just for the love of god, shut up!”

Steve smirked. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

Jonathan threw another pillow, this one landing directly on Steve’s lap before flopping back in bed.

*****

“Alright, she’s in there now,” Steve explained, coming out to the hallway where Jonathan was waiting.

Jonathan was tapping his foot anxiously, his eyes full of discomfort and hesitation. Steve frowned at him, feeling slightly bad about keeping him up so late the night before. Then again, it had been completely necessary, and if Jonathan just understood how important this was, he probably wouldn’t have been so difficult.

Steve looked back at the door, taking a deep breath.

“Just knock on the door– Steve stopped talking when he saw no sign of Jonathan. He glanced around desperately, and finally spotted the man walking briskly back down the stairs. “Jonathan!”

Jonathan’s shoulders tensed at the call, but he kept walking. Steve glanced back at the door, groaning before running after the man.

“Jonathan, what the hell man?” Steve asked once he was closer. Jonathan closed his eyes, as if he was trying to block Steve out of his head, and Steve felt his anger rise. “You promised!”

“Steve, I want you to think for one damn second about what you’re asking me to do,” Jonathan snapped. He leant against the wall of the second floor, which was thankfully empty, and stared up angrily at the ceiling. Steve just stared at him, confused. “That woman, your girlfriend… how do you think she’s gonna feel when I tell her that you’re a– a ghost?!”

Steve blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Jonathan’s eyes fell away from the ceiling, and he glared a couple inches right of Steve’s head. “Do you know what it’s like to lose someone? To try every single day to move on? This, telling her you’re still here… it’s false hope, that’s all it is. I’m not hurting someone like that, no matter how important you think this is.”

With that, he turned on his heels and marched back to his door.

Steve followed Jonathan back down the stairs slowly. He was bubbling with anger and hurt, but at the same time, he got Jonathan’s point, and that made him even more upset. He’d already hurt Nancy so much. Maybe Jonathan was right. Maybe it was better to just be alone than to cause her more pain.

By the time he got back to Jonathan’s apartment, Jonathan was flopped on the couch, staring at the small television screen with the sound turned off. Steve didn’t say anything, just sat gingerly on one of the chairs, feeling once again like he didn’t belong at all.

There was a long moment of bitter silence, and Steve felt like Jonathan knew he was there even though he hadn’t announced his presence.

“I never got to say goodbye,” Steve admitted, keeping his eyes on the floor. His voice was breaking, and he felt a couple tears slip out of his eyes. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I just… I need to say goodbye.”

He looked up. Jonathan had stopped watching the television, staring blankly at the couch as he listened.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Steve muttered. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna stay. I could disappear at any minute, I don’t know, I don’t get any of this. And I don’t know why you can hear me. But you’re all I’ve got, Jonathan.”

Jonathan turned towards him after a second. His eyes were full of pity, which Steve sort of hated, but there was an understanding buried underneath that lit a small burst of hope in his chest.

“One conversation,” Jonathan sighed after a second, and Steve felt his chest loosen. He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face.

******

They waited until the next day to go back upstairs. Steve was anxious as hell, but Jonathan looked like he was going to puke every time Nancy’s name was said, and Steve decided to give him a break.

The next morning, Jonathan looked deathly pale, but determined as well. With a lot of encouragement from Steve, he finally knocked at the door of 3B.

Steve felt a small smile tug at his lips when Nancy finally opened the door. Her hair was messy, and she still looked too thin, but he’d missed her the past couple of nights when he’d been staying with Jonathan. She blinked at Jonathan, leaning against the door.

“Hi, are you Nancy?” Jonathan asked. He was fidgeting like crazy, and the look in his eyes kind of made him look like an escaped convict.

“Calm down man,” Steve whispered. Jonathan’s eyes flicked his direction before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked back at Nancy.

“I am. Can I help you?” She asked, offering a tiny polite smile.

“My name’s Jonathan Byers,” Jonathan introduced, and Steve looked at him, praying he would continue. “I wanted to talk to you for a second? It's… it’s about Steve.”

Nancy blinked, her grip tightening subtly on a the door. Steve held his breath. “Oh,” she answered. There was a long pause. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, come in.”

She pulled the door open and Steve and Jonathan let out identical sighs of relief. Jonathan gave a small smile before slipping inside, Steve right behind him.

The three of them stood awkwardly inside the room, Jonathan glancing around at the apartment, Nancy staring straight at Jonathan, and Steve glancing nervously between the two. A loud whistle came from the kitchen, making them all jump.

“Sorry, sorry, I was making coffee,” Nancy explained, looking to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I–”

“No, go ahead,” Jonathan cut in, shaking his head. He looked relieved by the distraction.

“You can, uh, make yourself at home,” Nancy started, frowning at the stuff littering the table. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”

“It’s fine, really,” Jonathan assured her. Nancy gave him one last look before leaving for the kitchen.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Nancy said before disappearing.

Jonathan didn’t sit, despite Nancy’s suggestions. He kept looking around the room, and after a second he stopped, looking at a picture on the table. “Is that you?” He asked, his voice low and quiet to keep Nancy from hearing.

Steve blinked, looking down at the framed picture of he and Nancy on the beach from the year before. She was kissing his cheek and he was grinning proudly. That had been a good day. “Yeah,” he responded.

Jonathan didn’t take his eyes off the photo. “I remember you,” he continued after a second and Steve frowned at him.

“What do you mean?”

“From when you moved in,” Jonathan explained, still staring at the photo. “I ran into you on the stairwell. You invited me to your housewarming party.”

Steve blinked, the memory blinking back to him. “That was you,” he said, frowning. He’d completely forgotten. He looked at Jonathan. “You didn’t come to the party.”

Jonathan chuckled humorlessly. “Not really my thing,” he explained. His eyes drifted back to the photograph. “You were so young.”

Steve felt a pang in his chest. “I’m turning–” he broke off, the rest of the sentence falling apart in his mouth. I’m turning twenty-seven in September. Not anymore. “I was twenty-six.”

Jonathan nodded. There was a heavy silence in the air before Nancy reemerged, a mug of coffee in her hand. She smiled, clearly forced, and sat down. Jonathan followed suit, and Steve leaned against the wall behind Jonathan, his eyes fixed on Nancy.

“Sorry about that,” Nancy apologized again. He still wasn’t used to how quiet she’d grown in the past two weeks. “So, did you work with Steve?”

Jonathan blinked, clearly confused. “Oh, um, no. I’m a photographer.”

Nancy frowned. “Sorry, how do–” she stopped, shaking her head, “did you know him then?”

Jonathan bit his lip. “Um, I met him… recently, I guess.”

“When?” Nancy asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Jonathan took a deep breath. Steve worried for a moment he was going to bolt again but then he spoke up. “Yesterday.”

Nancy stilled from where she was bringing her coffee to her lips. Her eyes were void of emotion, her expression unreadable, and she slowly set her coffee back down. “Yesterday,” she repeated.

Jonathan closed his eyes and nodded. “I know this sounds bad. But I promise I’m not lying to you. Yesterday this voice started talking to me, and he said his name was Steve Harrington and that he died two weeks ago and he wants me to talk to you.”

Jonathan rushed through the explanation, his nerves clearly evident, but Steve didn’t take his eyes off of his girlfriend, who was staring back with parted lips.

“Steve wants you to talk to me,” she repeated again in the same monotone.

Jonathan nodded. “He wants to say goodbye.”

Nancy took a sharp breath at that, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. Her face was hardened, and Steve suddenly realized how badly this was going. “So you’re a medium? A psychic?”

Jonathan frowned, shaking his head. “No, I’m a photographer, like I said–”

“But my boyfriend, he’s a ghost, that’s what you’re telling me,” Nancy said shortly, raising her eyebrows.

Jonathan took a shaky breath and Steve moved to sit beside him. “Jonathan, come on, you’ve got this.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicked his direction. “I guess so.”

“And you’re the only one who can see him?” Nancy asked, her eyes flickering with anger. She didn’t believe a word of this, which Steve honestly had expected, but had been hoping wouldn’t happen.

“I can’t actually see him,” Jonathan corrected uncomfortably. “I can just hear him. He won’t leave me alone. He sang Toto last night until 2 am to get me to talk to you.”

Nancy blinked, a tiny bit of recognition flickering in her eyes before it faded away. “So where is he now then?”

Jonathan sighed before nodding to the open chair that Steve was indeed sitting in. “I’m pretty sure he’s right there.”

Nancy’s gaze flew to the chair, staring directly at Steve’s chest, and he felt his heart clench. This was the most she’d acknowledged him in two weeks.

“Get out of my house,” Nancy shot back. Her eyes were glittering with tears, but her jaw was set stubbornly, and she was glaring daggers at the man on her couch. Jonathan only flinched slightly, and Steve would’ve been more impressed if he wasn’t freaking out about the situation as a whole.

“Nancy, just give me a chance–”

“This is your chance to leave before I shoot you. I have a gun, I swear to god I do.”

Jonathan got to his feet unsteadily, but Steve wasn’t done. “She does!” He exclaimed and Jonathan jumped at the noise. “A Smith & Wesson Model 10. She keeps it in a box under the bed.”

Jonathan blinked in confusion before realization lit his eyes. He looked at the woman, who was shaking now. “He says it’s a Smith & Wesson Model 10. And that you keep it in a box under your bed.”

Nancy took a step back, her anger fading from her face. She floundered for a moment before frowning, a new spark in her eyes. “How the hell– what, have you been watching me or something?!”

“No, no, God no!” Jonathan cried out, waving his hands defensively. “I swear I didn’t know that until two seconds ago.”

“What, until Steve told you?” Nancy asked, outrage still apparent. Her voice cracked upon saying his name, and Steve felt his heart break a bit more.

“Yes,” Jonathan answered quietly. Nancy went quiet, staring at him with wide eyes.

There was a moment of silence, and Steve realized that she wasn’t actively trying to get rid of Jonathan. Seeing his chance, he spoke up again.

“There’s a shirt in the back of her closet that she has from a trip to Six Flags with her family. There’s Kool-Aid spilled all over the bottom but she still won’t get rid of it.” Steve said quickly.

Jonathan frowned but obediently repeated the sentiment to Nancy, who’s eyes widened. “How–” she broke off, blinking rapidly.

Steve kept going. “Ask her about the photo from the hotel in Chicago,” he said, and Jonathan repeated the words easily.

Nancy reached over to grip the back of a chair to steady herself. She opened and closed her mouth, searching for words, and her eyes were darting around wildly.

“And the time our car broke down in Arizona and we got drunk on gin and tonic.”

Jonathan stopped at that, frowning. “Gin and tonic, seriously?” He asked before shaking his head. “He says that’s what you got drunk off of when your car broke down in Arizona.”

Nancy let out a shaky breath and sat down in the chair. She was breathing quickly, and Steve couldn’t help but walk over to her, sitting in the chair beside her. “Tell her,” he started, reaching out and resting his hand on hers where they were laying numbly in her lap. “Tell her I’m holding her hand.”

“He says he’s holding your hand right now,” Jonathan said quietly.

Suddenly Nancy shook her head, jerking her hand away from Steve’s and wiping angrily at the tears that had accumulated on her cheeks. She glared at Jonathan, angrier than Steve could ever remember her looking.

“Why are you doing this?” She snapped, her voice wavering, and Jonathan took a step back. “Just leave me alone, okay? Steve’s dead, he’s dead. I’m calling the cops, so you’d better leave.”

She rushed over to the where the phone was sitting on the table and Steve jumped to his feet. “You’re beautiful, Nancy Wheeler!” He exclaimed, at a loss for anything else.

Jonathan glanced in his direction wildly before looking over at Nancy, who was already grabbing the phone off the hook. “He says you’re beautiful!”

Nancy paused, her finger hovering the 1. “What?” She asked, her eyes angry but also slightly afraid.

“No, say the whole thing,” Steve commanded quickly. Jonathan swallowed unsurely.

“You’re beautiful, Nancy Wheeler,” Jonathan repeated shakily.

Nancy stared back at him, and Steve held his breath. Her eyes shone with tears, and she slowly set the phone back on the hook.

“Steve?” She asked, her voice full of hope, and for the first time since the accident, Steve felt a real smile creep onto his face.

“Hey Nance.”

This was more angsty than I intended, but I did get to make Jonathan Whoopi Goldberg, so that’s something.

#twg events #twg 80s movies day #stancy #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #emma writes

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